It's day sixty-five on the Arkvault, a seven-mile cosmic circus, and we're D-rank Earthly Ramblers, pumped like pre-workout shakes for our first D-rank quest: nab a shapeshifting Morph who's been pinching trinkets across the ship. I'm Alex, Coach Bounce, my red-and-black suit humming, flux tingling in my palms, heart doing burpees thinking of Fiona's shy grin. I move gripping my plasma pistol, glowing blades, and power fist, binding rope clipped to my belt.
"Ready to catch this cosmic con artist?" I ask, fist-bumping them. Fiona's smirk is all Dublin fire, her eyes lingering. "Let's bag him fast," she says, staff shifting to bow mode. Dmitri's smirk screams he's onto us. "No running, only hunting," he grunts, spear glinting. We got a special scanner from the Guild's armory, a clunky device that hums, sniffing out Morph-specific bio-signs—clawed hands that can't shapeshift, always hidden or gloved. "Like spotting a bad form in the gym," I say, flux sparking. My bracelet logs: Scanner acquired. Query: Claw-spotting PR?
The Guild dome, its red pulse throbbing like a galactic heart. The restaurant and shop area buzzes—aliens slurping neon broth, holo-vendors hawking glowing trinkets, adventurers haggling over plasma mods. We weave through, scanners humming. Fiona's arrows are ready, her eyes scanning. "He's a Morph, 80% mimicry. Could be anyone—except those claws." Dmitri's shield flickers with wind. "I'll flush him out." I sweep my scanner, flux tingling, catching a Vordex with suspiciously bulky gloves. "Nope, just bad fashion," I mutter, moving on. My bracelet pings: Scan negative. Query: Fashion police badge? "Cheeky," I laugh.
A commotion erupts near a stall—aliens shouting, tentacles waving. Varkis, the sleek alien in dark metal, stands amid the chaos, his voice booming via translator: "A shapeshifter attacked me! Fled that way!" The crowd buzzes, pointing. I exchange looks with Fiona, her staff glowing. "That's our guy," I say, sprinting over. "We're tasked to catch the Morph," I tell Varkis, scanner raised. "Lead us to him!" Fiona nods, Dmitri's spear glowing faintly. Varkis's eyes flicker, calculating, then he gestures to a quiet corner behind a holo-sign. "This way," he says, metal fingers brushing his wrist device.
Before I can blink, Varkis taps a button, and whoosh—we're teleported, landing in a sleek, white room, of the Guild's dome, walls pulsing with starlight. "Ambush!" I yell, flux flaring, power fist glowing, blades drawn. Fiona's staff shifts to sword mode, her stance tight. Dmitri's shield ignites with fire, spear poised. The elder, metallic skin like cracked starlight, lounges at a desk, nebula glowing through a massive window. He laughs, a cosmic cackle shaking the room. "Sorry, Ramblers, no attack. Just a… creative invitation." Varkis retracts his stance, bowing low, his armor glinting. "Apologies," he says, voice sharp but sincere. "The elder needed you here, unnoticed."
I lower my fist, flux simmering. "Mate, you can't just zap us like that!" Fiona's staff dims, her glare softening. Dmitri's smirk returns, shield cooling. "Talk fast, old man," he grunts. The elder rises, metallic skin shimmering, eyes like twin suns. "Forgive the deception. It was the only way to meet privately. Hear me out before you swing." He felt sincere. So I nod, glancing at Fiona, her hand brushing mine, sending a spark. "Alright, speak," I say, bracelet pinging: Incident: Elder ambush. Query: Cosmic diplomacy badge? The elder's eyes gleam, ready to drop a bombshell, and I'm Coach Bounce, caught in a galactic game, one shapeshifter short and a mystery deep.