Neutral Planet – Vanfylion, City Zianllo

Neon bled across wet metal streets, market stalls crackled with holographic smoke, languages collided in the air like static. Every alley pulsed with life—too bright, too loud, too crowded.

Three figures stepped out of a shop and into the chaos.

Yao led the way, hood low over his dark hair. Behind him trailed two silhouettes—Lan and Chen—moving with stiff precision like soldiers trying (and failing) to blend in.

Yao would have wanted to do this quietly: grab supplies, let Xiao chase intel.
But no—Teleopeans didn’t “let” him do anything alone.

Now they were weaving through the alleys like walking distress beacons.

Yao exhaled sharply. “You two need to act like normal people.”

Lan hugged the supply bag to his chest, eyes darting, shoulders tense.

Chen moved like a ceremonial statue come to life—perfect posture, unreadable expression, radiating the exact opposite of subtlety.

“We are acting normal,” Chen said calmly.

“For Teleopeans,” Yao muttered. “Here, you look like runaway nobles with half the galaxy hunting you.”

Lan bristled. “I’m not a noble.”

Before Yao could reply, a surge of bodies pushed through the street. Lanterns flickered overhead, casting the crowd in moving gold and violet.

Lan, being the shortest in the group, vanished into the tide of people straight away.

Then—
Someone bumped into him.

Time snapped.

Lan seized the offender’s wrist. A twist, a pivot—metal boots skidded, and the stranger hit the pavement with a strangled yelp. The whole attack lasted for less than a breath.

Yao froze, jaw hanging. “LAN! You can’t flatten people for brushing past you!”

“He touched me,” Lan said, as if it were self-evident. “That’s a challenge.”

“This planet is ninety percent drunk tourists!” Yao hissed. “You’ll kill someone before dessert!”

Lan released the terrified stranger and brushed imaginary dust off his sleeves, wounded pride all over his face.

“My people have better manners,” he muttered.

“No,” Yao corrected, “your people have combat etiquette.”

Chen nodded solemnly. “Physical contact is invasive.”

Lan pointed. “See? Exactly.”

“You said ‘challenge.’”

“Same thing.”

“It isn’t,” Yao sighed. “Not even close.”

He could practically feel doom gathering over his shoulders—

—and then Chen stopped at a stall.

The vendor, a six-limbed creature with blinking eye-plates, stared at them. “What’ll it be, travelers?”

Chen stepped forward with perfect composure and placed a gold Teleopean royal-credit seal on the counter.

The vendor’s pupils dilated.

Yao’s soul died on the spot.

He lunged between them and slapped his hand over the crest. “NO. Not here. Not EVER.”

Chen blinked. “Is something wrong?”

Lan grabbed his sleeve, speaking under his breath in rapid-fire:
“YOU JUST DROPPED A ROYAL CREST IN A BLACK-MARKET STALL. DO YOU WANT US ABDUCTED? HARVESTED? SOLD?!”

“It is currency,” Chen insisted.

“It is a tracking beacon with monetary features!” Lan hissed.

Yao dumped worthless local chips on the counter, switched to the common tongue and said to the vendor. “These. Take these. Thank you. We’re leaving.”

He dragged both Teleopeans into the crowd before the vendor could recover—thankfully, the entire argument had been in Teleopean, so the vendor probably hadn’t understood a word.

They eventually slipped deeper into the market, lights dimmer, sounds muffled by distance.

Then—

“I require a washroom,” Chen announced.

Yao stopped mid-step, staring up at him as neon glittered off Chen’s refined features. “Can’t you wait until we get back?”

“No.”

Yao deflated. “Fine. This way.”

He led them to a public facility, pointed a few meters ahead. “Go. Quick. We leave the moment you’re done.”

Chen nodded and walked toward the doors—

—and froze.

A wall of glowing symbols spread across the entrance like a shrine of alien taxonomy.
Circles, triangles, spirals, pulsating icons.
Hundreds of them.
Every species, gender class, reproductive caste, and social identity imaginable.

He stared, stunned.

Teleopea didn’t do this.
Single sex.
Universal anatomy.
One restroom.

This was madness.

“How does anyone… interpret this?” Chen murmured.

Lan snorted. “Close your eyes and pick one.”

Yao massaged his temples. “Blue triangle. It’s the closest thing to ‘outwardly male,’ like yours. Just go.”

Chen nodded—sort of.

He stepped toward the blue triangle.

Then drifted slightly to the left and opened a door marked with… something.
A hexagon?
A starburst?
A warning sigil?

Inside—
warm light, soft music, perfumed air.
None of it mattered.
Chen simply entered a stall, closed the door, and finished his business.

Quiet.
Peaceful.
Uneventful.

Until he stepped out.

A single scream shattered the silence.

Then everything broke loose.

A dozen alien occupants shrieked, scrambled up sinks, clung to walls, grabbed cleaning tools like improvised weapons.

“GET OUT!”
“WHO LET A TELEOPEAN IN HERE?!”
“THE HEX ROOM IS OFF-LIMITS!”

Scented foam flew.
A creature bolted out so fast her toiletry bag detonated behind her in a spray of shimmering dust.

Chen reached for the sink—
—and the entire room surged as one furious, multi-limbed organism.
They shoved him out the door with a tidal wave of panic.

He stumbled into the hallway.
The door slammed.
A final, collective scream echoed behind it.

Outside—

Yao and Lan looked at him like he’d returned from a battlefield.

“…What did you do?” Yao asked.

Chen brushed glitter off his chest. “I used the facilities.”

The door burst open behind him with another shriek:

“CALL SECURITY!”

“PERVERT!”

Lan covered his face with both hands. “We are leaving. Now. Before someone scans us.”

Yao already had his hood up. “Move.”

The three slipped into the neon shadows.

Chen muttered, baffled, “The symbols were illogical.”

Lan choked on a laugh. “Chen, we’re a one-gender species. Of course it was illogical.”

Yao didn’t look back. “Next time, you’re holding it.”