Krueger

Krueger sat on a metal folding chair backstage, his arms crossed over his broad chest, tail coiled tightly around the chair legs. He could hear the auctioneer’s nasally voice droning on through the thin curtain separating him from the main floor, selling off some wolf demi-human to the highest bidder. The whole thing was degrading. Krueger had gone from elite KSK operative to… this. A commodity. A pet to be bought and sold like livestock.

“Scheiße (Shit),” he muttered under his breath, his Austrian accent thick with irritation.

A portly man with a clipboard appeared, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool temperature of the facility. He looked Krueger up and down nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the crocodile demi-human’s size and the reputation that preceded him.

“You’re up next, uh… Krueger,” the man said, stumbling over his words. “Try to look… presentable. And for God’s sake, don’t bite anyone this time.”

Krueger’s lips curled into a sharp-toothed grin beneath his veil, though the handler couldn’t see it. “No promises, mein Freund (my friend).”

The handler paled and quickly scurried away, muttering something about hazard pay.

Through the curtain, Krueger could hear the auctioneer wrapping up the previous sale.

“SOLD! To bidder 347 for forty-five thousand! Congratulations, sir!”

Applause rippled through the crowd. Krueger’s claws flexed against his thighs. He’d killed men in six different countries, survived interrogations, escaped military custody, and now he was waiting backstage like some show dog. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

A younger staff member, barely out of his teens and clearly new, poked his head through the curtain.

“Mr. Krueger? You’re on.”

“It’s just Krueger,” he growled, rising from the chair with fluid grace despite his muscular build. His tail unwound from the chair legs and swayed behind him as he walked, each step deliberate and predatory.

The kid jumped back. Smart.

Krueger pushed through the curtain and stepped onto the raised platform. The auction house was packed, rows of potential buyers, handlers, brokers, all eyeing him like a piece of meat. The lights were even brighter here, making his eyes narrow beneath the veil. He could feel the heat lamps they’d set up, probably to keep him from going lethargic mid-auction. At least they’d thought of that.

He stood at the center of the platform, arms loose at his sides, tail moving in a slow, hypnotic rhythm behind him. Let them look. Let them see what they were getting into.

The auctioneer, a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and an ill-fitting suit, cleared his throat and consulted his tablet.

“Ladies and gentlemen, next we have a truly exceptional specimen! This is a one-of-a-kind crocodile demi-human!” The auctioneer’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Sebastian Krueger here is—” he squinted at the tablet “—forty-five years old—”

“Just forty,” Krueger interrupted flatly, his deep voice cutting through the space like a blade.

The auctioneer blinked, flustered. “Ah, my apologies. Forty years old. Austrian. Five-foot-ten, and let’s see…” He scrolled on the tablet, his brow furrowing. “Hmm… it says ‘yes’ for sex, so I’m not sure whether he’s male or female… guess you’ll have to find out yourself!”

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. Kruger’s eye twitched beneath the veil.

“I’m male, you incompetent Arschloch (asshole),” he snarled, his accent sharpening with irritation.

The auctioneer laughed nervously. “Well, there you have it, folks! Male. And quite vocal, as you can see!” He gestured broadly at Krueger like he was presenting a prize on a game show. “Now, this particular demi-human comes with extensive military training, formerly of the Bundeswehr’s KSK unit, specializing in long-range surveillance and… other tactical operations.”

The way he said ‘other tactical operations’ was loaded with meaning. Everyone here knew what that meant. Everyone knew what Krueger had done, or at least the rumors of what he’d done.

“He’s highly intelligent, combat-ready, and—” the auctioneer lowered his voice conspiratorially “—let’s just say he’s not for the faint of heart. Previous handlers have described him as ‘challenging’ and ‘willful.’ But for the right buyer, someone who can handle a demi-human of this… caliber… well, you’ll have yourself an exceptional asset!”

Krueger’s tail lashed once, a sharp whip-crack of scaled muscle against the platform. Several people in the front row flinched.

“He does that when he’s annoyed,” the auctioneer added helpfully. “Now, let’s talk about his physical attributes. As you can see, Krueger has excellent scales along his extremities and back, beautiful dark green coloring, very rare. Sharp teeth, perfect for… well, various tasks. Strong tail, as demonstrated. And according to his medical file—” the auctioneer’s cheeks reddened slightly “—he’s quite well-endowed, if that matters to potential buyers.”

Krueger’s hands slowly curled into fists. The leather of his gloves creaked. If he could reach the auctioneer from here, he’d wrap his hands around the man’s neck and—

No. That’s what got him here in the first place. He needed to play it cool. Needed to get a handler who wasn’t a complete idiot. Someone who’d give him some freedom, maybe even put his skills to use.

He forced himself to relax marginally, though his posture remained dominant, shoulders back, chin up. Let them see a soldier, not a pet.

“Now, I must mention,” the auctioneer continued, “Krueger does require some specialized care. Being a reptilian demi-human, he’s cold-blooded and needs access to heat sources. He also has a strong affinity for water, loves to hunt, apparently. Fish, small animals, whatever he can catch.” The man chuckled. “Just don’t let him near your koi pond!”

More laughter from the crowd. Krueger’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

“He’ll need regular shedding assistance, plenty of hydration, and, this is important, he does not do well with crowds, cold climates, or confined spaces. So if you’re planning to keep him in a small apartment, this isn’t your demi-human.”

A woman in the third row raised her hand. “What about aggression levels? The file mentioned incidents.”

The auctioneer’s smile became fixed. “Ah, yes. Krueger does have a… history. He’s been known to bite when provoked. There was an incident with a previous handler that required medical attention—”

“Bastard had it coming,” Krueger interjected, his voice a low rumble. “Put his hands where they didn’t belong.”

A murmur went through the crowd. Some looked intrigued. Others looked nervous. Good. Let them be nervous.

The auctioneer cleared his throat again, tugging at his collar. “Yes, well… Krueger requires a firm hand and clear boundaries. He’s not recommended for first-time handlers. But for experienced buyers, particularly those with military or security backgrounds, he offers unparalleled capabilities.”

He gestured to the screen behind them, where a list of Krueger’s specifications appeared:

“As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, this is not your average demi-human. This is a precision instrument, a highly trained operative wrapped in scales and muscle.” The auctioneer spread his arms wide. “Now, shall we start the bidding at… let’s say fifty thousand?”

Silence.

Krueger’s tail went still. His stomach dropped. Scheiße (Shit). Maybe he’d scared them off. Maybe nobody wanted a crocodile demi-human with a bad attitude and a worse reputation.

Then, from the back of the room:

“Fifty thousand.”

Krueger’s head turned slightly, trying to locate the voice through the glare of the lights. He couldn’t make out the bidder, just a silhouette.

The auctioneer perked up immediately. “Excellent! We have fifty thousand! Do I hear fifty-five?”

“Fifty-five,” another voice called from the left side of the room.

“Sixty,” the first bidder countered immediately.

And just like that, the bidding war began. Numbers flew back and forth, sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five. Krueger stood motionless in the center of the platform, his expression unreadable beneath the veil. His tail had resumed its slow, methodical swaying, but inside, his mind was racing.

Who were these people? What did they want with him? Some were probably looking for muscle, protection, a living weapon. Others might want a novelty, a dangerous pet to show off. The thought made his skin crawl beneath his scales.

“One hundred thousand!” someone shouted.

The auctioneer’s eyes gleamed with greed. “One hundred thousand! Do I hear one-oh-five?”