Jupiter never seemed pleased when the guards would come by his cell. They’d peek in their heads just to see the hulking many-limbed creature glaring back at them accusingly, murder slowly boiling through his eyes. Perhaps it was the cramped conditions: he’d been unable to stretch his wings since his admittance, and his room didn’t have enough space for him to do more than shuffle back and forth a couple of steps. Perhaps it was his complete boredom: he couldn’t fit through the door or the hallways, so he hadn’t been out of that room since he arrived, either. Or perhaps, as his mother may have warned him when he was younger, his face had frozen that way; yes, maybe it was possible that he was in fact the most happy of campers even though he looked like he would bite off any head that got within reach.

Regardless, his glower had largely worked out in his favor. The guards didn’t try to taunt him like they did many of the other “guests”, instead tending to just leave him alone. And he’d never had a roommate for long. Not only did he have a way of taking up the whole room and knocking over whoever would join him with one of his wings or perhaps his legs or tail, but he also had shown a complete disregard for the mental comfort of anyone they’d put in there, too. His was the physiology of the race of whom the humans had spread rumors as they settled the galaxies: Jupiter looked, no two ways about it, like a huge space dragon. And he knew that everyone else knew it. And most people really weren’t comfortable with sharing a cell with such a thing, given that it would place that glaring eye right next to the other bed and, seemingly, watch whoever was there all night. As beautiful as they may be, those glassy red eyes weren’t a fun thing to wake up to.

And so he was found as the guards hustled some poor creature into his cell yet again. Jupiter glared at them, they quickly slotted the new meat’s chains into the wall, and they quickly left. Not a word was said. And then the glare settled on the newcomer.

So this was who they had paired him with. He’d heard the talk of the upcoming event: barbaric, certainly, but economical and, if you looked at it from the humans’ political perspective, reasonable. After all, criminals didn’t make nearly as much money through their forced labor as they cost to keep alive. The obvious answer then? Why, kill them, of course. Except that that would require someone to do the killing, and that would cost more money, and… well what if they killed each other? And so it was that the event had been conceived. The commercialization came quickly upon the concept’s heels, and then you had today’s modern system.

It was rather simple, actually. All of the criminals were teleported to a waste planet in pairs, and whichever pair outlasted the other ones would be set free, regardless of their crime. Some rink matches would be orchestrated to keep things interesting and moving along for the audience: the whole thing was filmed by drone and broadcast “Live” to make the state some money and, let’s be honest, provide a glimpse at a bloody sport which simply wasn’t “ethical” to subject any other people group to; but, mostly, the dangers were in the environment and in random encounters. As pleasant as the lush forests growing from the old refuse of more living-suited planets were, they were no match for being reintegrated into society, after all. And the faster that all the other teams died, the faster that one could get to that prize.

And yes, things were done in teams: it made it more interesting to watch (one early attempt had shown the pitfalls of no teams: many stalemates were reached and, eventually, the team rule was made and those who had been fighting became allies). And it made winning that much harder: to claim victory, both members needed to survive. Otherwise there would simply be no winner, and that suited the justice system just fine.

With how important teams were, then, one would think that they wouldn’t be randomly assigned. But such was the state of affairs: assignments weren’t quite random, but they might as well have been. The participants did not pick their partners, and the committee that assigned them didn’t bother to compare their strengths and weaknesses, either. This year, things had simply been done numerically: the newest jailbirds were teamed with the oldest, in order.

So it was that Jupiter was faced with the unpleasant surprise of having a completely fresh inmate join him that day as the teams were first united to plan out how they would do things in two days’ time when they would be teleported and the games would begin. The large creature inspected him quickly, making sure that he had a translator before introducing himself. “Hello. It would seem that you and I are teamed up.” Well, not much of an introduction, but Jupiter did not have a way with words.

“Make sure that thing is on correctly,” one of the guards said, referring to the mechanical collar that was fastened around Iraltiphos’ neck.

“Indeed. Can you imagine if I got my hands around one of your necks again?” Iraltiphos said with a sneer, which was met without any acknowledgment. Although he had only arrived about two weeks ago, it became quickly apparent that he would be trouble if appropriate measures weren’t taken. He had been sentenced to death and had an ego the size of a star, so he naturally refused to take orders and cooperate as most newcomers do, but the standard procedures to get him to comply never worked. He’d fight back when physical force was used and would win every time, and attempts to stun him with various weaponry tickled him. The only thing that ‘worked’ was to tranquilize him, in which case he’d be sent back to his cell and avoid the physical labor he had been protesting against in the first place. Any guard that got within reach of his arms would suffer a serious head injury.

The facility was plenty prepared for beings of extraordinary strength. There were plenty of ten-foot tall beasts with arms the size of pillars also on death-row. These beings were applied the collars Iralitphos now wears before they are ever detained, which would restrict their energy level and leave them on an equal playing field. However, he was no beast. He was a six-foot flat, 180 pound humanoid. Those in charge never saw it coming. Since the collars were only ever used for extraordinarily big creatures, they never fit him. He had to be tranquilized multiple times a day for a week before they built a collar specifically for him. The rest of the inmates might have considered him a hero if he weren’t an asshole to anybody he viewed as beneath him (which was everybody). It was impossible to have him in the same cell with anybody else. He’d taunt them until they got angry enough to retaliate, in which he would proceed to beat them down.

Iralitphos woke up one day after being tranquilized for possibly the hundredth time to find that a collar was finally made for him and fastened around his neck. However, the guard’s hatred for him at that point went further than wanting fairness, so his legs were bound and his hands bound behind his back. And for payback for all the trouble he caused, they proceeded to beat the ever-loving crap out of him. That was the idea at least, but with every punch thrown at him, he laughed and taunted. This was when the guards realized that his strength wasn’t the only thing out of the ordinary with him, but his skin was tougher than most humanoid creatures. It often took more than one slash from a sharp blade to make bleed and took quite a bit to bruise. Certainly punches weren’t enough. Not unless you were particularly strong.

They are called Seerlians—Iraltiphos’ species, that is. They are humanoid creatures from the planet of Vulban, with a particular fascination for the energy that is inherent in all living things, mainly because they were born with a particularly high amount of it. However, they weren’t known to be melee fighters like Iraltiphos. Most of them used their energy to communicate with other energy signatures, sometimes just to have a friendly conversation, but other times to manipulate it. In other words, most of them were adept in telekinesis. He, on the other hand, decided to reject this use of his energy and decided to merely use it to increase physical potential. A six-foot tall and 180 pound man who knew how to fight would be nothing to sneeze at by itself, but he also often used his energy to hit harder and move faster than one would expect. In reality, his strength was tripled what he appeared to be. The only ability he shared with his kind was the ability to detect nearby energy signatures, which included being able to determine how far they were from him and how much energy they possessed.

So their revenge failed and the guards decided the next best thing would be to put a muzzle on him to prevent him from speaking, since the trash he talked could fill 12 dumpsters in just an hour. However, they still needed some kind of revenge, so they unbound him only when he was ordered to do physical labor and sent him off. They expected him to refuse and were ready to beat him down, with more than just fists this time. But he did more than just refuse. He started humming beneath his muzzle—a very annoying tune that the inmates found amusing that stopped their labor to hum along. It became the ‘I aint doing any work song,’ and a lot of people were beat that day in order to maintain order. Iraltiphos laughed beneath his muzzle all the way through, even as he was beat (and badly bruised this time), and was put into solitary for the rest of his time there. Until today.

“Because the last time I had my hands around somebody’s neck, they couldn’t breathe very well,” he said, speaking without his muzzle for the first time in almost a week. He knew that the removal of the muzzle meant something important was about to happen and, although he wondered why, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to say hi. “And I never understood why because that’s how we greet people on my planet. They breathe just fine. Are you all just a bunch of weaklings?” By now the guards knew not to reply, knowing reactions only encouraged him. After they confirmed the collar was on correctly, they carried him out of solitary and began taking him to another cell. They chained him to the wall and left him with a big dragon-looking creature. Iraltiphos grinned. What’s going on, he thought.

The dragon greeted him and indicated that they were teamed up. He had heard rumors of the tournament that could be a ticket out of this place, but he didn’t know what to make of it. Considering his assurance that he’d win such an event, he found it to be too good to be true. It explained why they would remove his muzzle, though. “It would seem that way,” he replied, immediately mocking his choice of words. “But I think it’s much more likely that I’ve been awarded a pet for my good behavior. I’ve always wanted a fairy. How did they know? What tricks can you do?”

Jupiter paused in his glare long enough to blink slowly, clear lids flitting shut, followed by heavier, sinuous outer lids. Hmmmm, so he'd been joined up with a troublemaker. Fun. He hated trouble. Solitary confinement had been just fine for him: after all, Jupiter had spent almost his whole life alone until he'd happened upon those unfortunate destroyers and they'd tried to bombard him. Other people just meant trouble.

Well, they were going to be stuck together on this one, though. Jupiter couldn't just squash him right there: pleasant as the thought was (and happy as he assumed it would make the guards, having heard their short "exchange"), if this small obnoxious fellow died then he would have lost the event already, and he would also be executed. That wasn't really his plan here. His plan was to survive, beat whatever other teams they had to face, and get back home. And that sadly meant that he and annoying here would be together for a long time.

How, then, could he make their time as pleasant for himself as possible? He reopened his lids just as slowly, taking in the fellow more-carefully. He was of an almost-humanoid race: Jupiter would have mistaken him for a human had he not had the benefit of seeing the collar bound around his neck. Such things weren't used on normal "patients". Obviously alien, then, though what sort Jupiter couldn't guess: after all, he'd had little experience with other races. The typical orange jumper looked highly-saturated on his grayish form, hanging loosely about a form that appeared probably to at least be reasonably healthy, if one didn't take into account the obvious scars and recent bruises that spotted him. Probably a fighter, then. At least he might have some chance of not dying instantly when they got wherever they would go.

It had been a good thirty to sixty seconds since the newcomer had finished his quip, and finally Jupiter decided on a course of action. A deep, deep sound, like a recording of a train with a high-pass filter applied, rumbled out from his carapace. He modulated it into some semblance of laughter, and brought his head down to the humanoid alien's height, adjusting the tube that stretched from the wall to his maw so as not to dislodge it. His head was easily as long as the man, and Jupiter placed it upon the ground so that he could angle one of his eyes to look upward at him. His odd, deep laugh continued as he finally uttered his response.

"That must be it. I think that they probably have psychics who read your mind to figure out what kind of pet to give you if you have especially-good behavior. I wanted nothing, and they appear to have gotten that right, until now. I am uncertain as to what you would consider a trick."

Try as he might, Jupiter couldn't get his deep voice to sound jovial. His lines came out deadpan, flat and uninclined. He finally stopped his "laugh", and turned his head slightly to change his view. Hopefully responding positively to this individual would result in a good relationship, and soon the desire to stomp on him would disappear.

Iraltiphos watched the creature’s reaction with a grin. The longer the awkward silence dragged on, the wider his grin became. By the time the creature responded with his own bit of sarcasm, he began laughing so hard that it was at first silent. Ever since his death sentence, he had given up on caring and if he caused enough trouble to meet his end sooner, it would have been a victory for him. With his collar and restraints, the creature could have easily killed him if he wanted to, but instead he played along. Iralitphos understood now that they needed to both be alive at the end of the battles, or they would both lose. He could tell his partner wanted to get right down to business, and he didn’t know how else to react but to laugh. There truly is a way out of here, he thought. I could have been paired with any one of the dimwits here, but I got the dragon that can speak sarcasm and bullshit.

“Sorry, I uh…,” he began, his laughter subsiding. “A trick. Like, you breathe fire right? Is that what the tube is for? To prevent you from doing that?” he asked, glancing at the wall the tube was coming from. “You see, I punch things,” he said, clanging the chains restricting his hands. “So hard, in fact, that I’m not even allowed to move freely anymore.”

He cleared his throat and looked around the cell awkwardly. He felt like he was waking up from a long dream and still needed to adjust to reality. Maybe there was a catch. Maybe even after they won, they’d be killed like the rest of them. “Fighting is my life,” he said, as though responding to his own hypothetical. “Part of why I’m here is because some lunatic tried to take that away from me, but that’s neither here nor there. How does this crap work? How many do we have to fight and when do we start? How do we know they will fulfill their promise to let us go? What if you get killed in a battle that I won by myself?”

He wasn’t new to relying on others to some degree to get things done, but he knew nothing about this one. Despite the collar, he could still determine how strong he was and wasn’t disappointed, but he valued skill just as much. “My name is Iraltiphos, by the way. I know, unpronounceable. Most just call me Iral anyway.”

Well, that wasn't quite the response that Jupiter had been expecting. He'd figured that things would stay on the same page: this fellow being annoying, and him being complacent. But here they were "sharing" a laugh (though he was unsure what the humanoid was laughing about, as he didn't really understand laughing, anyway; and their laughs hadn't overlapped much, either) and the first response intelligible response that he got was an apology.

Another reminder not to judge so quickly, then. Other creatures weren't always as straightforward as he had a tendency to assume that they would be. This one was obviously one of those; apparently troublemaking was not his sole ability.

Regardless, Jupiter's response seemed to have placed him within his new cellmate's good graces. This was good; that had been what he was aiming for. And they were able to immediately move on from the silliness of pets and whatever other smartness he may have been planning to use, right to the topic at hand. Interesting that he mentioned breathing fire. That seemed to be expected of him from most of those whom he'd met, for reasons that he could not fathom. Had they heard of his exploits in some twisted way? Breathing fire may have had the same results as his real "trick", but why that was the assumption instead of the obvious truth was beyond him. And in this case, it was not a falsehood that he wished to propagate.

"No, I do not breath fire. I breath light. The tube provides me with nutrition without providing me an atmosphere in which I can cause considerable damage to the facilities." He glanced at the bindings on the convict with what was possibly a raised eyebrow, and then returned his vision to his face. "I am glad that you can punch things. I suppose that you should have done so when they were restraining you."

He pulled his giant head away again, stretching one of his wings as much into view as he could in the cramped room. "I fly and think and sleep. Sadly I have been unable to do so in a while now. I am glad, though, that at least one of us is a fighter. We will require your life in the event." He put his wing back down, hoping to have made his point, and settled into a slightly-less uncomfortable position, crouched down over his legs with his wings folded behind him, keeping himself upright by propping his head against the wall over his chained buddy's head.

"If I understand correctly, the event will have us fighting all of the other convicts of this station, possibly others, until we are the only ones left, or until we die. It is a game of theirs. Their people in other stations watch it on the small screens and cheer while convicts kill each other." He had no opinion on the sport himself, except that it was perhaps a bit hypocritical that these creatures placed him in jail for killing their kind, and now wished for him to amuse them with more killing. "I am unsure if we can trust them, though I believe that the people who watch come to like those whom they cheer. Perhaps then these people ensure the safety of the victors?"

He paused to consider the last question. Was it not a bit morbid to ask such a question so soon? "If one part of the team dies, the other must fight on, but cannot win. The final match will be between the last two full teams. Everyone but the victor dies."

He tried out the fellow's name mentally, found it distasteful, and then tried the shortened version that he supplied. That was also no good. "I do not like 'Iral'. May I call you Pho? It is easier that way. I am called Jupiter."

Iral nodded as Jupiter answered his questions, anticipating most of the answers. He was largely disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to reap the rewards of the tournament all by himself. When he was told about the spectators often getting attached to those they cheered for, he grinned. “Oh, they’ll love me,” he commented.

“I do not like ‘Iral’” Jupiter said before telling him his name, which Iral barely paid attention to because his grin immediately faded in response to the other part. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth like an animal about to lash out.

“Hey, hey, don’t get friendly with me,” he replied, speaking quickly and clearly trying to control a temper that was at boiling point, but he failed just a moment later. “I don’t give a fuck what you do or do not like!” he spat with enormous distain. “Your name is ‘Jupiter’, yeah, wow, you really are a fairy, huh? I don’t like that name, though. ‘Tinker Bell’ clearly suits you better. You know what else I don’t like? These chains, this collar, these damn bruises, not being able to use the bathroom when I want, but I still have to deal with that crap, don’t I? I lied when I said most people call me ‘Iral’. I was a soldier, a strategist, an adviser and commander before this. You know who called me ‘Iral’? People I respected, people I was close to. There was literally one person in the whole planet that I took orders from—THAT person called me ‘Iral’. You’re none of those things—you’re less than none of those things. I allowed you to call me something that everybody else had to earn, you ungrateful piece of trash. And what in the hell is ‘Pho’? That sounds like garbage Terrans eat all day and get fat off of. Do I look like something weaklings would eat because it lacks the nutrition to make them half as strong as a bug? Do you eat Terran trash? Is that why it came to mind? ‘I breathe light’ What? You blind people? Is that how you got here—you blinded somebody too much? I bet you were somebody’s jester. I bet somebody would snap their fingers and you would blind somebody that person didn’t like on command, and one day you just misunderstood a command like the trash you are and were sent here because you entire planet is full of stuck-up, spoiled weaklings who never had a reason in their lives to earn anything because they were born with it and when they don’t like something they had the option to simply do what was more comfortable for them instead learning or adjusting, like learning how to pronounce A FUCKING NAME!” Iral yelled at the top of his lungs. By now his over-the-top tirade had caught the attention of any other convicts that could hear it. Some looked on in shock or confusion. Some laughed.

“Iral,” he said, with a fake smile and a fake pleasant tone. “Iral. Just try it. Practice makes perfect, buddy. I called you buddy just now ironically. I actually don’t like you.”

Well that was quite the response to something so simple. Jupiter's expression stayed nearly the same the whole time, though he did shift again to move his head right in front of "Iral"s, widening his gaping maw. This fellow was going on and on about something to eat and trying to be loud or something. Well, Jupiter did not actually have to put up with that.

"Do you eat Terran trash? Is that-"

Suddenly Jupiter, and Iral himself, couldn't hear Iral over the tremendous noise that knocked Iral back against the wall with the pressure of a great wind. Alarms went off somewhere nearby, though no one could hear them over Jupiter's noise. It was low at first, a bassy mix that throbbed so slow and powerfully that Iral could feel the waves breaking against him, but soon the pitch rose to more understandable ranges and what it gained in frequency it also gained in volume. Standing right next to the trumpet from which the noise came, it sounded to Iral like the sound of a hundred trains in a tunnel, pounding through his ears and brain until he finished his rant and, a few moments later, Jupiter closed his maw and stopped his own noise.

Jupiter moved his head away again, and Iral responded by laughing his fool head off. Maybe the sound had knocked something loose, or maybe Iral responded to fear with hilarity, or maybe the translator had managed to pick up when Jupiter was saying, but regardless, he was laughing. That was certainly better than talking about food in Jupiter's book. Too bad it would take a while for him to get ahold of himself, and Jupiter didn't feel like interrupting again.

"I am sorry," Jupiter explained as Iral finally stopped cackling, "but you were going on about food and I was suddenly struck by the desire to call for a mate. I did not catch what it is that you were trying to say."

At first, Iral just kept talking, wanting to finish his tirade and viewing his stopping as being defeated, but after a few moments he simply couldn’t hear himself talking anymore. Jupiter wasn’t saying any words. It was just noise that rendered him completely unable of hearing anything else. People back home would not believe this, he thought to himself as he started laughing his heart out again, despite being unable to hear his own laughter. Although the noise finally stopped, he still couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears for a while, but he managed to say “What the hell was that?!” though he was unsure if he said any of the words correctly.

Jupiter apologized and explained that talking about food gave him an uncontrollable desire to call for a mate. Iral’s grinned widened as he stared at him in disbelief. He considered that maybe he was being sarcastic again, but he believed him. He started laughing. “That’s insane!” he said between laughs, his hearing returning to him and noticing that the noise caused an alarm to go off. “So what’s happening now? Are all the girls invading the station to have you? Why didn’t you think of that sooner?” he said, looking at the hallway that was painted with blinking red emergency lights.

“I was saying…” he continued, his grin disappearing. “That my name is Iral and that’s what you’re going to call me otherwise we’re going to have a hard time getting things done. Understand? The only other thing you can call me by is ‘Master’, if that’s preferable.”

"As far as I know there are no mates within hearing distance. I have not made my desires plain because I do not wish for our captors to try to find me a suitable mate. I am sure that they would choose poorly." Jupiter put his head back up on the wall so he could stop trying to balance solely with his legs, and resumed looking down on his partner. Sadly the jovial atmosphere that their shouting match had created quickly disappeared as the returned to the matter of names. Jupiter let out a disgruntled noise that the translator translated as the literal word "Sigh."

"May we still discuss this? I do not wish to avoid calling you 'Iral' to disrespect you in any manner. I do not wish to call you Pho because I think that you are a food staple lacking in nutrition. Rather, how may I say this politely, I have the same concerns at heart as you do. If I pronounce your name in the same way as you do, I fear that your translator will translate it in a disparaging manner. You see, the name you wish to be called is a word in my language which references the particularly-fluid waste of space whales. So if I say 'Iral' in the way that you do: space whale diarrhea, like that, then it probably does not sound to you in the way that you wish for it to. If that is still how you wish to be referenced, though, I am perfectly capable of doing so."

After a moment of letting that sink in, but before Iral could come up with a response, Jupiter remembered the other point that he had wished to address of the parts that he'd heard of the rant. "If you wish to call me 'Tinker Bell' that is quite alright with me. 'Jupiter' is not my name, it is just what they have called me, after their name for my home planet. 'Tinker Bell' works just as well for me, but the translator has a hard time turning The One who Dances Beneath the Starry Sky in a Display of Affection Most Handsome into one word when other races try to address me. It is easier for everyone if I'm called something else."

"My name translates to space whale diarrhea," Iral said, half laughing with his head leaning back so that he was staring at the ceiling. "Wonderful," he continued, as though speaking to a higher being. He began to cringe upon hearing what the literal translation to his name was. "The one who dances beneath the...man I've never heard of a girlier name. Maybe 'Tinker Bell' would suit you," he said with a sigh. He despised the fact that Jupiter changed his name to conform, but with the problem of not speaking the same language and a translator that butchers names, there wasn't all that much anybody could do. Surely he wasn't going to learn his language or him learn his. None of this even matters: space whales exist and my name translates to refer to their feces, Iral thought, as though he had come to a devastating revelation.

"No, man, what's your problem? You don't want to be called 'Tinker Bell'. We refer to people in that way because we think they're cowards. Why are you so quick to change your name?" he said in frustration. He sighed again. "There's no way to change the settings on that crap to make it so that it ignores our names? Names have meaning, but you're not supposed to translate them. They're... they're names. They transcend language. Don't your kind take any pride in their names? Do you not live with those names for the rest of your lives? Where I'm from, no two people have the same name on the entire planet. This is not to say that we all think we're special, it is just accepting the fact that no two beings are the same, no matter the circumstances. My people are extremely in-tune with our life energy and we all inherit the ability to detect and feel the presence of others. No two presences are the same. And when a new presence is born and their parents feel it for the first time, they spend a lot of time giving that presence a name. Most of us derive names from our ancient language that was abandoned over the course of our evolution. 'Iral' is derived from a word that used to mean 'distant'. 'Phos' from a name that used to mean 'promise'." Iral shrugged. "Who knows? But that's my name. I don't know why I just told you all that. Wait, yes I do. I asked you your name and you told me something that some cunts call you that you decided to roll with. Then you want to let me call you 'Tinker Bell'. Do your people even refer to your planet as 'Jupiter'? Do you know who Jupiter actually is? He's a fictional character some ancient people of Terrans, called Romans, invented because they didn't understand why their planet fucking rains. And do you know who Romans are? A bunch of idiots and cowards. They fought with sticks and stones so that they could get more sticks and stones. And they had the audacity to name your planet when they couldn't ever hope of getting to or living on. If you can remove or turn off that damn translator for two seconds then allow me to hear your real name because I'm not fighting with somebody I don't know."

Jupiter listened to his rant this time, much more placidly than he had before. He wasn't getting yelled at with a tiny noise this time, so everything was alright in his book. And the story of the origins of his companion's name were interesting enough. Of course then things turned back around and they were back to lambasting him, this time apparently because he was just too nice in accepting nicknames. And here he thought he was being helpful in not requireing people to pronounce his name.

"Fine." Jupiter brought down one of his awkward forelimbs to right in front of Iral's face. "Do not move too much please. If you were not handcuffed, you could do this yourself. But seeing as you are..." He carefully poked his large claw into the device behind Iral's ear, and after a few seconds managed to press the off button on it. The green light died away with the almost-unnoticeable hissing that the device had been feeding Iral's ear, and Jupiter cleared his throat.

It's amazing the variety of sound that such a creature can make. One moment he was rivalling the noise of a warp drive, and then here he was, warbling away some hauntingly siren-like sound which he accompanied with strange tinkling noises from his whale-like teeth. The sound melodiously floated along until he let it fade away, and then he poked around at the translator for a few more moments and managed to turn it back on.

"That was my name. It is a phrase from an ancient song. While it is pleasant to hear, to hear others mangle it is not only an insult to my hearing, but also to my culture. I would rather you just use words that we can both understand."

Iraltiphos listened intently as Jupiter told him his name in his native tongue, which took Iral completely by surprise, as it was simply a series of sounds that was almost like music. Naturally, it would have been impossible for him to pronounce. It just wasn't practical. He was a tad disappointed and felt as though he should have been prepared for that to happen, but he had spent his entire life without any contact with creatures from other planets until he had been sent to this prison. He had no conception of what language was like on other planets. Although his facial expression remained in the seemingly permanent grimace that was generally the default, he was somewhat moved and appreciated that he revealed his true name, despite knowing that he'd never be able to address him in that way.

Jupiter motioned to turn the translator back on and Iral's eyes darted from his monstrous claws to his face, clearly unaccustomed to and disapproving of being touched, but after all the beatings his received so far, he was at least numb to it by now. The creature explained his reasoning for insisting on being called Jupiter and Iral respected it. "Jupiter it is," he replied flatly. "I suppose it won't matter right? After we're out of here. You'll return to your planet and never have to be called Jupiter again," he continued. For the first time in the prison he felt at ease and with a clear head. He felt nothing but rage since sometime before arriving to the prison and was rendered incapable of speaking for days before meeting Jupiter. Most of that was released now and he could clearly see that this creature was more than willing to cooperate, despite the trouble he had given him so far. He was willing to bet nobody else in the entire prison would have been so forgiving or tolerant. Even on his home planet most people hated him. They would all say his ego was too big. And they'd all be correct.

"Well, for the same reason I don't want to be called 'Phos'," he said after several moments of silence, being half genuine and half wanting to continue being hard to work with as was his nature. "Let's be fair. I call you by your planet and you call me by mine. Does 'Vulban' mean something ridiculous that I need to know about?" He continued to think about all the possible prisoners he could have been paired with and still couldn't understand why Jupiter was so particularly tolerant in an environment that was made to break jerks like Iral. "So what in the world did you do to get in here? Maybe you're vicious compared to the rest of your kind, but you don't seem like the type to commit crimes that are worthy of a high security prison such as this one."

"Hopefully so, though I am unsure as to the situation in my home." Jupiter's maw bent into something disapproving and perhaps worried. A lot could have happened in the Terran year it had been since he was apprehended.

Thankfully, 'Vulban' wasn't anything that the translator would pick up. It was close to 'voelbane', a particularly nasty parasitic creature that had once been a scourge for his race, but that wasn't what he was being asked to call this fellow, so as long as he was careful in his pronunciation, things should be alright. "Vulban is not a word within my vocabulary, so I assume that the translator should not interfere with that." Jupiter nodded to indicate that he would use that name now that they had agreed upon something.

But then it was back to business, of course. What had caused them to bring him here for a year and sentence him to death? Well, it was a long story, but he had been asked for it, and since he was also curious why Vulban was here (and maybe knowing would give him some more insight into what partnership they could arrange), he began to oblige him.

"I am not particularly vicious for my kind. But, my people are not abundant like the humanoid races. We mate when we meet and enjoy the company of one another, but we are spread thin on a large planet, so such meetings are few. Ancient wisdom warns against living too close to each other, and we are often not especially kind to one another when we do."

"This makes us a sparse people, with great loyalty to those whom we love. It is said that there is one, and only one, for each person; and I have seen this to be true. Regardless, my One and I had found each other, and were raising a child. This was some three Terran years ago, now; one day a pair of Terran research vessels invaded my territory, and it was my duty to protect my family. I attempted to ward them off, but the vessels took interest in me instead of leaving, and so I was required to, as it is said, use force. I'm told that I killed more than four hundred that day: the two ships, no longer capable of flight with their hulls breached by my light, plummeted into the planet. Reinforcements arrived, and I once more defended my territory. It took them three years to bring a ship large enough to withstand my assault: I hear that they designed special armor with which to outfit this ship."

"You see, my territory apparently contains a deposit of very expensive materials, and Terrans are a very greedy sort of creature. They dashed thousands upon my fury for the sake of whatever it was that they believed they needed. I believe they only captured me for sadistic reasons, or possibly in the hopes of training or observing me. Sadly for them, I am much more intelligent than a tameable beast, and they have observed me for long enough, and so now my time is coming to an end."

"I... still do not know what happened of my family. As much as I hope that when we escape, I will have One to return to and a glorious daughter to teach and enjoy, I am uncertain what the Terrans would have done to them. I only hope that they fled and allowed the conquerors access to whatever we had which was so important."

"Four hundred?" Iral repeated in disbelief. "In one day? Unreal. I almost want to say it's impressive, but even I have some decency, which may come as a surprise to you. Not that I feel any sympathy for those dead, it's just a lot of blood to spill over nothing. I'm amazed that they even returned after losses like that, but I suppose greed knows no bounds and Terrans were never known for their intellect anyhow," he continued, with the number still in his head and trying to picture that many people dying in a single day. He almost wanted to call him a liar because of how ridiculous it sounded, but he's seen enough of Jupiter's behavior to know that he wasn't exaggerating. "Four hundred," he said again. "I probably won't have a kill count of half that in my entire life. I wouldn't be proud of it either way. I enjoy fighting-- the killing is just an annoying side effect. Unless I want them dead, of course. And there are a lot I want dead."

Jupiter went on to say that he doesn't know what ever became of his family since his being captured and Iral shook his head in a way that indicated that he understood what it was like. "So you're here for defending yourself. That makes sense," he said, knowing that it was his turn to tell him why he was there as courtesy, even though he didn't ask. He stared at the ground for a bit and grunted, unable to figure out where to start or how much to say. Iral was there ultimately because he met defeat and he wasn't accustomed to experiencing it, especially in the manner that he did. "Well... unlike me, a lot of my people have powers that involve using their minds. They have waged war among each other since Vulban's inception and after a while they got really damn good at it. This isn't unique to other planets, but when you have an entire planet of people who are excellent in using abilities based on the will of their own minds, warfare becomes much more complicated than being stronger than the other person. For the record, warfare didn't bother me. I was born in it and I thrived in it. But it bothered many other people, so somehow the idea that we could collectively surrender the content of our minds to a single source in order to prevent war from ever occurring again caught traction.

I didn't want that and anybody with a brain didn't want it, but those that wanted it outnumbered the ones who didn't, so all those against it were forced into hiding. There were many resistance organizations that formed, but for a long time none were worthy of having me be a part of, so I wandered alone and caused trouble to the best of my ability to prevent the plan from ever coming to fruition. Eventually, I heard about an organization that might be worth looking into. They were led by an 18 year old girl who was more powerful and talented than anyone I had ever met. She was clearly a prodigy and I respected her for that, so I joined. Talented or not, she was still young and inexperienced, so I acted as an adviser and essentially a second-in-command. We succeeded in countless operations and did plenty of good. However, one day we didn't. She got herself killed and I wasn't anywhere near to do anything to prevent it. I was took command and I was more angry than I ever remember being. So I led a small group of soldiers to the headquarters of some of our top adversaries," Iral paused and looked as though he wanted to punch somebody in the mouth. "And it was a bad idea. We fucked up. I fucked up. I was acting on rage and it got my men killed and myself captured. They hated me so much that they would rather have me tortured in this prison than have me killed on the spot to make sure I wouldn't stop them from turning the entire planet into a dictatorship."

Iral released a long, frustrated sigh and looked Jupiter right in the eyes. "So that's my story. I don't belong here. As we speak, the freedom of my people are being taken away and they don't even care. And, more importantly, somebody needs to be avenged. I can't wait to see the look on their faces to see me back on Vulban. The sooner the better."

Jupiter listened solemnly, nodding along as if he shared Vulban's distress. The concepts of leadership and dictatorship and dystopia would have been entirely foreign to him a year ago, but now he understood some of them, to some extent. The prison had a chain of command, and he'd heard some of the guards griping about it. the especially-loud ones didn't last very long. He'd even had his own taste of war, since that was what his crimes had been described as: war crimes of killing civilians. He still found it curious that one could be tried under laws that he did not have a reference to understand, but the whole thing had been a sham, anyway: just a legal hurdle for those who wanted his homestead, which he was informed would be taken from him to help pay for his crimes.

Still, though, these things were largely over his head: translated into odd unintelligible explanations or left raw for him to try to understand in that way. Warfare was to him the fighting of many battles, surrender the flagging of old age. Much of what Vulban said made little sense, but Jupiter hoped that he had gleaned the main points. Better to be sure, though; for all he knew, those words changed the entire meaning of the story.

"Your loved one is dead, and you wish to avenge her. Your people are losing their things, and you wish to protect it." He brought his head down again; it was unfortunate that his comrade was attached to the wall where he was, as that was normally where Jupiter would place his neck if he were to sit in one position for a long time, and all of this uncomfortable movement was making him a bit sore. "This does not make sense to me, though. Is not your loved one dead? You should mourn her. Did not your people send you here? Then it seems folly to return to them to protect them." Not that he had a better suggestion, and he realized that maybe he was being obtuse and insensitive, but he also didn't want to see this fellow return here if he were to once escape, and that seemed the logical conclusion of his actions. What good was fighting for someone who was dead? "Or do they still have your loved one's body? Or can your race be resuscitated?" It made sense if that were true, because at least he would get something from his fighting. But if not, how would anyone benefit from avenging a dead person?

"Regardless, I shall do all in my power to buy your freedom. I hope you will not waste it. Surely my wife and child would like to meet you."

"I didn't love her," Iral immediately retorted. "She was extremely talented for her age and demonstrated tremendous potential. And all that potential went to waste," he said, clenching his fists. Jupiter questioned his logic in wanting to return to Vulban along with his resolve for vengeance, which struck him as surprising coming from someone who had killed 400 in a day, but then again one should not overlook his sensitivity. "I do not blame you for your skepticism, but before arriving here, I had no idea who or what existed outside of my planet. All I knew was that somebody brought an end to someone I deeply respected and that the entire planet was about to become a police state. The one who killed her deserves to die and nobody deserves to have their freedom taken away from them. Well, that's not entirely true, but I was born there and I won't see it go to trash without a fight. It's not important that the population is aware of or even appreciates my efforts. It just needs to be done," he explained.

"The benefit is that the person who killed her will be dead," Iral said with a shrug. "Sorry if that doesn't satisfy, but that's really all there is to it. I'm not interested in bringing her back and I have no idea if that's even possible. Her time had come. It's absurd that somebody with so much talent should die so early, but mistakes were made and people died for them. If somebody can make her time come earlier than intended, then I will make their time come early too. I want them to know that killing the wrong people comes with its consequences," he explained, understanding that his logic was going in circles, but vengeance was never meant to be a logical concept and is cyclical in nature. He could feel his anger rising again, thinking about her death and who could have possibly killed her. Probably a nobody, he thought, which angered him more. He tried to put it passed him, to prevent making mistakes like the ones that got him in prison in the first place, but he couldn't help but be irrational when it came to her death. It just wasn't fair, he concluded, and people needed to die for it.

Iral wasn't sure what to make of Jupiter's declaration of doing his best to earn his freedom. It was within his own best interest, of course, but he made it sound so personal. "I certainly won't waste it. When I get back to my planet...," he snickered at the thought. "I'm going to bring them hell. As for your family... indeed. If there's time. There's a lot of work to be done."

It still made little sense to him, but Jupiter wasn’t in a mood to argue with Vulban on the subject. He’d half expected for him to explode at the mention of Jupiter’s confusion, and it made no sense to push his luck, especially since Vulban seemed quite set on his purpose.

Regardless, there were more constructive things for them to do with their time than argue about what they’d do once they had won. After all, they had to win first. And to do so, they would need a plan.

He was at a disadvantage, as he saw it. Were they on his home planet, he would be at the top of the food chain, but the sad circumstances were that they were not. No, here the atmosphere was thin and empty, devoid of both the nutrients that he needed to survive and the elements that his throat could ignite into light. That was the whole reason for the tube: it constantly pumped the nutrients of his home planet into him without giving him a favorable atmosphere. The Terrans had become smart when it came to his weapons.

That left him with only his huge frame to commend himself to battle. Surely it was nothing to take for granted: his large wings gave him a huge reach and his natural armor gave him near invulnerability to the weapons that he had experienced so far. His physiology even gave him an advantage should they end up in a situation with no air or a poisonous gas: his race was a space-faring one, and as such had evolved beyond the need for respiration as most of their enemies would almost undoubtedly still require. He still had to be careful not to inhale too much of a poison to avoid eating it, but he doubted that they would be facing any such threat, anyway.

However, Vulban’s powers were still a mystery to him. He had said that he specialized in punching things, but that told Jupiter little of their potential. Was Vulban’s a strong race? How would he fair against the more-common ones that they would face? And where would his weaknesses be, so that they could plan around them?

“I think that it is time for us to discuss the competition,” he said solemnly. “We must know each other’s strengths and weaknesses if we hope to survive to get your revenge.”

"Strengths, well, I have plenty of those," Iral said quickly, eager to talk about them. "Like the rest of my people, I was born with a higher amount of spirit energy than most humanoid species, which is fundamental to our strength. I've trained long and hard to increase my energy, which allows me to multiply my physical capacity several times. So, when I say I punch things, I mean to punch them hard. Kicks too. I can jump high and move fast. On Vulban I was well known and feared for what they called the Death Grip," he explained, clenching and unclenching his right hand, playfully. "Because if I got my hands on you, I wouldn't let go and nobody I've ever grabbed had the brute strength to escape. So, if I wanted you dead, you'd die. That's the Death Grip guarantee.

"As for weaknesses...," he thought, his eyes rising to the ceiling. "I don't know, I don't really have any," he mumbled, clearly never having had to think much about it in his life. "My primary concern has always been if somebody were physically stronger than me. If they were, which is rare, then I usually had the brains to out smart them. The main thing my enemies tried to do when they fought me was to keep their distance or attempt to control me via telekinesis, which my people are very fond of. That's certainly something I can only counter through the element of surprise, but I have plenty of experience with dealing with it. You can do that right? If we fight someone with telekinesis just distract them or something and I'll take care of it," he explained dismissively.

And then something suddenly struck him-- his most deadly weakness which could render him completely useless if somebody could execute it. Nobody here would know that, Iral thought with confidence, but he didn't know if he wanted to reveal that to Jupiter. In fact, he knew he didn't. They were required to be on a team, but that didn't mean he trusted him yet in case the situation changed. Striking very precise parts of his body could temporarily disrupt the flow of energy through his body, depending on where the blow landed. For instance, there is a pressure point close to his deltoid muscle. If struck there hard enough, he'd be unable to channel energy to the corresponding arm and deal the same devastating force he is known for. If he's struck there even harder, he may be unable to use that arm at all. Everyone on his planet had the same pressure points, so they were all trained on how to both exploit them and protect them, but where everybody was the same in that sense, Iral was never worried because his people feared ever getting within arm's reach of him. In order for the blows to be successful, they usually needed to be administered physically, but he didn't know what to expect here or how much anybody knew.

"Yeah, I think that pretty much covers it," he concluded. "As long as I can get close, we shouldn't have a problem."

Jupiter was mildly skeptical about Vulban’s little advertisement. Death Grip guarantee? Not only did it seem hilariously odd to bill his abilities like that, but the massive creature simply couldn’t see how it could even be true. Vulban was so small, after all; as strong as he might be, and as unclenching as his Death Grip may be, to Jupiter he just looked like a grandstanding ant.

“If that is so, perhaps you should keep your hands off of me. I do not wish for us to become inseparable due to your odd disfunction.” Jupiter did his best attempt at a smile to show that he was merely speaking in jest, but it probably looked more like yet another glare to Vulban.

“I shall attempt to provide suitable distraction should we encounter any-“ he continued, but paused for a moment as the lights in the room finally turned off, and the security guards began their last sweep before the change of shift. Ah, it was time for his favorite part of the day, apparently. Sleeping time. But first, he should at least finish his sentence.

“I will provide a distraction for anyone with ‘telekinesis.’” It didn’t translate to anything in his language, but he was certain that he could manage; he needed only to distract everyone, and he would have kept his word. And distracting people was not very difficult for someone of his size.

That was quite enough putting off sleep, though. Now that the lights were no longer blazing down upon him, he was quite ready for his eight hours of rest. More would have been nice, but such luxuries had not been afforded him for a whole year, and it was unlikely that better treatment would begin now.

Sadly, there was a certain someone chained to the wall where he wanted to put his neck; and try as he might, there was no getting comfortable any other way in this tiny, cramped space. He shuffled about for a few awkward minutes until he had decided that something simply had to be done, or else he would get no sleep whatsoever.

“Excuse me, I hope you do not mind, but you are chained to the wall in a particularly cumbersome spot. Would you mind muchly were I to move you to the bed?” He gestured toward the small cot in the dim light streaming through the door, hoping that his ally was not so attached to that section of plaster and concrete as to refuse him.