“This one as well?” the pink human rubbed their eyes, somehow tired after their meal.  

“Yes. Post-millennial. All of them,” Denzel replied instantly.

The pink human just stood there, staring at the pile of paintings that Denzel had left on their desk. There were at least a few dozens. Denzel couldn’t figure out if the human confused or overwhelmed or happy: there was no particular scent coming from them. But Denzel knew very well what he felt: desperation. He had spent all morning going through as many boxes as possible: anything that had a lake or a tree on it he had labelled as post-millennial, even though most of these things were drawn hundreds of years before that. There was even a still-life painting of a pear and some grapes inside the pile; Denzel prayed to the Lizards that the pink human wouldn’t get to that one anytime soon.

But the human didn’t seem to be in a hurry. They just stood there, looking at the pile. It didn’t make any sense to Denzel; why wasn’t the human shocked? And then he realized his foolishness: the human wasn’t emitting any emotion because he was as calm as ever.

“Denzel, how is it possible that last night you found the first ever post-millennial art relic, and today every single painting you come across is from that period?”

The pink human turned towards the butterfly and shot him a cold, calculating look. How ironic that this was one of the first emotions Denzel observed in a human. He realized how naïve his approach had been, but there was nothing he could do now. The human was on to him.

“It’s just bad luck, master. I hope you don’t freeze. There were a few Renaissance paintings as well that we can throw in the heater.”

Denzel had labelled Renaissance anything that had a human drawn on it. It was his final attempt to make things right. But he also knew it was probably too late; that the humans were not as easy to trick as he had originally thought. He had underestimated his situation many times, and now he was going to have to pay the price.

The pink human didn’t bother to look at the paintings again. It was clear to both of them how ridiculous this situation was.

“Why?” was the only thing the human said.

Denzel didn’t have an answer to that, even though the question rang loud and clear through his entire spine. He hadn’t even had time to consciously think about it: all he knew was that his instincts had told him to act in the interest of his kind. Or perhaps it was just a simple type of simple self-preservation that had nothing to do with others. Maybe he was doing it for himself. Either way, Denzel had ended up betraying the human government.

“I thought you saw past the nonsense of the Resistance? Denzel, I thought we were on the same side?” the human said and walked over to the paintings. They tossed half of them on the floor and continued searching until they got to the very last one.

“This is the one, isn’t it? What’s written here, Denzel? What does the Resistance know? Is it in the night sky? Or the trees? Where?”

Denzel looked away.

“I refuse to say anything before my supervisor gets here.”

The pink human took out the device from their belt and fired it up.

“Your supervisor? The one who ‘secretly’ works with the Resistance? Pathetic…! Denzel, don’t be stupid. Look me in the eyes, you dirty animal! What’s written on the painting?”

Denzel continued staring at the ground. He had focused all his eye lenses on a single spot in front of his master’s feet. There was a concentrated light beam aimed at his body. It wasn’t going to be a fun experience, but Denzel was going to be damned if he was going to side with someone like that. He didn’t want a complicated life; he didn’t want to make tough choices. There were good things in the human world as well. Why did it have to come to this?

“I refuse to say anything…” Denzel beeped at last. He had made up his mind once and for all.

The pink human made a disgusted sound with his lips and threw the painting of the night sky on the ground.

“You’re useless to us, you simple-minded traitor. And I will be damned if your so-called supervisor ever gets a hold of this painting. Or you. You know the message, don’t you, you stupid insect? I can’t believe this is how you want to end things. What a waste of time you turned out to be…”

The pink human shot their device for the first time since meeting Denzel. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting: was it going to be long and painful, or short and painful, or mildly long and mildly painful? In any case, it was clear how Denzel had pictured his death: painful. The only thing he would have wanted to negotiate was the duration. In the end, Denzel didn’t have a say in the matter.

The pink human watched Denzel’s body drop on the ground. It was so massive that the human had to jump out of its way in the last moment, otherwise they would have gotten crushed. They managed to escape, but their glasses fell and got smashed under Denzel’s enormous legs.

The human went to their phone and dialled a number, once their fingers stopped shaking.

“Commander, the animal is useless. Send someone over to get rid of it. And I’ll need a new pair of glasses. Sure. Just don’t send me pink ones again, they look ridiculous. Yes. Any news from Frank? Excuse me? What do you mean ‘no Swallowtail shipment’? Understood, sir. Yes, they are disgusting, I agree. Thank you.”