I'm Alex, Coach Bounce, my red-and-black suit humming, flux tingling in my palms, heart doing burpees as Fiona's smile flashes in my mind. My bracelet—cheeky glowing bangle—pings as I slot the elder's chip: Mid-Level access Granted. Credits: +10,000. Query: Cosmic VIP badge? "You're loving this, bangle," I chuckle, plasma pistol holstered, glowing blades sheathed, power fist ready, binding rope clipped for our Morph hunt. I'm in the elder's secret Guild room, its sleek white walls pulsing, a nebula swirling like cosmic soup through a massive window.
Fiona's white-and-black suit glows faintly, her flux staff in bow mode, blonde braid catching the starlight. Dmitri looms, orange-and-black suit snug, magma spear retracted, shield folded. "Ten thousand credits and free training? We're set!" I grin, high-fiving Fiona, Dimitry, "Don't spend it all on shiny toys," he grunts, slotting his chip. The elder, metallic skin like cracked starlight, nods from his desk, eyes like twin suns. Varkis, his sleek, dark metal-clad bodyguard, steps forward, armor humming. "Your bracelets now access restricted teleporters and this room," he says, voice sharp via translator. "Tap twice, think 'return,' and you're back where you started."
I test it, tapping my bracelet. Teleport protocol active. Query: Cosmic commute PR? We whoosh back to the Guild dome's restaurant area, landing amid noodle stalls and holo-vendors, aliens slurping neon broth. "Blimey, that's smooth!" I whoop, scanner in hand, its hum sniffing for the Morph's clawed hands. Fiona's staff pulses, her eyes scanning. "Let's nab this shapeshifter." Dmitri's spear glints. "He's not dodging us forever." We search the dome all day—shops, bars, even a sketchy stall selling glowing socks. My scanner buzzes at a hooded alien, but it's just a Grath with bad gloves. "No claws," I sigh. My bracelet pings: Scan negative. Query: Sock fashion penalty? "Cheeky," I mutter, exhausted.
We teleport back to Habitat-382, collapsing outside Units 57–59. "One more go tomorrow," I say, flux fading. "Then we shop for gear—10,000 credits, baby!" Fiona's smirk is pure Dublin fire. "New staff mods, maybe?" Dmitri nods, smirking. "Spear upgrades." My bracelet logs: Plan: Morph hunt, shopping spree. Query: Cosmic retail therapy? We crash in our flats, dreaming of credits and claws.
Day sixty-six, we're up early, focus drinks downed, teleporters humming. We hit habitats near the Morphs' home, accessible with our low-level clearance (pre-chip). First, an aquatic habitat—waterfalls cascading, fish-aliens glaring as we scan. No claws, just soggy boots. My bracelet pings: Environment: Wet. Query: Swim workout logged? Next, a purple crystal jungle, vines sparkling, air thick with glitter. Fiona's arrows nearly zap a crystal beast, but no Morph. Dmitri's shield scatters glitter, earning glares. Then, a green smoke habitat, mist choking our scanners. "This guy's a ghost," I grumble, flux sparking in frustration.
"One more habitat," I say, team nodding. We teleport to a high-tech habitat, home to long, spindly aliens in sleek suits, their city gleaming like a sci-fi holo-flick. Towers pulse, drones hum, and our scanner screams, signal spiking. "He's here!" I tell Fiona and Dmitri, flux flaring, power fist glowing. Fiona's staff shifts to sword mode, eyes sharp. Dmitri's shield ignites with wind, spear ready. My bracelet pings: Signal locked. Query: Shapeshifter showdown badge? I'm Coach Bounce, credits loaded, team tight, and a Morph's claws in my sights, ready to pounce in a galactic game of hide-and-seek.