Banto’s hand still clutched the laminated ‘Equestrian Riding License,’ its galloping silhouette mocking him from the glossy cardstock. Nisra’s eyes, clear and unclouded, held a hopeful glint that tightened his chest with a pressure far worse than any monster bite. Captain Vorlag, however, remained a stoic monolith, thermal rifle still leveled. The scent of crushed lilies hung cold between them. “Fine,” Banto said, his voice cracking like a dried twig. He straightened his shoulders, pulling on a resolve he hadn’t known he possessed. “You want proof of domestication? You’ll get it.” [Excellent! Demonstrating responsible pet ownership is key to a harmonious urban ecosystem! Summoning your Luxury Sedan!] The System’s chipper declaration echoed in his ears, a stark contrast to the grim tension in the room. A low rumble vibrated through the mall’s polished floor, growing steadily louder. It sounded less like a car engine and more like a tectonic plate shifting. Outside the shattered storefront, the central concourse was suddenly dominated by a colossal shadow. The two-ton insect, his ‘Luxury Sedan’ named Big Blue, lumbered through the main entrance, its iridescent chitin shell reflecting neon tubing in oily greens and purples. Its mandibles clicked with a deep, sonorous hum, and its horn, usually a weapon, now sported a slightly chipped ‘Mall Security Armored Vehicle’ sticker. It nudged a decorative fountain with its massive head, sending a spray of water across the tiles, then settled, patiently, like a colossal, misunderstood family pet. “Get that… *thing* out of here!” the squad leader barked, momentarily forgetting his tactical training in favor of pure exasperation. His thermal rifle wavered, pointing vaguely at Big Blue. “This *thing*,” Banto retorted, a flicker of defiance igniting in his gut, “is a registered service animal. And I’m about to prove it.” He bolted from the flower shop, past the stunned assault soldiers, and towards a forgotten foam mat near a display of discounted sportswear. Ripping off the price stickers, he looped discarded luggage straps through the rubber foam, creating a crude, firm saddle. He scaled a jointed leg, hoisting himself onto broad plating. Big Blue rumbled contentedly, bristly hide radiating heat against his trousers. The foam pad shifted, but held. Just then, Chastor strode into the plaza, scowling sourly, trailing an orderly line of trash-imps. Each green imp, no bigger than a housecat, wore a miniature janitor smock complete with mop and pail. Their naturally chaotic energy was reined in by Chastor’s crisp commands. “Single file, you little vermin! Keep those mops moving! I want this floor immaculate! No stray pretzel crumbs!” The imps, previously intent on chucking garbage, now moved with synchronized, wobbly purpose, diligently sweeping imaginary dust from polished quartz. Their chittering was reduced to dutiful murmurs. “Chastor! What in the name of municipal sanitation is this?” Vorlag demanded, his tone strained. Chastor sniffed, tugging his collar. “Commander. These are my… junior cleaning staff. Recently brought up to code. Every last one holds a certification. We’re demonstrating peak operational efficiency.” He nodded up at Banto. “And Silar is merely performing a routine vehicular inspection, operating an eco-friendly transport unit.” Banto, balanced precariously on the shell, exhaled through his teeth. “Alright, Big Blue! Let’s show them what a good boy you are!” He patted the horn base. “Forward march! Gentle!” The creature lumbered forward, six clawed legs stepping with dainty precision, an idling thrum vibrating through its thorax. The containment unit simply lowered their muzzles, baffled. Banto steered with firm knee pressure and quiet clicks, recalling prior manual guidelines for soothing rubs. He could not reach the belly from above, but he patted the shell rhythmically. “First, the main rotunda circuit!” Banto shouted, voice echoing off the glass dome. He guided Big Blue in a wide circle around the central spray, massive claws clicking neatly across wet stone. The scavengers, meanwhile, scrubbed the trail Big Blue left behind, bumping hips with squeaks but holding rank under Chastor’s glare. [Excellent handling! Remember, a well-exercised pet is a happy pet!] “Now for precision handling!” Banto yelled, pointing toward a narrow slot between an artisanal soap cart and a phone-case stall. “Big Blue! Parallel park! Back it in!” He nudged his heels back against the flank plates. The armored titan hesitated, then shifted into reverse. Long black antennae whipped back and forth, gauging clearance. With delicate, calculated steps, Big Blue slotted neatly between the carts, its front horn halting three inches short of a pyramid of lavender bath bombs. The green cleaners scurried in, polishing around its claws. Nisra, leaning on the doorframe near Vorlag, cleared her throat, a soft, dry rasp without a hint of wheeze. She watched Banto, a slight grin touching her mouth. [Flawless execution! Such spatial awareness!] the System chirped. Vorlag stared in total incomprehension. He looked from Banto perched aloft, to Chastor marshaling mops, to the spotless floor. His barrel dropped toward the flagstones. “This… this is… what is this?” “Commerce,” Chastor declared, chin raised. “Applied efficiently. These are bonded, tax-registered service beasts performing core janitorial maintenance. Their efficiency metrics exceed quota. Interfering breaches the metropolitan gig-worker protection statutes.” Banto prodded forward with his heels. The mount glided smoothly out from the gap, rotating to face the armed squad. Banto gave a crisp, somewhat shaky salute. “Any further questions, sir?” Vorlag pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. He let his sling go slack. “Neutralized,” he mumbled, shoulders drooping. “Threat neutralized… by retail bureaucracy. Recall all units. This is way above my grade.” The black rotors outside thudded away from the glass ceiling. Rappel ropes zipped upward. The soldiers packed their gear without speaking, filing into the exit corridors. Chastor watched them clear out, then swatted a broom away from a creature chewing carpet fluff. “Drop that! Straight into the bin, Unit 7!” Banto slumped over the insect's neck ridge, cold sweat pooling along his collar. The pressure in his ribs snapped loose. He had kept everyone breathing. [Congratulations! Mission Accomplished!] [Final Medical Debt Cleared! Enjoy financial freedom!] Suddenly, the System’s chipper voice took on a new, terrifyingly enthusiastic tone. [As a valued System user, you qualify for an Ultimate Reward! Select your apex companion: Apex Dragon or Kraken!] Banto nearly slipped sideways off the shell. A dragon? A kraken? Here in the commercial gallery? His loans had vanished, but his stomach pitched violently. He stared at the empty doorway, then at the luminous pop-up floating across his retinas. He had no earthly idea how he was going to explain that to Nisra.

The Beetle Cavalry