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[tanksthetic]

I know that a lot of the people on the ship come from rougher places than I do, and a lot of you have done some pretty--uhm--dangerous things.

[That isn't the word he wanted to use, but he'd rather not piss off any murderers aboard by using the word "terrible" to describe their actions.]So...I have some questions

Comments

[gunsandhonor]

[The comm is picked up, but the speaker hesitates a moment before saying anything.]

I have.

Why... do you want to know?

[tanksthetic]

[Yeah, like he's gonna just tell someone he doesn't know at all that apparently eight years ahead in his world he kills three people. After being conditioned very carefully to never even hurt one.]

Suffice it to say I'm...curious? I'm about fifteen, sixteen percent cat, I get curious.

[gunsandhonor]

[Another pause.]

You're... sixteen percent... what?

[tanksthetic]

...Cat. Feline. If you're from Earth, the specific breed is Felis Catus Coeruleus, and my human genetics are primarily Russian.

But it's actually more varied than the percentage rate denotes, it's not like there's a whole chunk of my DNA that's feline. It's bits and pieces all over.

[gunsandhonor]

No, I know what a cat is...

Just... how does someone... Why?

[tanksthetic]

[Someday he's gonna get tired of explaining this, but at the moment it's not that annoying.]

I was made in a genetic engineering facility in Detroit in 2043. For science. To make a better companion for humankind. To toy with nature. I don't know the real reason, the engineers were never really honest with us back home.

[gunsandhonor]

...

Hell. I'm... going to need a drink for this. Are you serious?

[tanksthetic]

[SIGH.]

Why does everyone always have to get drunk after hearing about this?

[Gavin's actually kinda the first, but there is far too much proving his existence to new people in all the bars around here.]

Yes, I'm serious. Completely and totally serious. I've got a tail and furry ears and my hair is blue. Sort of.

[There's a beat of silence.]

...But if you think this is hard to swallow you miiiight want to avoid the Arbiter.

[gunsandhonor]

[He can deal with skinwalkers, he can deal with haunted boats, and freaking zombies. But DNA alteration and 30 something years in the future? This is too much.]

... Right. Let's... go back to the original... question.

Arbiter?

[tanksthetic]

The Arbiter's an alien; he's about eight feet tall, covered in armor plating and has mandibles.

[His voice actually brightens at this.]

He's cool.

[They haven't talked in a while and he's still kinda scared of him, but North honestly adores Ripa for reasons unknown. This is making him want to do something with the guy somehow, even if their hobbies don't really match up AT ALL.]

And the original question--you said you've killed someone. Was it for a good reason? What is a good reason?

[gunsandhonor]

I'm... sure he is.

[What the hell. Aliens. What the hell. He can... deal with aliens. Probably.

He's silent for a beat, trying to figure out how best to explain this.]

Yes. It was. If I hadn't done it, someone I care for would be dead. Or the people in the town we live in would be slowly hunted down. Or a serial killer would have shot another cop.

It's the last option, when nothing else is going to stop someone, when you absolutely have to protect someone, above all else.