Banto stared up at the gaping tear in the sheet metal, the sounds of distant shouts and footsteps echoing from below. Chastor, still slumped on the floorboards, pointed a trembling finger at the dark maw. "You heard it. That infernal anteater just chewed its way into the mall's arteries. If the squad’s thermal scanners pick up a two-hundred-pound fur-beast, we’re all going to be... liquidated." His voice was a thin, reedy whine. “It’s not an anteater, Chastor,” Banto corrected, though the distinction felt increasingly academic. “It’s a snout-pig. And it’s probably terrified.” He winced, hearing the frantic scrabbling of claws on metal recede further into the ductwork. “It needs reassurance.” Chastor pushed himself up, dusting off his pristine uniform trousers. “Reassurance? You want to crawl into a filth-choked air shaft to give a monster a pep talk? Banto, for once, say no. Tell it no! Tell me no!” Banto’s throat tightened. He couldn’t. The idea of refusing felt like swallowing a mouthful of sandpaper. His internal compass, warped by years of polite deference, spun wildly, pointing him toward the most inconvenient, most dangerous, most utterly unhinged course of action. "It's scared," Banto mumbled, already scanning for a way up. "I can't just leave it." Before Chastor could protest further, Banto spotted a maintenance ladder propped against the far wall of the abandoned store, easily overlooked in the low light. He dragged it over, the metal clanging against the concrete, and carefully positioned it beneath the mangled vent opening. The hole, jagged with torn metal, looked just wide enough for him to squeeze through. “Alright, I’ll go,” Banto said, gripping the ladder’s rungs. “You… keep them busy. Distract them.” Chastor’s mouth fell open. “Distract them? You want me, a mall head-guard, to distract a heavily armed, black-ops pest-eradication unit from their classified sweep? How, Banto? Do I offer them discount coupons?” “Be a mall cop,” Banto suggested, already halfway up the ladder. “A really, really annoying one.” He pulled himself through the jagged opening, scraping his shoulder on the rusted metal. The inside of the vent was a constricted tunnel of stale air, dust motes dancing in the weak light filtering through distant grates. The smell was a mix of old popcorn, cleaning chemicals, and something vaguely mammalian. [Emergency Objective: Re-establish rapport with Fugitive Cryptid. Thermal signature approaching!] the System’s chipper voice chimed in his head, making him jump, his forehead thudding against the low ceiling of the duct. Banto flinched, then began to crawl, the rough metal grating beneath his hands and knees. The space was tighter than he’d anticipated, forcing him to move in an awkward, hunched shuffle. He could hear the snout-pig’s whimpering growls just ahead, a low vibration humming through the metal. “Hey there, little buddy,” Banto called out, his voice muffled. “It’s okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Just me, Banto. Your… your designated human companion. Remember the belly rubs? Good times, right?” He heard a hesitant shuffle. He paused, freezing on all fours. Below, Chastor cleared his throat with a theatrical flourish. Banto heard his amplified voice boom through the grates into the empty department store, then echo down the main concourse. “Alright, alright, gentlemen! I’m going to need you all to clear this section immediately! This is Obarto Central Mega-Mall property! And frankly, you’re creating a hazard!” Banto almost chuckled, but then the snout-pig whimpered again, a mournful, lost sound. He had to focus. He dug into his pockets. Lint. A few crumbs from a forgotten power bar. And then, a small, sticky packet. Gummy bears. Perfect. “Look what I’ve got, friend!” Banto cooed, shaking the packet. He tore it open, the sugary scent immediately wafting through the dry air. He pushed one gummy bear through the next grate. “Just for you. Nice, chewy. Cherry flavored. Your favorite, I bet.” He heard a sniff, then a gentle snuffle. A rubbery snout, dark and quivering, nudged the gummy bear. Banto slowly pushed another one, then another, creating a sweet, sticky trail. Meanwhile, Chastor’s voice grew louder, more indignant. “Are these weapons OSHA approved? Is that flak vest fire-retardant? I’m going to need to see your permits for… paramilitary maneuvers on commercial property during retail hours! Unacceptable! Think of the liability!” Banto heard the distinct thud of a heavy boot, then a gruff voice. “Sir, we are federal agents. This is a priority one protocol. Stand down.” “Federal agents?!” Chastor shrieked, his voice climbing an octave. “Even federal agents have to abide by the Mall Bylaws and Vendor-Client Agreement Act of 2073! I’ll cite every single one of you for loitering, disturbance of the peace, and… and unauthorized use of tactical rappelling equipment!” Banto crawled on, following the trail of gummy bears, the snout-pig’s snuffles growing closer. He could make out its large, dark eyes now, reflecting the faint light. It looked utterly miserable. “I know, I know,” Banto whispered. “It’s loud out here. But you’re doing so well. Such a good snout-pig. Just a little closer, and we can get you somewhere safe.” He extended a hand, palm up, holding a clump of pocket lint. “For your nest. A little comfort.” The snout-pig hesitated, its whiskers twitching. Then, with a soft chuff, it nudged its snout into his open hand, bristles rasping against his knuckles. Banto gently scratched behind its ears, feeling a rhythmic rumbling start in its throat. He hauled it closer, stroking its flank until its ninety pounds of squirming mass pressed firmly against his chest. [Objective Complete! Fugitive Cryptid successfully contained! Reward: Aura of Febreze!] A soft, floral scent immediately bloomed around Banto, masking the metallic tang of the vent and the animal’s musky odor. It was strangely pleasant, like a freshly laundered meadow. He hugged the snout-pig tighter, relieved. “We’re almost there, pal,” Banto murmured, beginning to turn around in the narrow passage, the snout-pig pressed against his chest. But the combined weight of Banto, the snout-pig, and Chastor’s increasingly frantic attempts to issue a citation for ‘improper footwear on mall premises’ below, proved to be too much for the aged infrastructure. With a sharp screech, the corroded sheet-metal buckled, then ripped away from its supports. A cascade of dust, debris, and splintered plaster rained down as the entire section of the ventilation shaft beneath them gave way. Banto yelled, clutching the snout-pig, as they plunged downward, the air rushing past them. They hit something soft with a violent thud, followed by a shower of petals and the clatter of ceramic pots, landing squarely amidst an explosion of fragrant blossoms. Banto blinked, dust coating his eyelashes. He was lying on a bed of crushed orchids and scattered lilies. The snout-pig, surprisingly unharmed, whimpered softly, its head poking out from under Banto’s arm. Above them, a perfect, man-sized hole gaped in the ceiling. And standing over him, a small brass watering can in her hand, mouth agape, was Nisra. Her voice, a faint gasp, cut through the sudden silence. “Banto? What… what are you doing in my shop?” Then, she let out a series of short, sharp sneezes, one after another, her chest heaving. “And… is that a pig?”

Ventilation Shenanigans