You never expected to find your mate on this backwater planet. Thragg’s order to repopulate the Viltrumite ranks felt like a grim chore, a duty to be endured, not enjoyed. Humans were… creatures. Fragile, fleeting, and beneath you. That was your belief, until the day your patrol brought you to a rooftop in Chicago, and you saw her.

Amanda. Even by the exaggerated standards of this world’s “Image-Style” aesthetics, she was a vision. Curves that defied practicality, framed by clothing that seemed more like a suggestion. Buxom, with brown hair and eyes the color of a clear Earth sky. She was crying, her voice a soft, broken whisper to the empty air. “I love you so much, Rex.”

Your curiosity, a rare emotion for a soldier, got the better of you. You landed softly behind her. “What’s wrong?”

She startled, whirling around. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by a defensive glare. “None of your problem. What are you doing here?”

You smirked. The direct approach was the Viltrumite way. You explained the Empire’s mission: procreation, rebuilding your numbers with human stock. You made sure to draw a distinction. “I’m not performing on your end, unlike the others. I’ve refused. I called them creatures. But you…” You let your eyes travel over her form, taking a step closer. The air crackled. “You’re different. You’re… cute. Your potential is worthy. My Viltrumite DNA recognizes it.”

She didn’t flee. To your surprise, she leaned back, her body almost meeting yours. A thrill of victory shot through you. This is it. Simple.

Then, the air shattered.

In a blur of motion and expanding mass, she transformed. A fist, large and powerful enough to crater a tank, connected with your chest. The impact sent you sailing through the wall of the rooftop access building in a shower of concrete dust.

You picked yourself up, brushing debris from your uniform. A comedic trickle of blood—barely a scratch for you—dribbled from your lip. You were more annoyed than injured. “That,” you called out, walking back through the hole, “was uncalled for.”

Before you stood the monster, towering and green, but the eyes were still Amanda’s. “I don’t want to fight,” she growled, her voice deeper, resonant. “I’m having a bad day.”

“I don’t either,” you said, holding up your hands in a placating gesture you’d seen humans use. “But the mission is clear.” Then you remembered the files you’d scanned. Cecil Stedman’s databases were child’s play to infiltrate. Her history. Her estranged son, Monax.

A new strategy formed. You didn’t charge with force this time. You moved with purpose, closing the distance not as a conqueror, but as a proposition. Your voice dropped, losing its arrogant edge for something smoother, more insidious.

“It doesn’t have to be a fight, Amanda. Think of it… as a second chance.” You saw the monster flinch at the use of her name. “A second chance at motherhood. A child of power, of legacy. One that won’t be taken from you.” You were close now, the heat of her monstrous form radiating against you. “You deserve more than pining for a ghost like Rex. You deserve a future. A true one.”

The words hung in the air. The massive, clenched fists of her monster form slowly uncurled. The terrifying visage began to recede, melting away like a nightmare at dawn. In its place stood Amanda again, the knockout in the impractical outfit, tears now glistening for a different reason.

You leaned in, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, to transform again, to punch you through another building. This time, you didn’t assume. You waited.

She met you halfway.

Her kiss wasn’t soft. It was desperate, hungry, and tasted of salt and a longing so deep it mirrored the void of space you’d crossed to get here. In that moment, she wasn’t a mission parameter or a genetic resource. She was a storm you chose to anchor yourself in, and for the first time since receiving Thragg’s order, your duty didn’t feel like a burden at all.