Can you snort tussicaps

Scott Masterson had first met Scarlett at a rooftop party in downtown Dallas. Their age and the time of year were both in late springtime, them in their mid twenties and the date in early May. He had on a sharp yet breezy blazer and she astonished in a thigh length sleeveless blue dress.
“Oh hey Scott I don’t believe you two have met…” his then happily married friend had remarked with a slow swinging open hand toward her.
“Scott Masterson…reluctant friend to this knucklehead” he said with a tight lipped grin, trying not to be so obvious with his instant rapture.
“Scarlett…a pleasure…”
Her hand was so delicate to Scott’s touch. They locked eyes. It was like looking back through centuries of connection, endless days of laying in the sun next to the Seine River, or rising to Hollywood fame in the 1940’s and only having each other who would understand the glory and the pain of it all, or generations of quiet, simple country love that would bear such beautiful, happy children that would go on to raise beautiful, happy children, all with their dark blue eyes. Yes, the memories of every love story since the beginning of time was swirling right there in Scarlett’s irises. Scott had to catch himself before he stared embarrassingly too long.
“Sorry Scottie here doesn’t get out often” his friend quipped, which Scott appreciated actually, it helped him snap back to professionalism.
“Well I don’t either…at least I prefer not to.” Scarlett’s words flowed through the air like a flock of rose petals.
“Hey, kindred spirits.” Scott was really sensing a rising energy out of her, they had barely broken eye contact.
“Well, I’ll let you two have at it, I got a wife around here somewhere. Hey…Scott and Scarlett…not bad, not bad.” His friend exited stage right with a sly chuckle.
“Nice guy…so…what are you drinking, Scarlett?” Scott looked around for the emptiest corner of the rooftop bar, hoping to find a nice place for them to be able to hear each other. This night had just become something.
“That depends, Scott…what do you like?”
Oh man.
Well, as you can expect, the evening blossomed into a beautiful, long winded conversation that etched a long list of similarities between the two. They both lived in the city, had never married, and had dreamed of stable, simpler lives far away from tall buildings and busy streets. The next morning Scott awoke in her arms, which warmed much deeper than just his skin. He could feel her soothing his very identity, his future, everything. Her arms were tailor made to fit his very soul, and he had never felt more safe and at home.
“Mmm…you can stay right here…” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“I will…I will”
They both fell back asleep, into a dream that wouldn’t end upon waking.
Two years passed and suddenly they lived that simple backwoods life, way out where acres of land far out-populated the few and far between people. They took a lovely home, which happily looked over a long backyard, right up to a lively yet mostly undisturbed river. Their only neighbor within a mile was an older ranch worker named Charles, who rarely made himself perceivable. Days were spent way on into town where they both had offices. They didn’t mind the commute. Nights were spent mostly like this night, cuddled outside near a lovely little fire, with a slowly shrinking amount of wine sitting between them. Enjoying their Kingdom. Tonight, however, would prove to be a special night, for many reasons, all unexpected.
“Honey, I’ve been thinking…” Scott began, sitting up and opening his hands to the warmth of the fire.
“Oh?” Scarlett also sat up, eyes widening.
“So look, Scarlett, the last two years have been the best of my life. An absolute dream…”
She held her breath, her focus darting between his eyes and mouth.
“Yeah?”
“We have everything we ever want out here. But…what if there’s more?”
“More?” She had envisioned this very conversation hundreds of times.
“Our dreams have come true, but what if we…made some new dreams?” Scott turned and embedded his eyes into hers. He burst into a big smile.
“Scott…I thought…”
“Nevermind what I said” he cut her off, which he always made a point to never do, but this was a good exception.
“I’m ready, Scarlett…let’s have a family.”
“Ohhhh Scott, oh Scott”
They hugged tight enough to where it hurt.
“Well, in that case, we may need to open another bottle.” She said playfully, bouncing her eyebrows twice.
“Excellent. I’ll be right up. I’ll put this fire out and then start yours up.”
“Oh stop!” She bounded away girlishly, up the snowy back steps and into the house.
Scott let out a big sigh that he could see in the cold air and sat back in his chair, taking in his decision. He really was ready. He had secretly been keeping a long list of names that he liked and that he thought would work in front of Masterson. Especially little girl names. He stared into the campfire flames, getting lost imagining the three of them sitting right here, a little girl resting securely in Scarlett’s arms, as Scott had found himself, and stayed within these past two years.
Suddenly his trance was broken when, from the road in front of their house, came the sound of a vehicle approaching at high speed. Scott snapped his head back toward the house to get a better listen. He could see, around the house and through the trees, a large truck barreling down the country road, its headlights racing and bouncing with intensity. In an instant, it had passed up the road and out of sight.
“Huh?”
Soon, after a moment of silence, another sound echoed into the night. This sound rattled Scott to the bone and tore all that was right in his world into pieces. A sharp, bellowing squeal. His eyes shot over to his neighbors house, which was about a tenth of a mile to his right but still had a couple dim lights on that he could see. The shriek seemed to come from there.
Then, more squeals. It was hellish. More than animal but not quite human. Scott stood up. He heard crashing and tearing and further destruction coming from Charles’ house.
“Scarlett!! Scarlett!” He yelled toward his house, where he looked and could see her silhouette behind the curtains at the kitchen window. She didn’t seem to hear him.
He turned back toward his neighbors. The chaos had gone quiet. Not a half a moment after, though, he heard something big barreling through the trees as fast as that truck had been sprinting. Running, running furiously between the two houses. Searching, hunting. Scott was taken aback so hard that his heel had caught the edge of the fire pit, throwing him down only inches away from severe burns. He had knocked his head in the whiplash, making him groan and take a moment to regain his bearings.
“SCARLETT!!!!”
He screamed out toward his home as he sat up, rubbing a quickly rising bump on the back of his head. He heard a loud breaching on the side of his house. The patio door. No. No. Then, all hell broke loose. Scarlett started wailing and crying and he could hear crashes of plates and glasses and deep guttural roars coming from the kitchen inside. Shadows danced in a frenzy from the curtained windows. Sounds of instinctual survival seemed to be thrown from Scarlett inside. Sounds of defeat. Sounds of agony. Sounds of insanity. Scott sprang to his feet, his equilibrium being more damaged than he realized after his fall. He had to catch his hand on a chair to stabilize himself. Scarlett’s symphony of pain had gone quiet. Soon after something burst back out the patio door again and off in the same direction as that truck before.
Scott struggled back up to the house, slowly climbing the wintered, crunching stairs that led to the patio. He no longer yelled for Scarlett. In fact, the only thing that came to his senses was the sound of his own heavy breathing. Everything else had been turned off, save for a heavy and sudden dread that he had prayed he would never feel. He came to the side of his house where indeed the patio door had been busted and forced open. It laid inside the kitchen, its hinges snapped like toothpicks. Scott, with eyes wide and twitching, slowly entered his home and looked into the kitchen.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t even change his breathing. He didn’t blink. He just got a good long look at what laid before him.
Everything was broken. The fridge was on its side, the door hanging open and food and drink scattered all over the floor. The table was upended, its legs to the ceiling. A chair was resting on the counter, possibly having been thrown in defense. And Scarlett. Oh Scarlett. She…was…everywhere. She was all over the floor. She was sprayed against the walls. She was stuck to the window. She was in the sink.
Scott gently walked through the carnal mess and sabotage of his world. Long ago he had known exactly what he would do if something anywhere near this bad were to happen to him. He politely stumbled through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He opened his closet door and lowered a fire safe from the top rack. He unlocked it with a passcode. 511, after that warm May date when he had first met Scarlett. In the safe was a Sig Sauer P320 handgun. Scott took it out, along with a box of bullets, loaded one into the gun, put the safe back on its rack, and walked out of the closet, sitting on his bed. Their bed. Where they should’ve been laying right at this very moment, working toward a happy future. Where he would’ve kissed her forehead and put a hand on her growing midsection. Where they would have awoken on Christmas morning to the sound of children who were way too excited to remain asleep. Where they would’ve grown old. Where they would’ve smiled at each other through wrinkles, satisfied with all the love they shared and passed on to the next generations. Where they would’ve held each other in deep peace as they finally fell asleep to this world.
“I will…I will”
In one quick motion Scott pulled back the hammer and stuck the barrel of that pistol right up against his Governor and blew himself away, far away, right back into Scarlett’s loving arms.
Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett quickly yet stealthily made his way back to his Uncle’s house. He hugged the sides of the dark country road, keeping his eyes and ears wide open as to notice any sounds pertaining to the event that he had just witnessed there in the field next to the huge blaze. His only thought was Uncle Chuck. His house was right on the warpath of that horrible thing and Smallmouth had to go to him and make sure he was safe. He dared not go back to his truck, which would bring a lot of unwanted attention. No, Smallmouth walked and walked and finally saw the lights of his Uncle’s house. He carefully approached the front door from the shadowed driveway. Suddenly it occurred to Smallmouth that something was very wrong here. The door was busted in, having been plowed through by something very large and very strong.
“No…no…no”
Smallmouth slowly entered the house. The kitchen and living room were a disaster, chairs and tables and bottles strewn about and shattered. Bloody hoof-prints covered the floors, each of them the size of dinner plates. Smallmouth heard no noise. He felt himself well with tears, his nose a faucet that he began to sniff up as he worked his way through to his Uncle’s room, the door there also being broken in. A small whine growing in his throat, Smallmouth peaked into his uncles bedroom.
It was all in tatters. The bed had been attacked and shredded, the mattress being ripped up and thrown about as if it were made of cotton candy. More bloody hoof-prints were painted all over the brown carpet. Smallmouth trembled and put a hand up to his wet face. He didn’t see a way that his Uncle was anywhere near alive, knowing what he knew about the monster that had been in this house.
Smallmouth slowly walked to the living room, to the only little table that had been untouched in the attack. It was almost as if the bottle of whiskey teleported into his hand from the overturned cabinet, unopened. He fixed that real quick.
Soon he was several pulls deep of the only thing in the world that he knew would make him feel better, even if only for a few hours. He found his pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and lit one up, although he was indoors. What did it matter? He sat in a chair that he had turned right side up and set the bottle on the table and looked out the back window into the pitch black. He cried for his Uncle and he cried for the world. He cried for himself. He cried for broken promises and his own weakness. He drank and drank until his vision shook from right to left everywhere he looked. At first he didn’t even notice the figures on the back porch. Then his vibrating focus did pick up on them, but by then it was too late. It was so dark out there but in their outlines he could see they wore long robes and hoods.
“HA!! COME AND GET ME! HAHA!! YOU COME AND YOU GET ME!!” Smallmouth boasted with a delusional amount of courage.
A creak escaped from the kitchen and he drunkenly slung his head over toward it. Three more figures stood there. Or was it just one? Smallmouth was none the wiser. All at once the hooded intruders from both inside and outside began to chant a strange, twisted rhyme in strikingly low and dissonant harmony:
“A sliver…of liver…goes down…with a shiver… …and gives…your gullet…to gall… …but drink…the Cider…that drowns…the Spider… …and you…will be free…of it all… …so tighten the grip…that loosens your lips… …O raise…the bottle…of brown… …and wake tomorrow…to find…in sorrow… …ANOTHER…SPIDER…TO…DROWN”
Smallmouth groaned at them in dissatisfaction and turned his bottle up again and began to chug the whiskey. As he did they repeated the chant except this time it was louder and closer. By the time Smallmouth had finished his bottle he was quickly losing consciousness. This wasn’t just whiskey. As he closed his eyes he felt hands grabbing him from all sides.
Smallmouth pulled open his sticky eyelids. His head felt like someone had bowled a strike into it. Wind froze his face. The smell of sickly, wet iron stung his nostrils. His vantage was higher than usual. Way higher. He was looking out into another field, but from easily ten feet up. He saw an old church, formerly painted white but now a flaky pale-beige. He heard the friction of a quick pull of rope below him, matched with a slight, tight pain at his feet. He looked down. A red-robed figure was fastening him against a wooden structure of some kind. His feet sat on a small flat platform perpendicular to a post that went from the ground up past smallmouths head. He couldn’t move his arms, so he quickly shot his eyes side to side. They were also tied to another horizontal post. A cross. He was being tied to a crude wooden cross. His shirt had been removed, exposing a hairy, overweight belly. Smallmouth tried to speak, but all that came out was a slow, unintelligible grumble. He was still drunk. No, this was more than that. He was under the influence of something strong and absolutely inhibitive. He wallowed again, and took in a deep breath. The smell of iron once again hit his nose. He looked down at himself. He was covered in a thick, red liquid. That wasn’t just the smell of iron. He had been splashed full body with blood.
“Now now, young servant…” the figure at his feet had finished his task and took a couple of steps out to admire his own handiwork.
“Ahh…perfect. The picture of martyrdom. Yes, you will always be remembered, Brother Bassett. You are to be the first Saint of The New Bible.” He opened his arms in his declaration.
Smallmouth looked up into the cold night sky. The moon shown down, giving everything a midnight spotlight. It was a gorgeous waxing gibbous, big and bright but not quite full. Yes, he was in a great big snowy field that housed an old worn down church. From the windows of the church he saw candles glowing, showing dark heads and shoulders looking out to him, also covered in loose hoods, hiding faces. He was hanging on a cross about one hundred feet from the old church. In front of the cross was a partially covered pit, a couple of two by fours supporting double armfuls of branches and dead leaves.
The figure at the base of the cross put his arms back to his side. He was still looking right at the drugged Smallmouth’s dumbstruck face. Even with a veiled mouth you could hear the twisted smile in his voice.
“Tonight you will help us finally defeat this legion, Smallmouth. You see, it may have the evil spirits within it, but at its core, it is still an owned animal. An animal that knows its Master very well. An animal that will remember the smell of its Master. You, my friend, are covered in its Master right now. And you are hanging on a cross, the symbol of this brute’s most hated enemy. But take heart, young Brother. Before you is our pit of spears. Yes you will attract the beast, but our Divine plan will intercept it and the beast will fall and be pierced. And then, oh dear brother, you will forever be immortalized. You will be purified in fire by the hands of your church brethren. Out of your screams and into the smoke the iniquities of all will be released. We will go on to preach your good example and your sainthood forever and ever.”
Smallmouth began to drool and hum pathetically. He could hear and understand the words of the robed man but he couldn’t fight back. His body was useless, limp inside its rope confines. All he could do now is think, and watch, and wait, and dread his fate.
The figure turned away from him, walking over near the pit and gathering up a bundle of brambles and throwing them over the last open area, covering it completely. He then crunched through the snow over to the front door of the old church, groaning open the door. He stood at the dark doorway for a few seconds in silence, and then began to make a noise. An over exaggerated pig squealing noise, high pitched and infuriating. Soon after other voices from inside the church began to do the same, their wailing echoing out of the building and all across the field, loudly signaling, calling out. It may as well have been a dinner bell. Not a half minute after they began the distress signal it was loudly answered by a distant squall. A furious squall.
This was it. Either way it happened Smallmouth was about to die. Experience terror, and then die, and not even have the ability to put up any kind of defense. It wasn’t fair. He just slowly lifted up his head and watched out far into the moonlit, white field. He then raised his heavy head further and took a good gander at the moon and stars for the last time.
“God,” he thought to himself, still having full inner monologue yet no outer motor function, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for being what I am. I am so sorry for ending up in this place. It’s only my own fault. If it wasn’t for me being so stupid and messy and drunk and terrible then this wouldnt be happening to me.”
He began to shed tears that washed lines into the blood on his face.
“Please forgive me God. Please, please, please forgive me for all of my sins. This is it. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!” He yelled inside his own mind, hoping and trying to send his silent words as far up into heaven as they could go.
He lowered his eyes back to the ground. He looked over at the church again. The windows were empty, the candles were extinguished. Those hooded cowards were hiding from their own handmade sacrificial service. All was quiet for a long pause until a much louder, closer bleating began at the edge of the forest not even three hundred feet away from Smallmouth’s glazed over eyes. It was time, and it was too late for a miracle.
Out of the woods, slowly and heavily, stomped the massive hog. As it marched closer and closer Smallmouth could see its white, boiled over eyes and black-burnt skin. Its jaws were flying open and snapping its sharp, pocket knife-sized teeth together in an intimidating “clack”. It was now less than a hundred feet away, the dark old church to its right shoulder. It stopped, its pale glowing eyes fixed right on Smallmouth on the crude cross. It truly was a monster. It stood as tall as a man and as long as a canoe. Around its murderous mouth were stains of red, the remnants of all that it had taken from the world on this unholy night. In its clanging jaws were bits of flesh. It snorted and scowled.
Then, in a fury, it wailed that horrible squeal and started off into a dead sprint. It galloped and galloped toward Smallmouth at a high, blistering speed. It kept yawping and howling as it cut the distance from the cross down to fifty feet, forty feet, thirty, twenty. All at once it passed over the covered pit and plunged in. In his doomed, dead eyed stupor Smallmouth could hear what sounded like paint being dumped from a rooftop onto concrete. Trails of black liquid squirted and splashed up from the pit, which had been uncovered in the fall of the beast. Unbelieving, Smallmouth saw dozens of steel spear tips standing up from the dug-in ground. Right in the middle of them the beast was stuck. The sheer weight of the animal had caused the spears to pierce through its tough skin, sticking out of its back, soaked in black blood. One spear had stabbed right under the hogs chin, passing up through its jaws and out its black snout. It made agonized sounds. It roared and roared and shook the spears inside it, beginning furiously, then growing weaker and weaker within seconds. Finally, it let out one last weak little squeal, before it went still and quiet.
Smallmouth was frozen both physically by drugs and constraints and mentally by shock. His mouth hung open toward the pit of spears, his vision blurry. He took in a deep, troubled breath and let out a moan of disbelief and relief. The old church doors sprang open, and the sound of jubilation within flowed out into the night. The red robed figures flocked out of the building toward the pit, arms raised in celebration. They surrounded the hole, getting a good look at their success and their enemies defeat. Some held additional spears and began further stabbing the dead animal, causing more black blood to be shed up at them. They all yelled loudly and triumphantly. Some danced around the pit. Some skipped over to Smallmouth on the cross and danced around him, slapping his legs and spinning in circles.
Smallmouth looked on at the raucous celebration, both in utter disbelief of their trap actually working and also in turmoil. How long now until they fully execute their plan.
A taller robed man, whose voice matched the same one who spoke to Smallmouth as he tied his feet, spoke up, sounding almost happily intoxicated.
“Ahh yes my Brothers!! It is done!! We have won!!!”
They all whooped and cheered.
“Brother Norman, go into the church and bring me the small tank of fuel. Let us send our dear Saint Bassett to the Holy lands, where he will be adored for all eternity!”
They all clapped and hollered. One figure began childishly skipping away from the pit and over toward the front door of the church.
Then, it happened.
From the pit all of a sudden a great blaze erupted instantly. It stood as tall as the cross, and it burned a furious red and blue. It raged and raged, blinding Smallmouth and making him clumsily turn his face away from the heat.
All of the figures panicked, screaming and scattering away toward the church. They didn’t get far. Up from the fiery pit, dozens of long, long, black arms, adorned with six hooking claws emerged and stretched out of the flames and latched on to the legs of those trying to escape. Smallmouth heard crying and wailing from the men as the black, razor clawed-hands of the legion grabbed them and began pulling them back, into the blazes. One by one the red robed people were dragged into the flames, their clothes catching instantly. Smallmouth could see violently shaking bodies in the evil furnace. Oh, the screams. Above the tortured howling, the sound of laughing broke out. Deep, menacing laughter, hundreds of voices, echoed up into the air from the burning hole. Then, in one extinguishing squeeze, the ground swallowed the entirety of the fiery pit, leaving it completely covered in dirt, still and quiet. Soon after, and just like the pit of spears, the old church building caught in an instant and raging fire, quickly toppling the walls and dropping the steeple into its ruins. The smoke towered high in the night sky, which had just began to hint at a pale morning blue. Smallmouth hung on his cross in utter horror and surprise.
As the late evening hours glowed into early morning the smoke eventually tapered off, as Smallmouth’s drugs finally began to wear off as well. The fires of the church did garner long distance attention, though. Just as Smallmouth was able to regain control of his muscles and voice he heard emergency sirens call out into the cold morning air. Not long after, two fire trucks, an ambulance and a sheriffs truck tore into the field and toward Smallmouth on the cross. Not long after Smallmouth could feel the tied ropes being cut loose by firemen, their uniforms easily the best red clothes he had seen all night.
“What on God’s green Earth happened here son?” A bearded man with a dark hat and brown shirt and pants asked Smallmouth once he had been lowered down from the cross and sat on the ground with a shock blanket around his shoulders. The Sheriff, no doubt.
“God’s green Earth. It really is God’s, isn’t it?” Smallmouth whispered, staring out across the cold field. Then, at the very place he was staring, an old, familiar truck came barreling out of the gravel road in the woods and through the field in the steadily growing morning light. It was Uncle Chuck’s truck. It hurried over toward the other emergency vehicles, parked, the driver’s side door burst open, and Uncle Chuck came bounding out over to Smallmouth, his eyes wide and his mouth a wonderfully shocked “O”.
“JEREMY! JEREMY!!!” He basically fell on Smallmouth in a tight, warm hug. Smallmouth was caught off guard by Chuck using his real name.
His Uncle held him for several seconds and then let up, but kept his hands on Smallmouth’s shoulders.
“I thought you were dead.” Both of them said at almost the exact same time.
“I came back and your house was a mess and there was blood everywhere. I thought you were dead.” Smallmouth weakly spat out.
“Well, I woke up and you were gone, son, so I walked to the ranch to get my truck. I was worried bout ya son. I came back home and the whole place had been turned upside down. Blood on the carpet. I just thought the worst. Then I tried my neighbors house. Buddy, they’re dead. Looks like some wacko murder-suicide if I ever saw one. Scott probably tried to come kill us too and wrecked the place when he found it empty. I don’t know. But what I DO know is that you are right here! You are okay Jeremy!! Ahhh Praise Jesus!!”
“It’s not that, Uncle. That isn’t what happened out here. It’s..it was a..a, uh…”
Smallmouth’s fried brain couldn’t even comprehend what he had witnessed over the past few hours. It was all a violent blur.
“Dont worry bout it son, you can tell me everything on the way to the hospital. We gotta go get you checked out and cleaned up. C’mon.” He helped Smallmouth up and they walked over to the ambulance, his Uncle’s arm thrown around his shoulder.
Smallmouth would be sent home later that afternoon. It would take him and his Uncle a long time to sort through the chaos of that deadly night and rebuild their lives. But life kept on. Smallmouth would remain living with his Uncle, and would begin a job working with him down at the ranch. Together they started to attend a local church. Smallmouth never touched a drink or a drug or even a cigarette ever again, and remained steadfast in his newly revitalized faith.

Location: Defense Line Husky, Datsot-3

POV: Motsotaer, Malgeir Federation Planetary Defense Force (Rank: Pack Member)
The shrieking whistle of incoming artillery shell was among the most terrifying noises known to living beings.
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew. Boom. Boom. Boom.
But it meant you were still alive.
Pack Member Motsotaer wondered if the poor pups in the forward trenches heard them coming as the enemy high explosive pounded into their lines.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
One of their anti-aircraft concrete bunkers took a direct hit; its roof collapsed on itself with a loud crumble.
Grass Eater artillery was voluminous, destructive, but scariest of all, it was incredibly precise. Their intelligence assets in orbit knew all, saw all. Their kill chains were short. Once they saw you, they would call it in, and the remainder of your life was measured in minutes and seconds.
There was nothing vegetarian about the efficient and bloodthirsty way the long-eared Grass Eaters fought, and the numerous intelligent predator species they’d exterminated on their way to Datsot… some of those tales gave even Motsotaer nightmares.
The defenders of Datsot had no choice. No choice but to defend their homes against the psychotic enemies pounding their lines to bits. And the ones who remained had learned the hard lessons of war, either through experience earned by blood or via the process of not-so-natural selection.
Motsotaer clutched his rifle against his chest as he laid in his own shallow hole, eyes closed. If the end was going to come for him, there was nothing else he could do but huddle in his freshly-dug grave.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The blasts continued walking across the defense lines, undoubtedly killing scores of his comrades. But he accompanied each shockwave with a sigh of relief; they let him know that he was still alive. Still breathing.
One final rumble. And then there was silence across the battlefield.
Motsotaer waited a minute before he peeked out — another lesson that smart defenders of Datsot had discovered the hard way. A couple brave medics were already on the move, their shouts left and right, pulling bodies and the groaning injured alike out of the rubble aftermath of the shelling.
With a grunt, he pulled himself out of his hole, rushing towards the neighboring anti-air bunker. The concrete roof had collapsed, but he could still hear cries from the dark. He squeezed through the cluttered entrance.
It was a mess on the inside. The lights were all gone. Scattered sandbags. It smelled like blood and death, and he pushed aside the still body of a Head Pack Leader he only knew of, only to find the corpse of yet another Pack Member, her limbs sprawled in an unnatural position.
“Anyone still alive in here?” he asked in the dark as his eyes adjusted. “Hello?”
There were a series of loud coughs. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“Pack Leader Nidvid!” he shouted as he recognized the familiar shrill voice. “Keep talking! Where are you?”
“Here. I’m here. Help me up.”
As she continued to cough, he had the sense to fish a flashlight out of his pocket, fumbling around until he found the on button. As the light activated, he could see Nidvid half-buried in the dirt, her lower limbs trapped beneath some sand from the broken sandbags.
“Pack Leader!” He got onto his front paws and started digging. “Are you injured?”
“I don’t think so,” she shook her head in the dim lighting as she experimentally wriggled her legs. “Here, I think I’m loose. Help me up.”
Motsotaer grasped her under her arms, and with a heavy grunt, pulled her out of the dirt.
“Whew,” she said, checking her body again for wounds. Nidvid looked around at the other bodies splayed in the bunker. “Oh no… Head Pack Leader…”
“That was a close one. I can’t believe you lived through that!”
“Yeah, me neither… Wait a second,” Nidvid said as she began rummaging through a pile of rubble near the Head Pack Leader’s body. “The radio…”
“What are you looking for?” he asked as he aimed his flashlight towards where she was looking.
“Oh no, no, no…” her voice trailed off as she picked up the device she’d been looking for. “Our hardline communicator…” It was clearly broken from the strike, its shell perforated with a hundred holes and its connection to the landline severed. In disgust, Nidvid threw it back to the ground.
“What uh— what did you need that for?” Motsotaer asked. “Were we supposed to tell them we were being attacked?”
“No… It was— before the strike, we got a high priority order.”
“A high priority order?”
Nidvid recalled, “There’s a special platoon in our salient… We were supposed to get an important message to them!”
“Special platoon?” Motsotaer asked. “Are you okay, Nidvid?”
“Yes, yes,” the Pack leader replied, visibly distraught. “They only had a physical line to us because they’re supposed to be keeping in the dark. Emissions control or something like that so they can activate the flying machine swarm in time. They said this was life and death and our whole defense line hinges on it!”
“Emissions control? Flying machines? Pack Leader, we should get you to a medic,” he said skeptically.
“No! Motsotaer, this is important. We need to get the message to them now. They’re only a couple kilometers south from our position. If we run over to their position now, it might not yet be—”
He looked up at her face in alarm. “Run to another position? Outside the trench line?”
“Yes! We have to go!” she said, as she peeked out of the concrete bunker towards the barren zone ahead of the trenches. “Now! Before they start their offensive.”
Motsotaer began to protest, “But that’s no creature’s land. If we get spotted by their troops, we’ll be hunted down by the Grass Eaters ships in orbit…”
She was insistent, “Pack Member Motsotaer, get it together. We still have a job to do. Are you with me or are you going to sit here and die like a coward to the long-ears?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, straightening up. Death or not, he was no coward. “I mean… I’m with you.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
With a grunt, she leapt out of the trenches and jogged south, keeping to the defensive side of it for the modicum of cover it provided, and Motsotaer quickly followed. As they sprinted away from the tattered defenses, they ran into a thick tree line that hopefully provided them with some concealment from the Grass Eater ships above.
After a couple more minutes of running in the forest, Motsotaer started to tire and pant. He weighed his burning lung and how embarrassed he’d be if he complained. Luckily for his ego, Nidvid gestured for them to stop after another minute and tossed him her canteen. “Take a break before we get going.”
He chugged as much water as he could in a single swig, and returned the canteen to Nidvid. He gasped out, “How much further, Pack Leader?”
“About one more kilometer south,” she said, aiming her snout up at the treetops. “I recognize the smell of this area.”
“What’s this even about? The message… what was it?”
Nidvid exercised her limbs. “That Grass Eater artillery strike… it was to prepare for their offensive on our lines. They’ve gathered an armored division on the other side of that,” she pointed out into the barren fields beyond the trees. “We have an hour at most before they roll over us.”
“An armored division?!” Motsotaer squeaked. The enemy’s Longclaws — their armored vehicles — were legendary. They could kill from kilometers away. And their thick shells protected them against all but the most powerful artillery in the Federation’s arsenal. He’d never seen one of them personally. If he had, he suspected he wouldn’t be alive to tell anyone about it. “What can we do against a Grass Eater armored division?”
“That’s why we have to get to the special platoon,” Nidvid replied. She pointed in the southern direction, “You ready? Let’s go.”
They galloped for a few more minutes. Motsotaer’s limbs tired and his breaths shallowed as his lung burnt. As he was contemplating whether to ask for another break, Nidvid pointed at a shape in the distance. “There, that’s their position!”
He squinted at it. It was not easy to see, but buried in the tree line was what looked like a bunch of out-of-place branches and leaves over a small vehicle. Buoyed by the anticipation of the end of the marathon, he managed to keep up with Nidvid’s pace.
As they approached, there was a loud shout.
“Hi-yah! Stop!”
They halted their steps and looked for the source of the voice.
“Not one more paw step, deserter! This is a restricted area! Turn around or you’ll be shot!”
Motsotaer looked up at the voice hidden up in the branches. After a moment, with some help from his nose, he found the yeller. It was a short, stout middle-aged male with strange-looking green and brown paint smeared all over his fur and face. He had a rifle aimed squarely at the duo.
“Don’t shoot!” Nidvid yelled back. “We’re runners. We’ve got an important message! For your platoon commander.”
The male in the tree looked suspiciously at them as he leapt down. He lowered his rifle, but didn’t seem any less on guard. “A message?”
“Yes, we’ve got an urgent message for Special Platoon Commander Graunsa. Take us to him right now!”
He sized the two of them up. After a moment, he said slowly, “I am Graunsa. Why are you here, and what is the message?”
Nidvid recovered some of her breath and explained, “The Grass Eaters hit us hard with an artillery strike. Our Head Pack Leader is dead. Our landline is gone. We ran all the way over from our lines north of you.”
Graunsa nodded and gestured for her to continue.
“The Grass Eater armored offensive is about to start. They’re moving into position and ready to go, and there’s a special message embedded—”
“Wait a second,” Graunsa interrupted. “Give me the special message exactly, without omission or your own interpretations.”
“Yes, Platoon Commander,” Nidvid nodded. “The message is: bunny water carriers are in play, red-five-zero-eight; come out of the dark and introduce yourself. Authorization is three-three-greyhound.”
Graunsa looked thoughtful for a moment as he pondered it.
“What does the message mean?” Motsotaer whispered at Nidvid.
“I have no idea,” she shrugged, whispering back. “The Head Pack Leader just told me to memorize it.”
The platoon commander seemed to have made up his mind. “Alright, that seems legitimate. Thanks for the message.” He turned around to leave.
Motsotaer shouted behind him, “Wait, what are we supposed to do now?”
Graunsa turned around. “I don’t know. I’m not your commanding officer.” He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t recommend going back to your lines though. Might not be there when you get back…”
“What?!”
“You can’t just leave us! Where else are we supposed to go?” Nidvid asked.
Graunsa seemed to contemplate the question for a few heartbeats and sighed, “You said you’re from the position up north?”
“Yup,” they replied in unison.
“And you’re a spotter, Pack Member?” he asked, looking at the rank and position patch on Motsotaer’s chest.
“Yes.”
Graunsa relented. “Fine. We might find a use for you. Get into the bunker… before the Grass Eaters in orbit see us dawdling out here.”
“What? Where?”
The officer pointed at a patch of dark green leaves on the forest floor. As they approached it, he grasped a latch and lifted it to reveal a ladder. The three of them descended into the darkness and Graunsa secured it behind them. With a quiet swoosh, a lamp mounted on the wall lit up to reveal a small hallway leading to a heavy-looking door.
Graunsa knocked on it twice. He turned around and looked at Motsotaer and Nidvid. “What you’re about to see in here is of the highest secrecy level of the Malgeir Federation. If you tell anyone what you see in here, you will be executed for treason. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Platoon Commander.”
“Swear it, on your honor.”
“We swear,” they replied in unison, their voices infused with growing excitement.
“Good enough for me.”
The heavy steel door swung open, showing a room that was vastly different from what its primitive exterior suggested. It resembled a command center far more than a field base, and Motsotaer felt a blast of cold air conditioning in his face as he passed the door threshold.
At the front, a main screen showed a map of the defensive lines in the sector. Facing it, two rows of sleek, new computer screens lit up the dark. Their operators worked busily at their controls, and only a couple faces looked their way in mild interest as they entered.
“What is this—” Motsotaer started to ask. Nidvid grasped his shoulder and shushed him.
Graunsa cleared his throat. Several faces looked towards him in anticipation. “Platoon, we just got the message. Activate the FTL handshake and authenticate us in the network.”
“Yes, sir.” A young-looking communication officer near the front operated a few controls on her console. “I’ve got the advisors on the line.”
Motsotaer read his nametag: Gassin. She was a Gamma Leader, much higher ranked than he, but she looked not a day over twenty. He noted that many of the people in the room sported high-ranking insignias despite their apparent youth.
“On screen,” Graunsa ordered.
A communication window appeared on the main screen, streaming video of someone in a jet-black EVA suit.
Motsotaer stiffened. It was obvious that the subject was alien; at around 1.7 or 1.8 meters, it was far too tall for being a Malgeir. Too small for a Granti. And from the side profile of the suit, it didn’t bulge nearly enough for the tails that the Malgeir’s Schpriss neighbors were known for. A strange new species of aliens.
From the blackened visor, it was obvious that whoever that was… it was the reason for all this tight secrecy.
“Special Platoon Commander Graunsa,” it transmitted in perfect Malgeirish. The alien was either a trained-from-birth Federation Channel One newscaster with a perfectly inoffensive accent, or its translator was far better than anything the Malgeir themselves had invented. “This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”
Graunsa stepped up to address the screen directly, “Yes, advisor. Our fire support platoon is ready for tasking.”
“Excellent. Transmitting the first batch of targets in your sector now.”
A series of symbols scrolled onto the screen, showing a number of coordinates.
“We’re getting the enemy positions now,” Gassin exclaimed.
Graunsa turned to her and nodded his appreciation, “Sixteen armored targets. Weapons free.”
“Yes, sir. Programming the sequence.”
A camera on the main screen activated, remotely showing a small hole with some machinery in it dug a few hundred meters away just at the edge of the tree line.
“Launching flying machine swarm!”
As Motsotaer watched, a thicket of metal erupted from the hole in a blur, roaring into the sky.
The main screen was replaced by a four-by-four of windows of black and white images. It took him a couple seconds to realize that he was looking at the battlefield from above. The Malgeir had rotary wing, airplanes, and jet — some were even armed, but they were usually much bigger. And their air assets had been grounded since the early days of the battle for Datsot when the enemy took the orbits.
Not these tiny devices though.
He focused on one of the sixteen windows.
The ground sped past below the camera’s vision, tree line after tree line, the flying machine seemed to know where it was going by itself: Motsotaer looked at the other occupants in the room. None of them seemed to be directly controlling it.
He stiffened.
Is this controlled by a thinking machine?
“We’re getting in range of the target coordinates, Platoon Commander,” Gassin updated the room a few minutes later.
As if on cue, the flying machines flew higher, and the trees on the ground grew smaller, as if further away. Until…
“Targets identified!” Gassin reported with excitement in her voice.
As an infantry spotter, Motsotaer had been trained — barely — to identify enemy armored vehicles. As in, he’d been given a cheatsheet containing the silhouettes of the different types of vehicles the enemy drove. But even he couldn’t tell at this distance what the white-hot smudges on the screen were.
The machine had no such issues though.
Several red boxes materialized on the screen, clearly marking several enemy vehicles in the thermal imagery and adorning them with detailed information.
The one Motsotaer was watching said:
Hostile vehicle, Longclaw MK4 (top armor: ~25mm), 4.2 km.
No hostile EW detected.
Without additional prompting, the flying machines raced in towards their targets, each recognizing a different one as its final destination. Afraid to blink, Motsotaer stared intently at one of the video streams.
A new line of text appeared at the top of the screen:
ETA 20 seconds.
It counted down the seconds, number by number.
The enemy Longclaw got larger and larger until… the screen went black, replaced by static. As he looked around, the other windows were similarly replaced with static one-by-one.
Motsotaer frowned, wondering where the videos had gone.
Then, it hit him. The flying machines were on one-way trips.
The sixteen windows disappeared, and another one appeared, showing the enemy assembly area from a much higher perspective. And instead of the vehicles he expected, he counted sixteen burning wrecks, the black smoke from their flames reaching up into the sky in columns.
“Targets destroyed, Commander,” Gassin said. Several of the officers in the room looked at each other excitedly, but their celebration was muted.
Graunsa nodded. “Call our advisors again.”
The alien appeared on the screen again. “Excellent work, Platoon Commander. We’re assessing the lines and getting the second batch of targets to you now.”
“Understood.”
As the new target coordinates scrolled onto the main screen, Gassin didn’t need additional prompting, “Launching flying machines!”
Another sixteen of them flashed out from the pre-dug position. Another sixteen windows appeared on the screen, replacing the odd-looking aliens’ video.
“Wait a minute,” the aliens’ voice cut into the quiet hum of the control room’s operation. “Switch back to the high-altitude drone. Something’s happening.”
The main screen’s image was replaced by the previous camera looking down at enemy lines. There was a flurry of activity in the enemy base area. Numerous dots representing the ground troops moved to-and-fro. And worryingly, the red squares that surrounded enemy armor began appearing en masse as enemy Longclaws drove out of their covered positions into the open.
Dozens of them.
Then, hundreds. And more appeared every second.
“What’s going on?” Graunsa asked, his voice reflecting Motsotaer’s worry.
The alien took a minute to get back to him, its black helmeted face filling up the screen again. “They’re attacking. They don’t know what hit them in the last strike. But they must have realized that they’re not safe in their assembly area, and they’re doing the only thing they can… We estimate they’ll get to your first lines in thirty minutes.”
“Can we stop them?” Graunsa asked. “We can—”
The alien looked directly into the video. “Not sixteen drones at a time. And if you launch the whole swarm at once, it’ll reflect enough signal for them to sniff out where you are with their counter-battery radars and take you out from orbit.”
Graunsa swallowed. “That’s— that’s— The machines can fly themselves without us, right?”
The alien didn’t say anything for a few heartbeats. “Theoretically, yes. But even if you evacuate your position now, your people won’t get out of range from the orbital strike they’ll call in.”
“I understand. Feed us the enemy targets.”
“Delta Leader, we can’t ask you to—”
“I said, feed us the enemy targets,” Graunsa insisted.
Quietly, hundreds of coordinate pairs filed onto the main screen. Graunsa looked at the faces of the young officers under his command. Dozens of them. He turned around to look at his two guests. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s the right choice,” Nidvid replied, shrugging.
Motsotaer nodded at him.
“I know,” Graunsa said, turning back to the main screen. “Just doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Sir, we’re ready to launch,” Gassin reported.
“Weapons free. Release everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
The ground shook and rumbled, hundreds of flying machines leaving their canisters for the sky. They were close enough to hear the outgoing buzzing as the munitions launched. This time, more and more windows filled up the screen with the visuals of the outgoing flying machines — hundreds of them, and Motsotaer was surprised that the computers could even handle it all.
The visage of the alien returned to their screen. It said calmly, “Enemy orbital launch spotted. Multiple launches. High yield. Missiles incoming to your location, ETA twelve minutes.”
“Understood, advisor.”
POV: Slurskoch, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
“Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
“What’s going on?” Longclaw Commander Slurskoch sat up in his turret cupola as the sirens rang loud through the hull.
“We’re under artillery attack!” his Controller yelled back at him through the roaring startup sequence of the turbine anti-grav engines. “The Lesser Predators… they’ve got some kind of new weapon! Took out a whole battalion’s worth of Longclaws in the 194!”
“But we’re not ready!” his Driver complained. “Our artillery is supposed to pound them for another hour before we—”
Slurskoch shook his head as he checked the friendly force tracker on his screen. “Doesn’t matter! If they’ve got some new weapon, we can’t sit still while we get pounded to bits by whatever they have. We gotta get out there. Hurry it up!”
It took them another two minutes to fully warm up the engines, and with a roar, the Longclaw burst out of its camouflaged emplacement, kicking up a curtain of dirt in front of it.
“Let’s go! Go! Go!” Slurskoch yelled as his lagging Longclaw joined the armored formation already on the move.
The Controller spoke with one of her ears in the radio, “Their artillery just launched… something at us. We’ve pinpointed their location, and orbital support is on its way.”
His Gunner whooped twice, and Slurskoch nodded silently in agreement. That’d flatten those carnivorous abominations where they stood. He drew a few symbols and circles on the digital battlemap as the Longclaws drove toward the enemy lines. “Gunner, watch those potential trench lines in front of us,” he instructed. “Their anti-armor may not look scary on paper, but their infantry can always get a lucky hit in.”
Slurskoch was taught in training that it was better to overestimate the enemy than underestimate them. Luckily, the predators usually fell below expectations, which was why the Dominion controlled the orbits of Datsot now and not them.
His Controller frowned at something in her radio, “They’re saying something about the enemy artillery… The engineers at the base assessed the strike aftermath. There’s something strange in the rubble. The attack was more precise than anything we’d ever seen.”
“What does that mean?” Slurskoch asked in confusion.
“The sensor officer in charge of the assembly area has taken full responsibility. They didn’t see the incoming at all. Higher ups are speculating that the Lesser Predators have a new weapon in their arsenal.”
“The predators made new weapons?” Slurskoch snorted. “Useful ones? That’ll be a first. Well, whatever it is, maybe our Design Bureau will get a good look at it when we finally cleanse this planet of their filth. Make our next battle a little easier when we have to take their home planet.”
His Gunner agreed, “And then, the Prophecy shall be fulfilled.”
A few kilometers into the charge across the open, the Gunner remarked with one eye on her targeting computer, “Looks like even the local winged predators know that there’s about to be a slaughter here.”
The Driver, in his open hatch, looked up at the cloud of them flying over the enemy lines. “Looks like it. A nice juicy feast for them in the coming battle. The irony of the barbaric carnivores being eaten by themselves.”
A few thousand years ago, winged predators would have curdled the blood of any natural-born Znosian. On the original plains of Znos, they were one of the most dangerous threats a lone Znosian faced. Now, that fear had been completely bred out of the gene pool, replaced with contempt for predatory primitivism, the courage to face them in battle, and the drive to exterminate them all.
Curious, Slurskoch stared up into the cloud of winged predators with his Longclaw commander optics. He frowned.
One of them shimmered.
Shimmered.
He zoomed in.
Then, he saw a metallic glint. His whiskers tightened.
“That’s— those aren’t winged predators,” he barely made out in shock. “Incoming!”
“Huh?” his Driver asked, craning his head up to look at the dark shapes in the distance.
“Get inside! Secure the hatch!” Slurskoch shouted at him.
His Driver was not very good at thinking on his own, but he had been bred to follow direct orders without question. He ducked into his seat, quickly securing the hatch above him close with trained claws.
He barely secured the Longclaw as other commanders began yelling out similar instructions on their radios.
“Incoming!” his Controller advised, about ten seconds later than necessary. “Enemy… artillery?!”
“Gunner!” Slurskoch gestured in the general direction of the sky.
“I can’t get a shot on them. They’re too high up!” she screamed back at him.
A trio of air defense vehicles next to him opened up with their six barrels towards the sky, lines of bright tracers stabbing out at the dark swarm. He saw one of the… flying machines hit and fall out of the sky. Then another.
It wasn’t enough.
As Slurskoch’s optics tracked the incoming, he saw them dive. They were fast, and they flew erratic patterns, almost organically, like actual winged beasts. If he hadn’t had that specific fear bred out of his bloodline hundreds of years ago, he would have been frozen in shock. Instead, he yelled out, “Brace! Brace!”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The world exploded around his Longclaw.
Through his friendly force tracker, Slurskoch watched an entire battalion disappear off the map on his right flank, and two Longclaws in his line of sight brewed up in massive fireballs, throwing their turrets into the sky as their plasma ammunition detonated. One of the anti-air vehicles brewed up next to his, splattering its parts against his hull.
His Driver drove for all he was worth, ducking and weaving in the open field. So did the other Longclaws. Some deployed curtains of smoke in front of them in desperation.
None of it seemed to help.
The shockwaves hit his Longclaw in quick succession, knocking him around the armored cabin and rattling his teeth.
Boom. Boom.
More Longclaws exploded. Many more. They were disappearing off his screen faster than the software could update the signals. He closed his eyes waiting for the end.
It didn’t come.
It was hard for Slurskoch to tell when the last Longclaw near them was hit. His hearing organs must have been damaged some time during the attack. His auditory senses ringed as they returned to normal, recovering when his Controller shook him with a paw on his shoulder. “—Five Whiskers! Five Whiskers!”
“What is it?” he snapped, keeping the quivering out of his voice.
“We’re alone in our company, and I can’t contact the six whiskers! And I’ve been trying to reach battalion without success!”
“Try the regiment commander!” he yelled out against the noise of the anti-grav engine.
“Can’t reach them either!”
“What about division headquarters?!”
“I think division’s gone, sir!”
“What?!”
“Nobody there has been responding. All I’ve got is a seven whiskers in the reserve infantry division behind us! They’re saying they see black smoke in the direction of our division field command!”
“What in the Prophecy? How is that possible?!”
“What do we do, Five Whiskers?”
Slurskoch had been trained for a wide variety of combat scenarios and contingencies, including losing his immediate superiors, losing most of his unit, and losing his communication link to command. But he’d never been trained for all of those combined at once. That was just not something predators were supposed to be able to do to you.
He fell back to the next best thing.
“What’s the combat computer say?” he asked.
His Controller operated the controls on her console, and after half a minute of querying, she replied, reading off the instructions, “Absent orders, continue the attack. Maybe we can push through.”
“What? Did it take our losses into account?” he protested as he checked the battlemap. Of the nearly five hundred Longclaws that had pushed out of the assembly area, only a quarter remained. At most. Some of the signals on the map were flagging themselves as mobility or mission killed.
She shrugged, “It did. That’s what it says.”
He squinted at her screen. That was indeed what it said.
Slurskoch thought for a moment, sighed, and bowed in prayer, “Our lives were forfeited the day we left our hatchling pools.”
The other crew members all did the same, lowering their heads to mutter the familiar mantra.
That ritual out of the way, he drew up to his full height of 1 meter and mustered all the confidence he could into his voice, “Attack! Attack! Attack!”
POV: Graunsa, Malgeir Federation Planetary Defense Force (Rank: Delta Leader)
The command center watched glumly as the hundred or so surviving Grass Eater Longclaws emerged from the wrecks of their comrades and slowly resumed their charge across the open toward the defense lines.
The flying machines had gotten a lot of them. Quite a few disabled too. And they were disorganized from the loss of their command. Yet they still charged. Diminished as their numbers were, they rolled towards the battered defensive lines with psychotic determination.
We’ve failed.
Graunsa sat down heavily into his chair. He brought up his communication console, connecting it to the advisor network.
The alien appeared on the screen, and though he couldn’t see its face, he could hear the sympathy in its translated voice, “You’ve done all you can, Special Platoon Commander.”
“It wasn’t enough,” he said, shaking his ears sadly. “They’re going to break through our line. Our infantry can’t stop them.”
It tilted its head. “I wouldn’t count them out completely, Delta Leader. They might. They might not. But your next defensive line certainly will hold them. The city behind you will be held.”
“Tracking enemy orbit-to-ground. ETA three minutes,” Gassin reported quietly from next to him.
Graunsa sighed. He looked at the alien, “I think I understand your people now, advisor.”
“You… do?”
“Yeah, at first, when we were picked for this mission, I wondered why your people were doing this.”
“Doing this?” the alien asked, seeming confused.
“Helping us. The weapons. The equipment. The training. The targeting. It was all in secret, but you didn’t have to do it. The other species around us didn’t do it. The Schpriss…” Graunsa snorted, “The long-tails can’t even find it in their spines to send us field rations. I thought your species… your people were just generous. Or perhaps you simply enjoyed the craft of war, being so adept at it.”
“Are we… not?”
“Those reasons may be part of it,” he conceded. “But more importantly, I think your people understand one thing the other species don’t… that we might stop the enemy here. Or we might not.”
“We didn’t set you up to fail, if that’s what you think—”
“But the next defensive line certainly will hold them,” Graunsa said, staring the alien in the eye. “You will hold them. Isn’t that right?”
It sighed. “I would be lying if that wasn’t part of the strategic equation. Our star systems are indeed next in line — sometime in the next decade or two, probably — if these bloodthirsty Buns conquered your Federation. That harsh astropolitical realism. But there’s something else too.”
“Is there?”
“Yes,” it nodded its head firmly in a familiar manner. “Yes, there is. We aren’t a particularly long-sighted species, Graunsa. We can plan, yes, but wars are fought by true believers. People don’t sign up to put their lives on the line for a hypothetical, potential invasion of our Republic twenty years in the future. They— we signed up for this because we truly believe what’s happening to your people… it shouldn’t happen to anyone, ever.”
Graunsa looked at the helmeted head for a while, then nodded. “I believe you, advisor.”
“I’m sorry this didn’t pan out, Graunsa. If I could, I’d be down there with you. We’d have made them pay for this.”
Graunsa smiled. “I believe you about that too. Thank you, advisor, whatever your name is.”
“You may call me Kara,” it said simply. A deft snap of its paws — he hadn’t noticed how soft its claws were before — and it released a latch on its helmet with a hiss. Lifting it from its head, it revealed a soft, smooth face without much fur except a bundle of long, brown strands on its scalp tied up in a neat spherical shape. Its hazel forward-facing eyes stared at him with the empathy that only other predators were capable of, filling him with mild relief. “Don’t tell anyone though,” it joked lightly, mirroring his smile back at him.
You’re not as ugly as I thought you’d be. Not nearly.
Graunsa’s grin widened at the thought. He put it out of his mind. “Ah. One last thing, advisor— Kara.”
“Yes?”
His mind drifted to his cubs at home. Perhaps they were still alive. He chose to believe that. “Our people’s clans and packs…”
“We’ll let them know,” she interrupted him softly. “And when the information quarantine is lifted, we’ll let your clans and packs know what you did here — everything.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Gassin sat down next to him, “Delta Leader, enemy missiles incoming. ETA thirty seconds, they’re entering—” She stopped her report and stared at the unmasked alien on his screen with equal parts wonder and sadness.
“Take a closer look, Gassin,” he ordered softly. “That… that is who will avenge us.”
On screen, the alien put its gloved paw up to its temple, forming a stiff triangle with its arm in a recognizable salute. “It was an honor, Graunsa.”
Graunsa returned it crisply, letting a primitive fire shine through his face. “Happy hunting, Kara.”

Location: Atlas Naval Command, Luna

POV: “Kara”, Terran Reconnaissance Office
Kara watched solemnly as the green signal blinked off the battlemap. She closed her eyes for a moment in silent prayer for the fallen.
Beep. Beep.
Another light on her console blinked urgently for her attention. Four thousand kilometers from the previous one. The war raged on — day and night — across four continents on the besieged planet. Fifty light years from the Republic, its defenders’ sweat, tears, and blood lined the fields and valleys of the beautiful blue sphere not so different from her own. Tens of millions of them: many who she knew would not see the end of this war.
They didn’t all know it, and some might not have cared, but fifty light years away, someone recorded their names, and someone felt a pang of loss for their sacrifice. In the cold, dark forest of the galaxy, somebody heard their trees fall.
Kara collected her thoughts, adjusted the bun in her hair, and lowered the tinted EVA helmet over her face once more.
She cleared her throat as she glanced at the screen and activated the microphone in her helmet, “Special Platoon Commander Treiriu. This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”

Meta

Thanks for reading my story! This is a standalone chapter in my Grass Eaters story, meant to be enjoyable all on its own. If you're interested in more of my writing, please do subscribe to the update waffle bot or check out the rest of the universe in Grass Eaters.
(Grass Eaters posts every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We are closing in on the end of Book 1.)

First/Previous
Satan was on the air, on the night, within everything in the long shadows cast by the setting sun and with him came a chill to the air that I could never hope to internalize; it might kill me.
From a rotted abode across the street, I watched the large outbuilding and the field in which we’d buried the hand and I found myself in prayer—among the torn and exposed studs of dry-rotted wood and rusted metal I caught my own whispers and forced myself to stop like I intended to convene with God right there in the dark; I wasn’t there for Allah. It was something else that compelled me there. I whispered the prayer and felt foolish at my own voice and ducked lowly among the rubble and held my breath to watch the sunlight go from the land and in a blink, the light was gone, and I was there in darkness that at first was a terror and then I slipped into it through blinks and the surroundings became clearer even in the dark.
Time went on.
I was exposed, but the yougins were safe—Trouble too. If nothing else mattered in the world, then they should go on without me. It had come to me so suddenly (maybe it was the prayer that withdrew such a sentimentality) that I liked them okay.
Before anything else, a cat’s hiss came so faintly that I plugged my ear with my pinky, shook it and listened again; the noise grew closer, and I could do nothing but watch the field and squint in the darkness and wait.
Fumbling, I counted the glass containers with touch only—two in my jacket pocket and the third by my feet—and my fingers then danced to the threadbare strap of the shotgun on my shoulder; I shed my pack for mobility.
The domineering creature lurched forcefully from the shadows and then went on display in the moonlight properly and its arched back protruded even over its own head till it lifted that muzzle, so its rattish face was cut out in a black outline; it was sniffing, and the hiss came through the air again. The Alukah kept a serpentine strut, smoothly gliding across the ground as it used its hands like forelegs to press its snout against the ground. In watching, I consciously relaxed my shoulders and refrained from biting my teeth together. That creature found the spot it had been searching for—it seemed roughly the place we’d buried the hand—and it took its claws there with bestial shovelfuls.
In a hurry, I gathered the jar I’d placed by my feet—it would not slide so gracefully into my jacket as the others—and as quietly as I could, I slinked around the rubble, through two studs, and onto the dirt. Within milliseconds, my own heartbeat pounded all over my body and I stood in the street and lit the Molotov cocktail with a lighter and took closer to the creature.
It shifted around and in that moment I wished I had a light source powerful enough to expose its body; I tossed the cocktail in a high arch and it exploded in a moment by the creature’s feet as it stood and pivoted to look at me fully; its solid white eyes were wide in a glance of moon-shine and it slung itself from the eruption of flames around its feet with violent speed. Its black hair hung down the sides of its face and its head parted midway to expose a snarl. It stalked in a circle around the concentration of flames, remaining mostly in the dark; the thing moved slowly nearer, those long arms swaying in front of itself with each step.
You should know better. It stopped midstride, coming no closer and we each stood there in the field roughly thirty feet from one another, and I refused to take my eyes from it. The boy’s mine. The flames began to flicker and die. For how long we stood like that, I couldn’t say, and I waited.
I couldn’t find a voice till it was all dark again, besides the moon and stars. “Why can’t you leave us be? There’s easier pickins.”
You offer yourself too much credit, Harlan. We remained in silence and in the darkness the creature may have been a statue—in a blink it seemed as much. You are a corpse, no? A walking corpse of a man! A terrible sickness is in you. I know it. I see it on you as plainly as I see your fear.
Rigidity took over my body and I puffed my chest out like it meant something and I shook my head, “I’m not afraid.”
Not of me, no. Of yourself? Something. The voice lingered with the ends of its words, drawing them out first guttural then it left them on hisses. Something I know.
I lit the next Molotov, and the creature didn’t move; I threw the bottle furiously and it went into the darkness like a far candleflame till it erupted in the spot the Alukah had been standing—the thing had leapt from there, leaving me unawares and I lowered myself to the ground in a crouch, swiveling my head around to catch the thing in the dark. The flames on the ground danced brightly, leaving me light-blinded.
Not again, said the thing, You will not catch me so easily with fire again. It was behind me, nearer the outbuilding and it took a moment through blinks for my eyesight to return well enough to see the grotesqueness of the misshapen massive humanoid thing.
The Molotov explosion burned then disappeared and we stood looking at one another again and I felt silly, foolish, radically unprepared, and overwhelmingly trivial in the grand scheme of the universe—if it wanted to, it could leap the distance between us and rip me to shreds. Why didn’t it kill me? Why wasn’t I dead?
That damnable night creature extended one of its massive forehands, flexing the digits on the end of its arm and whispered its words like a plea, The boy, Harlan. That is all. Take that brimstone smelly girl and carry that shell of a body—walk on to whatever hole you humans call home.
Hoping to not draw a movement from the creature, I pressed my forearm against my ribcage, feeling the last Molotov that was there in the inner pocket and I gently slid the strap from my shoulder, and held my shotgun in both hands, licking my dry lips, watching the dark frame of the Alukah, fearing even a moment of distraction; my eyes locked on the creature and I refused to speak.
No deal then. It wasn’t a question; its rattish snout offered a mild nod of understanding. You despise a good sense of words.
I readied the shotgun, legs spaced in proper formation—looking down the barrel, I held my breath and upon squeezing the trigger, the thing knocked into my shoulder, but the creature was gone. In scanning, I found the thing had moved from the field and bounded wildly across the street towards the dead ruins of Annapolis, its muscular limbs made short work of fleeing.
The outbuilding remained quiet and erectly tall, and I moved to its shadow and cussed whispers for wasting ammunition. Only three shells remained; worse, I’d wasted two of my explosives. I watched the horizon in the opposite direction of the crowded foundations of Annapolis and carefully held my breath in watching and I prayed again, hoping that the commotion would not draw attention.
An overwhelming sense of foolishness welled in my guts, and I trotted off towards the direction I’d watched the Alukah go, through the ramshackle streets haphazardly.
The darkness was maddeningly empty, so I filled it with shouts, “C’mon! This is your turf, ain’t it? This darkness is yours so come and take me if you can!” Rusty as I was, I held the shotgun like never before, squinting my eyes, keeping my pace in unison with my heartbeat. There’s a place in that darkness that is beyond reproach, beyond the comprehension of a city dweller, beyond even my own understanding and I found myself padding through those streets at an accelerated rate, hopeful to confront the demon and I only found more dead and vacant lots and I crossed more than two intersections where the signs were either gone or indecipherable in the black shadows cast there. I wished for a payback of the demon’s hunt or perhaps I wished for something even more than that—what did I need to prove and to who? “You sick and twisted and foul beast!” I went so loud I continued to hoarseness, “Slimy fuck!” I’s so mad that spit came with the words too.
Still, there was nothing and I came to a final crossroads, a place more commercial—at least for a flatland dead town—where brick storefronts half-stood on those four corners. Finding my voice again, I continued my tirade, cursing the demon, “Come get some—c’mon already! Here’s your fight?” I was scared though.
A sudden noise from the dilapidated storefront to my left startled me to pivot and watch, gun pulled up, and I focused as hard as I could on the recesses of that shadowed place; it was a large antiquated face where a window might have sat many years prior. Wet and hungry sounds emanated from that place, the disgusting noises of a fiend—even in knowing it, I was surprised in seeing the new creature spill out in a lumpish mess of slickened muscles, lubricated, its innumerable arms and legs clawed its own body forward so that it rolled like a mushy ball—each of those limbs remained human in nature. Upon the thing pulling itself onto the street, I staggered backwards, gun still raised, and watched its form take a modicum of understanding in the moonlight; its mouths—sporadically, illogically placed over its mass of a body—opened and seemed to try and speak with each one merely letting go of meekly audible, painful sighs in doing so. The eyes, spaced much the same as the mouths, blinked and rolled as if it was torture for the thing to live. The mutant was a tongue-like mass at its center, and it was almost the size of a horse—I’d seen fiends grow much larger, but this was still a great threat.
In moving away from where it spilled onto the street, I stumbled backwards and caught myself on the backfoot and clumsily spun into a sprint; my boots pounded in my flight from the thing, and it chased after.
Its mouths exhausted terrible sighs as it gained speed in the relative openness of the street and in seconds, I would not have been surprised if the thing snatched me by an ankle and devoured me without thought—not that fiends had any other thoughts above the basest urge to consume.
The pursuit kept me going in the dark, watching the still shadows of the dilapidated housing and I pushed on until I tasted copper; my breathing went raspy—it’d been so long since I’d been forced to run from such a creature in the open. I took a glance back and saw it coming, gaining speed in its perpetual roll; its body excreted some fluid across itself so that it could glide more easily.
Coming to a crossroads I’d passed earlier, or perhaps it was a new one—I couldn’t fathom in the dark—I took in the direction of what I thought was south and ran full throttle; my knees ached.
In hoping to confuse the mutant, I quickly dove towards the right side of the southbound street, towards some ramshackle, through the skeletal framing of a skinless house without a roof; I pushed through the pencil-narrow vertical beams and stumbled through, landing onto the unseen ground on the other side. My left leg spasmed and in the millisecond that it took for my nerves to register the pain, I let out a mild, “Oh.” I tried to lift myself from the spot and found that my left leg refused to bend straight; in total horror—more so from my body failing than the mutant—I swiveled my torso around and scooted on my rear across the ground, raking myself in the opposite direction of the fiend.
The mutant slammed into the frame; its many arms reached through the bars and in a moment, it began to use its hands to lift itself along the exposed wall and I scooted further away till my back met the bars of where an opposite wall would’ve gone. In a scramble, I snatched the shotgun, pushed myself sniff against the bars on my side and watched the thing down the barrel; I waited and concentrated on my own breathing. If nothing else worked, I still had that Molotov—if not for it then for me.
As it crested the top of the wall made of bars, I watched patiently and only when I was certain I fired.
The mutant, the great meatball-thing that it was, lost its grasp for a moment and slipped onto the arrangement of vertical bars; I gush of liquid, illuminated in starlight, shot from its base of its soft body; it began to try and catch its grasp on the bars and I took a moment for myself to examine my left knee—I pulled it as close to my face as I could manage which was hardly at all—some black triangular mass had lodged itself into my flesh; more accurately, I’d slammed myself onto something sharp in my panic to flee the fiend. In a second, not thinking of the repercussions, I gripped the thing with my left hand and clamped my mouth onto my right hand, biting into fat of my hand by the thumb. The debris was free from my leg, and I let it to fall to the ground; blood ran freely into my mouth and I let go of the bite and tentatively lifted the gun again, ignoring the pain; the creature continued to struggle, and I fired again. It slipped again, further impaling itself on the bars.
I had one shell left.
Using the place I’d propped my back, I pushed free from the ground and put all my weight onto my right leg, testing the left; I staggered—hopped really—around in the small square of ground surrounded by metal framing and searched the ground for something long. I unearthed the dirt around my feet and found a long piece of metal rod; setting the gun to the side, I lifted the metal rod over my head and then slowly arched it out from my body. It would give me just enough room to further injure the thing while also staying well out of its grasp.
I swung the makeshift weapon down like a bat or a sword and the fiend slid a little further down the bars, the exit wounds began to show across the top of its roundish body, and I smacked it again—its mouths spoke words that could nearly be understood. Though it took only moments, I was thoroughly exhausted by the time the creature had reached the ground again, good and dead and impaled upon six of those vertical bars. I tossed the weapon to the ground, lifted my gun, and shimmied through the bars on the opposite side of the square.
Adrenaline only lasts so long, and my left leg throbbed to the point of nausea; I did not want to inspect the wound, but on rounding the ramshackle and watching the still dead thing, I stumbled into the street and knelt and lifted my pant leg. It was dark and bloody and already it was burning. Infection was my first thought. A puncture wound could spell a terrible fate. I shifted to sit in the street. My leg didn’t bend right.
The cat’s hiss came from the darkness and there wasn’t a way I could respond in time; I felt those long nasty fingers grab me by the back of my neck and I was lifted immediately from the ground—the gun clattered to the ground and all I could do was initially freeze and stiffen and then my hands moved to the grasp which held me firmly by the throat; those massive knuckles were like stones.
The Alukah had me and situated me so that it could look into my face, its long black hair hid its eyes but I could smell its breath and see its teeth which rested in its round mouth. I could snap you. It seemed to nod its head, but to detect humanity in that damnable pale face was a mistake.
I choked.
What’s that? It relaxed its grasp on my throat.
“Do it.”
Why’re you crying? Its foot brushed against the gun at its feet, and it lifted it with its free hand, and it commented casually, Little human toy.
It moved, holding me by the throat, dragging me along the ground in an abnormal sluggish gait. It was hard to see anything but the night sky, anything but the strange angle of the demon—with its grip, it was hard to breathe, and tears indeed welled in my eyes, and I held to its forearm to distribute some of the weight of my own body away from my neck. With its tugging, I could not speak, but it spoke.
I’ll squeeze you dry, but your blood’s too tainted to drink. That won’t make it any less interesting. I’ll twist you like a rag and see which hole it comes from first. More than that, you’ll scream. You’ll scream so loud everyone will know. Everyone will know what I’ve done to you—once you’re no more than ruin. Not even Mephisto would balk at my handiwork once I’ve had my time with you. God will look on your sour corpse with so much disgust there won’t be a place for you anywhere. Only Oblivion, a place worse than any.
The creature moved us to the open field, tilted its head back and forth, rose its rattish face to the sky and snorted and then clearly sniffed, dropping the gun to its feet to brush the long black hair from its eyes; its muscular body shone in the moonlight so that even its bluish veins stood plainly from its white skin. It shifted its gaze to the outbuilding—maybe fifty yards away—where the youngins were hidden.
Deftly, the thing lifted me from where it had kept me by its side and my feet levitated over the air, I felt feet taller, suspended from that long arm the way I was. It took its free hand to my midsection and I felt the digits of its hand squeeze my ribs and it let go of my throat and I coughed and wheezed, placing my hands on its fingers to dig into that thing’s skin—it didn’t matter—in seconds, a scream escaped my rattling throat; it squeezed more and I felt the glass bottle in my jacket burst from the force then the Alukah gave relief and I tried to gulp air, but felt pangs along my body. My jacket was wetted from blood by the broken bottle shards entering my body or from the contents of the bottle or both.
Urine? It pulled me close to itself, sniffed, and shook its head. Oil? it cackled, Again! Beg for the help you do not deserve! It held me outright once more.
Again, the great hand constricted me and again I could not help but to let out a scream—my lungs were on fire, my voice stretched like a dying animal. I heard barks and saw nothing through wild choking tears. The grip softened.
I coughed more and tried to speak; the Alukah brought me close to itself as if to wait and listen to what I had to say. Weeping words fell out in a whisper, “Kill me. Do it. I don’t mind.”
Another sharp laugh exited the thing’s throat and it squeezed again, facing me out so that I could look at the black outline of the outbuilding. I heard the barking again and I saw the figures stumble out from the sidelong face of the outbuilding. I blinked to remove the tears.
A voice, neither mine nor the demon’s, shouted an attempt at authority, “Let him go!” It was Gemma. They rounded the building so that moonlight removed them from obscurity. Gemma held Trouble on a lead while Andrew followed.
Trouble growled.
The smile was audible through the Alukah’s voice, Strong words for one so dainty. I felt its grip tighten and I chuffed and couldn’t manage a word.
“Get it!” shouted Gemma; she let go of Trouble’s lead and the dog looked curiously at me and the demon where we were and tucked its tail and circled to hide behind the children.
The Alukah laughed. Scary dog.
I was lightheaded while my vision went; I should die—I’d bleed out there or some unknown medical oddity would shut me off. Perhaps I’d will myself to death. My head nodded tiredly, and I fought it, blinking, shaking my head to maintain my eyes.
“You want me?” The boy took a few steps forward and his voice cracked. “We could make a deal.”
The Alukah lowered me so that my feet skimmed the ground but shifted to keep a tight hold around only my throat. Oh?
“What are you doing?” shouted Gemma; she closed the space between herself and Andrew and shoved him.
He shoved her back. “Me for him,” he addressed the demon.
Is that the deal?
Everything in my body protested while I reached for the jean pocket on my right side; I could not reach it. I stretched and my ribs screamed in pain—it was worse than bruising. The demon did not notice me moving. Maybe because my movements were weak, subtle. I tried again while mentally asking God for help and I came short of the pocket. I cursed Him and then my shaking fingers found the pocket. I withdrew the lighter there.
“That’s right,” said Andrew.
“No, he won’t,” Gemma’s voice was aflame.
It’s not your deal to make, girly.
I took the lighter to my jacket, lit it, and the flames grew around me in a flash, feeding on the oil.
The Alukah hissed, attempted to unwrap its hand from around me while I dug into its forearm with two claws and bit onto the thing’s hand for extra purchase. It swung me around and my legs flew limply. It took every bit of strength I had.
Let go! The Alukah shrieked.
Trouble barked, the children screamed, and I bit deeper till that thick black blood filled my mouth. The flames were immaculate, cleansing, more furious than I could’ve imagined. Not for life—that’s not why I held on so strongly—it was for them, for Andrew and Gemma. Me and that creature should’ve burned together. Fitting.
Delirium took over and I swiveled overhead in the demon’s tantrum, holding onto that arm. The Alukah hissed, roared, shouted nasty epithets.
The gunshot rang out and I met ground, hard.
Exhaustion or death could’ve taken me then, but it was the former.
When consciousness came again, it was hands, smacking hands that brought me to life—then the vague smell of burnt hair, cooked flesh. My body stung and I could not move but to lift my face from the dirt where I lay belly-flat.
“You almost died,” said Gemma somewhere between hope and sorrow, “You almost killed yourself!” She shook me and shoved me hard enough so that I rolled on my back. She’d been crying, but surely, we’d won. What was there to cry for? If we’d lost, she wouldn’t be talking at all.
She left me and I stared at the sky through slits. The sun was coming but I couldn’t feel the warmth; I couldn’t feel anything (that would be a sweet memory in the time to come). It was quiet save the crackling I heard; it was like the lowness of a dying fire. It wasn’t me? I wasn’t on fire?
When she returned, she lifted my head to place my pack underneath it; it elevated my vision. I surveyed my surroundings. The outbuilding was there and the Alukah lay on the ground perhaps ten feet from me; its body charred and sizzled and caught little flames in response to the cresting sunrise; everything was a daze—we’d won.
Gemma’s eyes glittered, and she called the dog over and the dog sniffed my face and the girl’s lips remained flat, expressionless.
I saw the boy’s body—it lay motionless alongside the dead Alukah and alongside that body was my shotgun. The body’s head sat on its side, disconnected from its owner, facing away from where I lay.
“He killed it. He shot it.” Gemma sat beside me, and Trouble placed her snout on the girl’s shoulder. “We’re going to die,” she nodded.
First/Previous
Archive

Looking at the odd, fully mechanical display, I couldn’t help but wonder at the ingenuity of this entire machine. They couldn’t manage visual sensors without access to electricity, so it used sonar instead, producing a, presumably, granular return using multiple receivers. Those results are compared to the last few to see what changed and, with the help of some meticulously crafted analog components, they could resolve an image of what was ahead of them. It wasn’t as good as proper cameras, admittedly, but it worked far better than I’d have thought it could.
Even the little dog sized maintenance robots were amazing, their main code was on a drum, being read by tiny needles like an old self-playing piano, but it also contained a stack of what I assumed to be paper thin steel cards with similar tiny holes in regular patterns that served as error correction. I watched as the train hit a bump and one of the dog bots stumbled, instead of continuing while out of position it flipped through the cards till it found the right one and used it to correct its positioning, using tiny arms to feel the railings, resetting it’s legs one at a time to where they should be before shuffling the error code card away and restarting the main drum.
All of which required thousands, or perhaps millions of tiny bits to be crafted with exacting precision. It was a feat of engineering seemingly on par with the titans of the last world, if not on the same tech level.
“Wait,” the harmony spoke up, “if you were built by and for humans, why were you shooting at us?”
PROTOCOL 2, the display showed after a moment.
“You were defending yourself against humans?”
YES, it replied simply.
“Something is clearly wrong,” I muttered to myself, “it wants approval from humans, but also defends itself from them?”
“The logic may seem self-contradicting but it isn’t,” the Harmony said after a moment, “maybe it’s the fact that I’m artificial, or that I’m made of millions of minds, but it makes sense.”
“How?” I asked.
“Assuming you got the approval of humans, what would you do?” the harmony asked, at first I thought it was speaking to me but a quick torrent of clicks filtered through the room before the display began to move again.
FOLLOW PROTOCOLS, it said.
“Even after you got approval, you’d continue expanding?” the harmony pressed.
YES.
“That’s how,” it explained to me, “it seems they forgot to write in a program end once protocol three was fulfilled.”
“So it just continued going on,” I realized, “and when people tried to stop it, it replied with force.”
“Right, following the second protocol,” agreed the harmony, “so humanity became a danger to it even as it sought their approval endlessly.”
“That’s a pretty big flaw in terms of programming,” I commented.
“But could have been a simple flaw in the engineering,” the Harmony countered, “how many millions of parts are required to make this thing work? All it would take is a single flaw and the shutdown command fails to activate.”
“Gees,” I snorted, “Are there even any people left?”
YES, the display read a moment later.
“You are standing right here,” the harmony pointed out before I got my hopes up, “so ya, humanity still exists.”
“Outside of me, I mean,” I qualified, waiting as the storm of clicking went on for several minutes before falling silent, the display remaining still.
“Guess it doesn’t know,” the harmony said, “either that or it simply doesn’t have enough data storage to keep track of everything, and it would have to link with other units to find out.”
“There are other units?” I asked, “like, more of these mega train things?”
“I’d assume, what purpose does this vehicle serve.”
DATA TRANSFER, the display replied.
“A train the size of a small battleship just to transfer information?” I asked, surprised.
“It has to keep all of its trains running on time,” the harmony replied, “and mechanical data storage is quite limited.”
“Where is this thing headed anyways?”
PRODUCTION TRANSFER STATION, the display read.
NUMBER 34,801, it continued a moment later.
“Oh,” I said slowly, “that’s… a lot. What do we do?”
“Outside,” the harmony said, glancing at the display for a moment and I nodded in understanding, stepping out of the control room and back into the narrow catwalks.
“We can’t simply find a way to trigger the shutdown command,” the harmony said before I could say anything, “that would shut down this unit but not the others. We need to give it instructions on how to fix the fault and have that data propagated alongside a shutdown order. It’ll take a while for everything to stop, but it should eventually reach every unit.”
“How do we even find the fault, much less fix it?” I asked.
“On that, I admit I am less knowledgeable,” it admitted, “the way this thing thinks is not unlike a simplistic harmonic entity, but its construction precludes me from uploading myself. I imagine the code is built directly into the machine, so to update it we’d have to change parts.”
“It could take years to go through this thing,” I said, looking at the vast machine around us.
“Maybe there’s a primary maintenance compartment” the harmony offers, “it’s still building control rooms into the trains so maybe it’s still making other accommodations for a human crew?”
With nothing better to go on I shrug and start moving. For the next hour we wander the narrow hallways, finding a few hatches that lead out but nothing that resembles another room built for humans. As I’m about to give up the train rocks, a distant explosion echoing through the metallic interior. Moments later the train’s guns respond, firing into the distance.
“What’s going on?” I wonder.
“Humans?” the harmony offers.
“If so we need to stop this thing,” I say, breaking into a run, searching for a critical component as more explosions rock the train. It only takes a few minutes of backtracking before I find what I was pretty sure was the main drive train. From there I quickly pick out the main gear box and fire off a spell from my weapon shard. The first spell simply cracks the casing, allowing some oil to leak out but little else, and a second concussive spell is required before I can launch a cutting spell into the whirling gears. With the screaming of tortured metal the gears come apart as the spell opens numerous deep cuts in the complex mechanism. Instantly the drive shaft begins to slow and everything seems to grow slower, the train’s guns take longer to reload every time, the clicking of the mechanical computers grows dim and discordant.
“Oh, it’s all mechanical,” I realize, “no drive train, no power to anything else either.”
“I certainly appreciate these kind of machines,” the harmony agreed, “much easier to break.”
Just as I’m about to see if I can’t slow the train down faster a large chunk of what I thought was the wall begins to move. Dozens of mechanical arms reach out and begin systematically removing the broken gear box, a fresh one emerging from its depths.
“You had to say something,” I cursed, turning the spell thrower on the repair device just as I feel, rather than hear a deep thump resonate through me. Sonar? There hadn’t been any sonar inside the train since we got here, why is it here now?
As if in answer another section of wall opens and several robots not unlike the maintenance bots emerge. But instead of probe arms to test parts it has several large rifles that quickly pivot on me even as it turns to begin mechanically walking down the opposite catwalk across the main drive train. I duck as bullets skip off the railings and more than a few strike my shield. I know it can stop a few rounds, but sustained fire from heavy machine guns is pushing what I think it’s capable of. I quickly reposition, noting that the security robot continues firing at my last known position for a few seconds before a second pulse of sonar echoes through the room, the security bot pauses for a second as it analyzes the return, then its machine gun turns to once more fix on me.
I quickly dodge again, seeing a second security robot emerging from the wall behind the first and curse loudly. As the next sonar pulse comes in I feel the Harmony emit something as well. I’m confused but after the robots resume firing at my previous position rather than correcting my aim I realize it’s somehow countering the sonar pings.
It blocks a second ping as I get in close enough to the first security robot to fire a spell directly into it, ripping its delicate internals apart in an instant. The harmony blocks a third pulse and I begin to rush the second security bot only for another sonar pulse to follow quickly after the first.
“It’s on to me,” the Harmony says as the machine gun on the other bot swivels towards me, forcing me to dive into a walkway leading away from the drive train to avoid the torrent of fire, “it’s varying the pulses up now so I can’t time them.”
I simply grunt in response, throwing a couple delayed spells at the catwalk behind me as I heard the robot get closer. As soon as it steps into view I trigger the first one, forcing it to stumble. I wait to see if my plan worked and grin as I hear the bot start flipping through error cards. In that state it shouldn’t be able to alter its aim, so I slide under the stream of fire and aim my weapon shard into its guts, unleashing my last concussive spell just as I hear it begin switching back to its main command drum.
“Any more?” I ask, panting.
“I don’t see any,” the harmony replies, “but the gear box is almost fixed.”
I nod and start launching spells at the repair device. Thankfully it doesn’t take much to break the thing and soon enough its shortened limbs are waving about as if it can’t understand why it isn’t working. And soon after that the springs in it snap and it goes still.
“The bombardment stopped,” the harmony comments as everything falls silent.
I nod, standing once more and looking for a way out. The first few hatches I try are jammed shut from the damage whoever was attacking the train managed, but eventually I find one on the other side of the massive vehicle. Even now it’s still slowly grinding along, it’s mass too much to slow down in short order, but it’s barely at a walking pace.
I jump down to the hard packed dirt and begin walking around the vehicle.
“We didn’t hit hard enough to make it stop,” I hear a voice from around the corner.
“Think it’s bluffing?” another man responds.
“It’s never attempted deceit before, maybe we just got a lucky hit in?” a third voice added as I walked around the side of the train to see a small group of men in tan camos carefully approaching the train. In the distance behind them, just out of range of the sonar unless I’m mistaken, I spot a line of heavy guns. I also spot a few smoking craters where other guns must have once stood.
“Who are you?” one of the men call out, lifting his gun at me.
“I’m just a traveler,” I say, lifting my hands, “see, no clockwork here.”
The other soldiers look at me wearily before the one in charge motions for the others to lower their guns.
“Did you bring this thing down?” he asked.
“Tore up its gear box and stopped the repair bot,” I nodded, “even checked for others incase there was more than one.”
“Turns out there was, but your fire bent the frame just enough to wedge it into its compartment,” the harmony added dryly.
“Wait,” the youngest of the men asked, his eyes wide with surprise, “you didn’t damage the main computation banks?”
“Not unless your fire damaged them,” I shrugged.
“That means… all the misalignment cards are still in place!”
“What are you getting at?” the leader asked.
“If we can find the right one, we just might be able to modify it into a shutdown command!”
“That would only stop one vehicle,” the Harmony pointed out, “you’d need a way to propagate the message through the whole network.”
“Ok, who’s speaking?” the leader asked before the young soldier could respond.
“This is my companion,” I said, gesturing to the crystals hovering over my shoulder, “the Harmony.”
“You’re an odd one,” the man said before sighing, “alright, get the boys in here to raid this thing. Card things or not we need the supplies.”
***** Discord - Patreon *****
((tl;dr: the canonical ending of factorio))
((Side note, if anyone makes a steampunk factorio mod I will play the shit out of it))

First I Previous
Chapter 4
The days and weeks that followed were a whirlwind of activity. There was so much to learn; history, both Earth’s future, and the war against the Satura, science and modern technology, much of which Mike struggled to grasp, as well as more mundane tasks like requesting information from the “computer”, and creating items with something called a “replicator”. He went to bed exhausted, his mind bursting with new knowledge, while his nights were restless, filled with nightmares of the past and future. Both Vargas and Amélie were patient with him, but there was an undercurrent of urgency impossible to ignore. He recognized its source all too well.
They were worried an attack was coming and were desperately trying to prepare him for when it did, but it was also obvious they feared it would happen before he was ready. He buckled down, pushing himself even harder, but they all knew the clock was ticking.
Three weeks after his arrival, a blaring alarm roused him from his fitful slumber, sending him staggering towards its source. The others were already there, huddled over the computer’s display, with worried expressions evident on their faces.
“What’s going on?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Temporal incursion,” Vargas informed him, “attempting to trace its source now.”
He glanced over at Amélie. “The enemy?”
“Oui,” she nodded, her eyes never leaving the screen.
The long hours of instruction allowed him to follow the highlights, if not the details. Through the commander’s efforts, he finally pinpointed the location of the enemy’s attack. “May 14th, 1840,” he said at last, “in London, England.”
“What’s happening in London?” Delany asked in confusion.
“I don’t know yet,” he said, irritated. “I’m still trying to trace its effects. There’s a lot of interference going on here.” A sharp intake of breath betrayed Amélie’s distress at the news.
“I take it that’s not a good sign,” Mike said quietly.
“No, it is not,” she agreed. “Interference is caused by changes to the timeline. The more interference, the greater the change. Our only hope, then, is to trace the distortion to its source. If we can isolate where the timeline first diverges, we may be able to prevent it.”
“And if we can’t?”
Amélie shuddered. “I do not know,” she whispered.
The pair watched in earnest while Vargas worked to clear up the data. As the information finally came into focus, he winced and looked away. “Fuck,” he swore under his breath.
“What?” Mike demanded.
“Queen Victoria,” he grimaced. “Both she and Prince Albert were assassinated before they produced an heir. No wonder the temporal plot is such a fucking disaster.” He looked closer, reading the details as they emerged from the computer. “With their deaths, next in line for the throne was Ernest Augustus, King of Hannover.” He shook his head, turning to face them both. “This is very disturbing news.”
“Why?” Delany asked him. “I mean, I know she was important and all, but England’s had lots of kings. Why does this make such a big difference?”
“Half of Europe’s royal families are descended from Victoria and Albert, or married into their family!” he exclaimed. “The Romanovs in Russia, the Kaiser in Germany, the kings and queens of Spain, Denmark, Norway, Greece, and Sweden? The entire map of Europe would be irrevocably altered, and that’s not even the worst of it.”
“Mon Dieu,” Amélie said in horror. “A German king, sitting upon the English throne.”
Vargas nodded in agreement. “Imagine how the First and Second World Wars would have played out, with Great Britain aligned with Germany, instead of the Allies. Imagine if Churchill couldn't rally the British people, and the American forces couldn't be based in England prior to the invasion. How would history have unfolded then, Sergeant?”
His mind whirled at the grim reality they just laid out for him. “The fascists would control all of Europe,” he said in shock.
“Not just Europe,” Vargas disagreed. “Let’s not forget the Japanese. Without the British and Dutch interfering with their plans, they would have free rein in Asia.”
“Wait a second,” Mike argued, holding up his hands, “you’re forgetting about America.”
“No, I'm not,” he said quietly. “Before Pearl Harbor, America was staunchly isolationist. Hell, I doubt I need to tell you that,” he snorted. “After all, you saw it with your own two eyes.”
“Yeah,” Mike said quietly. “I mean, there were a few folks that wanted to get involved, like the ones who went north to Canada to join up.”
“Yes… let’s not forget about Canada,” the commander said darkly. “A nation that shares our longest border, allied with a fascist England. America would be surrounded, isolated… and alone. How long do you think we could survive against the entire world?”
He couldn’t imagine a worse future. “We have to stop this,” he said fervently. “Tell me there’s a way we can prevent all that from happening.”
“There is,” he said with determination. “You and Amélie have to go back to 1840, and prevent the assassination.”
“Me?” Mike shook his head. “You should go, not me. You have a lot more experience than I do. I still don’t understand any of this shit!”
“I can’t go,” the commander argued. “That’s right at the edge of my Temporal Limit. But you’ll have Amélie to guide you… after all, this is her era we’re talking about. She knows it better than anyone. The replicator will provide you with period clothing, weapons, whatever you need.” He put a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “You can do this. I have faith in you.”
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been on more dangerous missions before. “All right,” he said at last, “but how do we pinpoint the assassin? If we’re forced to wait until he commits, that could be too late.”
“If it were one of the Satura in disguise, we could easily track them,” Vargas explained, “but they prefer to use cutouts and cat’s paws. Our assassin is most likely someone they bribed or radicalized against the monarchy, which makes our job that much harder. However, I think I have something that will help you.” He smiled and pointed them toward the replicator. “Come on… time to get you both geared up.”
“... there,” Vargas said at last, “I think that should just about do it.” He gave Delany a final once-over. “It looks good on you,” he said in approval.
Mike turned and stared dubiously at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like an escapee from a Dickens novel. It wasn’t too bad. The trousers and jacket may have had an odd cut to them, from his perspective, but they were manageable. The shirt collar, on the other hand…
"Non,” Amélie chastised, swatting him with her handheld fan, “leave it alone. Tugging at the collar like that will brand you an imposter.” She wore a long printed dress, with ruffles and petticoats, like one of the sisters from “Little Women”.
“It itches,” he complained, pulling at it once more.
The Frenchwoman glared at him. “Perhaps you would prefer wearing my corset?” she snapped.
Delany swallowed. “Forget I said anything.”
“Here,” the commander continued, as he handed over the rest of their gear. “A Colt Paterson revolver, cut down to make it easier to conceal.” Mike took the weapon and tucked it inside his coat. “Don’t get caught with that,” he cautioned, “with the shortened barrel and pared-down grips, you’ll look like an assassin yourself.”
“Understood,” Mike nodded.
Vargas passed‌ over a pair of tiny derringers to Amélie. “I’ll let you decide where you want to conceal them,” he said with a shrug. She gave him an old-fashioned look as she tucked them away. “A dagger for each of you,” he continued, giving them a pair of blades, before opening up a small case. “These, hopefully, will help you spot your target,” he explained, as he gave Mike a pair of spectacles, before gifting his companion with a jeweled lorgnette. “There’s a tiny stud on the frame, next to the right lens,” he explained. “Press that, and you’ll have infrared vision. Press it again, and they’ll function as night goggles. Someone planning to kill the queen will probably have an elevated body temperature from sweating. It might just give you the advantage you need.”
He fiddled with the glasses, testing the various modes, before nodding in approval. “Could have used these at Normandy,” he said, mostly to himself.
Finally, he gave Delany a top hat and cane, while Amélie received a fur muff made with mink, or at least a reasonable facsimile. “Remember, you’re high society types, so act the part. That should get you close to the queen, without arousing suspicion.” he gave them a final once-over. “All right. Your pocket watch will tell you when you must return, and will act as a beacon when it’s time to retrieve you. Any questions?”
They both shook their heads. “Then step onto the platform, and Godspeed.” The pair stepped onto the raised dais as she took his hand in hers. “Good luck, both of you,” Vargas told them, as he activated the controls.
Once again Mike felt himself being yanked away, as the gray featureless compartment vanished from sight.
First I Previous

The house stood by itself, certainly holding darkness within. I had no doubt that inside, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone, just like any other house.
I knew it was not like any other house. My dead parents would be proud.
Actually, I had no idea whether they’d be proud. Dead things take on a life of their own in our imaginations, and become far more than they ever could have been under different circumstances.
I pulled the jacket tighter. There was no point in trying to be discreet, but I’d rather be the weirdo in an unnecessary trench coat than the weirdo who was trying to hide a weapon.
I made my way around the structure and to the back door without anyone noticing. That wasn’t a good thing. We have a way of paying attention to everything except what’s important.
Grabbing the knob with a gloved hand, I found it to be locked. This was hardly my first time breaking into a house that didn’t want me, though, so I was inside a few seconds later.
I didn’t like how quiet the kitchen was. It felt like a presence, as though it was listening. A stifling flutter of vertigo and nausea tickled me as I waded through it. Turning into the hallway, it got worse, like I was diving underwater too quickly. My head spun.
The sensation emanated from the last room on the left; even without light, sound, or smell, it was overwhelming in the absence of what I should have felt. A sudden hitch pulled in my chest: I really didn’t want to go into the final room of this suffocating house in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to be alone in the dark.
I wished I had someone in my life to disappoint. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t have gone forward.
And so I found myself slowly stepping around the bedroom door, telling myself that I was ready to face whatever lay on the other side.
I wasn’t ready.
I didn’t learn about demons until I was grown up. While some people can see the demons inside of us, they like to stay hidden.
Not this one. It stood at the far end of the shadowy room, nine feet tall, curly goat’s horns atop the humanoid feline face of a man. Pugilist arms drooped at both sides, hanging to knees supported by cloven feet. Its tail twitched in time to the flicker of its forked tongue.
A little girl, maybe ten years old, trembled beneath her blanket, her skin alabaster white as her large eyes stared at the nightmare incarnate.
Fear chilled my blood. No matter how many times I saw the manifestation of everything vile in my mind, the terror never went away. Fear of death only stops when we’re dead.
The demon dropped its jaw – five inches, eight inches, a foot, even more – to reveal canines that dripped from infected gums to far below its jaw. It lowered its face to the terrified girl. She had nowhere to go: her bed was in the corner, and the bedroom had no windows.
“Stop.”
They both turned to me. I could smell the thing’s breath from across the room; it reeked like rotting fish had been washed using other rotten fish.
I reached into my jacket and grabbed the handle.
Our demon huffed, sending swirlies of exhaled air that threatened to melt the wallpaper. I held my breath and pointed the weapon. The thing saw how much the tip trembled, no matter how I tried to steady my hand. It smiled.
I blinked rapidly.
When it saw that I wasn’t going to move, the goat demon lurched toward me.
It had expected me to step back. When I didn’t do what it wanted, the thing got angrier. It lumbered forward, rising to its full height.
It’s impossible to appreciate just how tall nine feet is until a monster is standing right in front of you with its tongue writhing like a tortured snake. But still, I didn’t move.
Yet it knew I was afraid. The thing could smell it on me, wafting like a freshly opened Octomore whisky that had all the subtlety of a wrecking ball on fire.
I raised the handle higher. The shaky tip of my sword was now just below its chin.
This thing had the power to crush me.
“Run away.”
I peeked around the demon’s hyper-muscular frame to see the girl staring at me, the blanket pulled up to her eyes.
“You’re telling me that I should run away because it knows I’m afraid?”
She nodded, her black hair bobbing furiously.
The demon dropped its impossibly wide jaw and lowered it toward me. I could see straight past its uvula into a pulsing esophagus.
The exit was right behind me.
“I am afraid. Which is precisely why I can’t run.” I dropped the sword to the ground with a clang. Staring up at the monster, I spoke louder. “This demon’s name is Doubt. It lives among us because it will never go hungry in the presence of people.”
Its teeth stopped half an inch from my cheek. I tried not to cry. “This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt.”
It didn’t move. The putrid mouth still was sitting, still was sitting just beside the bedroom door.
And yet I stayed.
It held for a few seconds longer. And then it screamed.
The thing punched a hole in the wall with a single blow that sent shock waves through the air and jolted the girl into a standing position. I wanted to run away, to cry, to do anything but stay in place, but I learned long ago that we’re often strongest in our moments of weakness.
So I waited for Doubt to tire of us, since I knew it couldn’t hurt me as I was.
Finally it subsided, heaving as it stared, content for the moment to lurk in the background so that I would always know of its presence.
The girl, still trapped in the corner of the room, glared back and forth between us. “Who are you?” she asked in a voice just above a whisper.
I had to swallow three times before I was sure I could speak without crying. “My name is Peter,” I responded, “and I’m a demon hunter like my parents before me.”
“How – how do you kill this one?” she asked, teetering on the edge of complete panic.
I raised an eyebrow. “You want to be rid of it entirely?”
She wrapped her arms around a white sleeping gown, looking ghostly, and nodded.
“The only certain cure is dying,” I answered. “Otherwise, he’ll always know how to find you.” I plucked my parents’ sword from the ground. “In the meantime, try letting go of a weapon. Most people don’t know how not to use violence.” I held out my hand, inviting her to escape.
“Is it safe?” she whispered.
“No.”
She glanced at the demon once more.
“Stop staring. It only makes the thing stronger.”
She continued to stare before leaping from the bed and trotting over toward me and slipping on a pair of shoes by the door. “We’re going away, aren’t we?”
I looked down at her. “You know why it’s hunting you?”
She looked back up with big, brown eyes that only seemed innocent on the surface. “They’ve come for the most dangerous weapon in the world.”
The words sent chills down my back. I didn’t need to affirm what we both knew.
“It’s time to leave.”
She turned at my words, and we walked side-by-side down the hallway, putting the room behind us.
We couldn’t put it behind us. I felt the demon’s first step, and I heard the second. Each footfall of ours was met by two more, just behind us.
“Is it following us?” she whispered.
I clenched my fist. “Don’t look back. Whatever you do, don’t look back.”
Hot, wet breath caressed my neck as the hair on the back of my head was graced lightly by what felt like a forked tongue.
“How can we live like this?” she asked. Her cheeks were shiny.
“Well, you never know when life is gonna twist the story like an eager titty.”
We froze. Standing before us in the kitchen was a gray-haired woman in her sixties taking a long drag on a cigarette. The skin around her eyes wrinkled in a way that made me think she’d spent a lifetime laughing at people facing the consequences of what seemed like a good idea at the time.
“Sorry, Sugar. I sometimes forget to watch my fucking mouth when kids are around.”
A million questions raced through my head at the stranger’s presence, but only one reached my lips. “Can you see what’s behind me?”
She looked between the two of us, one eyebrow raised like a skeptical proctologist hearing the same lie a hundredth time.
“So it’s visible to you,” I pressed, my pulse quickening. “Do you know what it is?”
She took another extensive drag on the cigarette, clearly more interested in nicotine than self-preservation. “No, but if I could scrub my clothes on its stomach, I’d never use a washing machine again.”
For the first time since leaving the room, I looked over my shoulder.
It was an inch away. The disgusting pubic stubble on its chin raked my neck.
“Someone is after her,” I explained to the stranger.
“Someone is after you, Peter.”
A shudder went through my bones upon hearing my name. “Why – who the hell are you?”
She took the deepest pull yet on a cigarette that was almost out, closing her eyes before answering. “My name is Patricia Barnes. I like to think of myself as the reciprocation of every testicular-based mistake.”
I shook my head. There was no way I could even attempt to understand what the hell she was saying. “We need to leave. Now.”
The little girl looked up at me. “What’s going to happen?”
The first thing that parents learn is how to lie to their children, and the last thing that children do is learn just how much their parents were lying. That’s the boundary of adulthood, and our only unifying feature is that we’re not ready for it.
“Kid, this is going to suck,” I promised. The demon wormed his tongue into my ear. I ignored it. “What’s your name?”
“Gwen,” she answered. I thought she was going to hold my hand. She didn’t.
“The sun’s about to rise,” I went on. “We need to be gone by then.” I opened the back door once again, and the two of them followed me out. I didn’t check for the demon, because I was looking forward.
“You found me,” I said to Patricia once we were standing in the still night air. “They’ll find us soon.”
She snorted. “You were only looking at what I wanted you to see.”
I turned to her and folded my arms as she lit another cigarette.
“What happened to the last one I was smoking?” she asked through clenched teeth.
I shook my head, ready to turn away from her.
She yanked it from her mouth and blew a long stream into the night air. “I set it down just before crossing the room to turn on the pilot light.”
I opened my mouth to respond.
Then I froze, staring.
“I left it on high, Sugar. You’d better run.”
I grabbed Gwen’s hand and sprinted into the trees behind her house. Patricia was surprisingly fast in her high-heeled boots and long skirt; it was clear that she’d been mentally preparing for this.
We were hiding behind the trees when the explosion sent shock waves through us. I turned back to stare at the wreckage. “Can anyone else see it?” I breathed. “I’ve watched far worse things that no one noticed.”
Before I received an answer, silhouettes moved against the flames. Two men stared up at the crimson night. One paced back and forth, clearly pissed, while the other stood placidly with his arms on his hips.
“God,” I whispered, “they were outside this whole time, waiting for us.” I turned to stare at Patricia, who was recovering from her sprint with closed eyes and another inhalation of cigarette smoke, before looking at Gwen. She seemed so vulnerable, pale almost to the point of glowing in the first gray rays of a dawning sun.
Patricia sighed. “Do you know how many cigarettes I’ve gone through explaining things to men who should have figured out my motivations the 1,913th time I made it obvious?”
I folded my arms. “That’s a random number.”
She coughed. “Not if you put together all the clues. Look, sometimes memories stick better when I slap the listener around a little. Do you need a good smacking?”
“No.”
“Offer’s on the table.” She dropped her cigarette onto the dirt, crushing it beneath her boot as she lit another. Patricia closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. “Are you ready for the truth?”
“No one is.”
She opened her eyes and cackled. “Good boy.” Looking up toward the two shadows, one still pacing, the other statue-still, she pursed her lips. “They’re not going to give up the most dangerous weapon in the world that easily,” she pressed, eyebrows raised.
I looked at her, she looked at me, and I think that we finally understood one another.
“There’s no going back,” she continued, her voice eerily calm. “Peter, this is just the beginning.”
Read me!
W
E
Join
Check out my books!

The house stood by itself, certainly holding darkness within. I had no doubt that inside, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone, just like any other house.
I knew it was not like any other house. My dead parents would be proud.
Actually, I had no idea whether they’d be proud. Dead things take on a life of their own in our imaginations, and become far more than they ever could have been under different circumstances.
I pulled the jacket tighter. There was no point in trying to be discreet, but I’d rather be the weirdo in an unnecessary trench coat than the weirdo who was trying to hide a weapon.
I made my way around the structure and to the back door without anyone noticing. That wasn’t a good thing. We have a way of paying attention to everything except what’s important.
Grabbing the knob with a gloved hand, I found it to be locked. This was hardly my first time breaking into a house that didn’t want me, though, so I was inside a few seconds later.
I didn’t like how quiet the kitchen was. It felt like a presence, as though it was listening. A stifling flutter of vertigo and nausea tickled me as I waded through it. Turning into the hallway, it got worse, like I was diving underwater too quickly. My head spun.
The sensation emanated from the last room on the left; even without light, sound, or smell, it was overwhelming in the absence of what I should have felt. A sudden hitch pulled in my chest: I really didn’t want to go into the final room of this suffocating house in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to be alone in the dark.
I wished I had someone in my life to disappoint. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t have gone forward.
And so I found myself slowly stepping around the bedroom door, telling myself that I was ready to face whatever lay on the other side.
I wasn’t ready.
I didn’t learn about demons until I was grown up. While some people can see the demons inside of us, they like to stay hidden.
Not this one. It stood at the far end of the shadowy room, nine feet tall, curly goat’s horns atop the humanoid feline face of a man. Pugilist arms drooped at both sides, hanging to knees supported by cloven feet. Its tail twitched in time to the flicker of its forked tongue.
A little girl, maybe ten years old, trembled beneath her blanket, her skin alabaster white as her large eyes stared at the nightmare incarnate.
Fear chilled my blood. No matter how many times I saw the manifestation of everything vile in my mind, the terror never went away. Fear of death only stops when we’re dead.
The demon dropped its jaw – five inches, eight inches, a foot, even more – to reveal canines that dripped from infected gums to far below its jaw. It lowered its face to the terrified girl. She had nowhere to go: her bed was in the corner, and the bedroom had no windows.
“Stop.”
They both turned to me. I could smell the thing’s breath from across the room; it reeked like rotting fish had been washed using other rotten fish.
I reached into my jacket and grabbed the handle.
Our demon huffed, sending swirlies of exhaled air that threatened to melt the wallpaper. I held my breath and pointed the weapon. The thing saw how much the tip trembled, no matter how I tried to steady my hand. It smiled.
I blinked rapidly.
When it saw that I wasn’t going to move, the goat demon lurched toward me.
It had expected me to step back. When I didn’t do what it wanted, the thing got angrier. It lumbered forward, rising to its full height.
It’s impossible to appreciate just how tall nine feet is until a monster is standing right in front of you with its tongue writhing like a tortured snake. But still, I didn’t move.
Yet it knew I was afraid. The thing could smell it on me, wafting like a freshly opened Octomore whisky that had all the subtlety of a wrecking ball on fire.
I raised the handle higher. The shaky tip of my sword was now just below its chin.
This thing had the power to crush me.
“Run away.”
I peeked around the demon’s hyper-muscular frame to see the girl staring at me, the blanket pulled up to her eyes.
“You’re telling me that I should run away because it knows I’m afraid?”
She nodded, her black hair bobbing furiously.
The demon dropped its impossibly wide jaw and lowered it toward me. I could see straight past its uvula into a pulsing esophagus.
The exit was right behind me.
“I am afraid. Which is precisely why I can’t run.” I dropped the sword to the ground with a clang. Staring up at the monster, I spoke louder. “This demon’s name is Doubt. It lives among us because it will never go hungry in the presence of people.”
Its teeth stopped half an inch from my cheek. I tried not to cry. “This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt.”
It didn’t move. The putrid mouth still was sitting, still was sitting just beside the bedroom door.
And yet I stayed.
It held for a few seconds longer. And then it screamed.
The thing punched a hole in the wall with a single blow that sent shock waves through the air and jolted the girl into a standing position. I wanted to run away, to cry, to do anything but stay in place, but I learned long ago that we’re often strongest in our moments of weakness.
So I waited for Doubt to tire of us, since I knew it couldn’t hurt me as I was.
Finally it subsided, heaving as it stared, content for the moment to lurk in the background so that I would always know of its presence.
The girl, still trapped in the corner of the room, glared back and forth between us. “Who are you?” she asked in a voice just above a whisper.
I had to swallow three times before I was sure I could speak without crying. “My name is Peter,” I responded, “and I’m a demon hunter like my parents before me.”
“How – how do you kill this one?” she asked, teetering on the edge of complete panic.
I raised an eyebrow. “You want to be rid of it entirely?”
She wrapped her arms around a white sleeping gown, looking ghostly, and nodded.
“The only certain cure is dying,” I answered. “Otherwise, he’ll always know how to find you.” I plucked my parents’ sword from the ground. “In the meantime, try letting go of a weapon. Most people don’t know how not to use violence.” I held out my hand, inviting her to escape.
“Is it safe?” she whispered.
“No.”
She glanced at the demon once more.
“Stop staring. It only makes the thing stronger.”
She continued to stare before leaping from the bed and trotting over toward me and slipping on a pair of shoes by the door. “We’re going away, aren’t we?”
I looked down at her. “You know why it’s hunting you?”
She looked back up with big, brown eyes that only seemed innocent on the surface. “They’ve come for the most dangerous weapon in the world.”
The words sent chills down my back. I didn’t need to affirm what we both knew.
“It’s time to leave.”
She turned at my words, and we walked side-by-side down the hallway, putting the room behind us.
We couldn’t put it behind us. I felt the demon’s first step, and I heard the second. Each footfall of ours was met by two more, just behind us.
“Is it following us?” she whispered.
I clenched my fist. “Don’t look back. Whatever you do, don’t look back.”
Hot, wet breath caressed my neck as the hair on the back of my head was graced lightly by what felt like a forked tongue.
“How can we live like this?” she asked. Her cheeks were shiny.
“Well, you never know when life is gonna twist the story like an eager titty.”
We froze. Standing before us in the kitchen was a gray-haired woman in her sixties taking a long drag on a cigarette. The skin around her eyes wrinkled in a way that made me think she’d spent a lifetime laughing at people facing the consequences of what seemed like a good idea at the time.
“Sorry, Sugar. I sometimes forget to watch my fucking mouth when kids are around.”
A million questions raced through my head at the stranger’s presence, but only one reached my lips. “Can you see what’s behind me?”
She looked between the two of us, one eyebrow raised like a skeptical proctologist hearing the same lie a hundredth time.
“So it’s visible to you,” I pressed, my pulse quickening. “Do you know what it is?”
She took another extensive drag on the cigarette, clearly more interested in nicotine than self-preservation. “No, but if I could scrub my clothes on its stomach, I’d never use a washing machine again.”
For the first time since leaving the room, I looked over my shoulder.
It was an inch away. The disgusting pubic stubble on its chin raked my neck.
“Someone is after her,” I explained to the stranger.
“Someone is after you, Peter.”
A shudder went through my bones upon hearing my name. “Why – who the hell are you?”
She took the deepest pull yet on a cigarette that was almost out, closing her eyes before answering. “My name is Patricia Barnes. I like to think of myself as the reciprocation of every testicular-based mistake.”
I shook my head. There was no way I could even attempt to understand what the hell she was saying. “We need to leave. Now.”
The little girl looked up at me. “What’s going to happen?”
The first thing that parents learn is how to lie to their children, and the last thing that children do is learn just how much their parents were lying. That’s the boundary of adulthood, and our only unifying feature is that we’re not ready for it.
“Kid, this is going to suck,” I promised. The demon wormed his tongue into my ear. I ignored it. “What’s your name?”
“Gwen,” she answered. I thought she was going to hold my hand. She didn’t.
“The sun’s about to rise,” I went on. “We need to be gone by then.” I opened the back door once again, and the two of them followed me out. I didn’t check for the demon, because I was looking forward.
“You found me,” I said to Patricia once we were standing in the still night air. “They’ll find us soon.”
She snorted. “You were only looking at what I wanted you to see.”
I turned to her and folded my arms as she lit another cigarette.
“What happened to the last one I was smoking?” she asked through clenched teeth.
I shook my head, ready to turn away from her.
She yanked it from her mouth and blew a long stream into the night air. “I set it down just before crossing the room to turn on the pilot light.”
I opened my mouth to respond.
Then I froze, staring.
“I left it on high, Sugar. You’d better run.”
I grabbed Gwen’s hand and sprinted into the trees behind her house. Patricia was surprisingly fast in her high-heeled boots and long skirt; it was clear that she’d been mentally preparing for this.
We were hiding behind the trees when the explosion sent shock waves through us. I turned back to stare at the wreckage. “Can anyone else see it?” I breathed. “I’ve watched far worse things that no one noticed.”
Before I received an answer, silhouettes moved against the flames. Two men stared up at the crimson night. One paced back and forth, clearly pissed, while the other stood placidly with his arms on his hips.
“God,” I whispered, “they were outside this whole time, waiting for us.” I turned to stare at Patricia, who was recovering from her sprint with closed eyes and another inhalation of cigarette smoke, before looking at Gwen. She seemed so vulnerable, pale almost to the point of glowing in the first gray rays of a dawning sun.
Patricia sighed. “Do you know how many cigarettes I’ve gone through explaining things to men who should have figured out my motivations the 1,913th time I made it obvious?”
I folded my arms. “That’s a random number.”
She coughed. “Not if you put together all the clues. Look, sometimes memories stick better when I slap the listener around a little. Do you need a good smacking?”
“No.”
“Offer’s on the table.” She dropped her cigarette onto the dirt, crushing it beneath her boot as she lit another. Patricia closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. “Are you ready for the truth?”
“No one is.”
She opened her eyes and cackled. “Good boy.” Looking up toward the two shadows, one still pacing, the other statue-still, she pursed her lips. “They’re not going to give up the most dangerous weapon in the world that easily,” she pressed, eyebrows raised.
I looked at her, she looked at me, and I think that we finally understood one another.
“There’s no going back,” she continued, her voice eerily calm. “Peter, this is just the beginning.”

Hey, so you ever get a birthday present that's so not your style, but you really can't return it because it'd be really awkward? Normally it's like, I dunno. Shoes, or shirts or something like that, right?
For me it was four fire-breathing horses.
Okay, so I should clarify. My dad didn't really give me four fire-breathing ponies to keep. It was more of a test for him to treat me like his son again.
See, I just recently got out of a Styx oath that would have led me to eternal damnation if I didn't fulfill it. It's a long story, but to keep it short: I swore an oath on the Styx to be a brave hero by my eighteenth birthday when I really should have just pinkie promised. But yeah. My dad, God of War and dad of the year took it well. …In that he pretty much said that I was a waste of space, disowned me and he'd personally hand me over to the Styx for eternal damnation.
Nice guy. Really should get into motivational speeches.
The night before, after riding the high of not having the threat of being sent to Super Hell I had a pretty bad dream. I mean, it wasn’t the normal David nightmare. It wasn't me killing endless hordes of monsters while my dad laughed at how pathetic I was.
Well, half of that. It was just my dad. To be honest, rather I’d take the monsters.
He was laughing at me, with that smug face of his, in that all-leather biker outfit with the shades that made him look even more like an asshole, as if that's hard to believe.
Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to cuss. Anyways yeah. Me and my dad. Not the best relationship, even by demigod standards.
He gave me a toothy grin, like a shark’s as he circled around me. I instinctively stood up straight, at attention. As much as I hate my dad, ticking off a god is a pretty dumb thing to do. Plus, I was pretty dumbfounded to see him here in my dream of all things.
“Well, color me surprised. To be honest, boy, I thought I'd end up taking care of this myself. So, congratulations on that front. But, sorry to burst your bubble, it might be good enough for ol’ Styxy but…it’s not good enough for me. But, you know, I'm a generous guy! Prove me you're a warrior. Do that, and I'll welcome you back in the family with open arms. I even got the perfect way for you to prove yourself.”
Without warning, he tossed me a set of keys with a miniature boar-headed keychain and a really big switchblade on the end of it. I fumbled with it before slipping it into my pocket.
“An oldie but a goodie. Used to let my sons prove themselves to me all the time with this one. Now, I'm sure once you see what I got planned you'll know the rules, considering you're a fuckin’ nerd. But in case you forget…”
He lowered his shades, revealing balls of fire as he glared right at me.
“Sundown. My temple. Don't be late or I'll toss you in the Styx myself. Well! Have fun, yeah? I'm looking forward to watching you fail this one, like your last quest. Now, get up. Clock’s ticking after all…”
“Gaah!”
I snapped my eyes open, falling out of my bed and onto the hard floor under me. As soon as I hit the floor, I could hear one of my many siblings start to stir from their sleep. Immediately, my sister Tiffany started to sigh as she shot up from her bed. I could see her pastel pink sleep mask perched on her head as she glared into the darkness of the early morning. She groaned in frustration, her words cutting through the quiet of the dawn.
"What the hell are you idiots doing?"
To be fair, I could see why she’d think that. Most of my siblings were fond of pranking each other every now and then. The chaos of the Ares cabin was unmatched from most cabins, except maybe Hermes. But, when you cut off her beauty sleep, the threat of an angry Tiff was usually was enough to make nighttime a truce. Usually.
My sister rubbed her eyes and looked down at me. I sheepishly gave a smile as I rubbed my head, still sore from when it hit the floor.
"Seriously, David?"
Tiffany got out of bed and silently made her way to me. She wordlessly held out a hand and I grasped at it as she pulled me up.
"Thanks Tiff. I had this dream, where Dad called me a nerd and was talking to me about testing me now that my Styx Oath is..."
I felt something hard and metallic poke against my leg, from my sweats pocket. I pulled out the unfamiliar object and to my surprise, there were the same keys from my dream. My eyes widened as I realized that my dream was a little bit more than usual demigod stuff.
"Oh. That...wasn't a dream."
She raised an eyebrow as she looked at the keys that sat in my hand. I played with the accessories, absentmindedly feeling the boar head and the switchblade knife. She leaned in, peering at the keys as the dawn started to rise.
"What the hell are those for?"
She looked to the keys, then back at my face, and then the keys again. She looked at me as if I just said that Kronos was about to come back and throw an ice cream party courtesy of the Titans.
"You're telling me Dad gave those to you or something? You're joking. Have to be."
I shook my head, but I could see why she thought so. I was pretty sure I was near the bottom, if not at the bottom of his list of favorite kids. If I was being honest, I was pretty sure he wanted me dead more than a few times.
"Tiff, you know that I'm not exactly Dad's favorite by a long shot. Why would I say something like that and risk him getting even mad more mad at me because of my lying? Dad disowned me, remember? He mentioned something along the line in my dream that if I pass his test I'd be treated as one of his sons again but he didn't mention what it..."
The gears started turning as I looked at the keys in my hands.
”A test…keys…sundown…oh no. Oh, no.”
I immediately pocketed up my keys and started putting on my shoes. No time for pants, sweats would do just fine, I just had to make sure to take my wallet with me, considering I was going to New York now. I had to be quick or this test was over before it even started.
"No. I...I think I know what it is. But if I'm right, then shoot I gotta get going then! Before our brothers take it."
In hindsight, I probably should have told Tiff a bit about my thoughts. But, the more I delayed the more issues that could have cropped up. I just had to make sure it was safe.
"Take what? Where the hell are you going?!"
I burst out of the cabin, staring at what was in front of our cabin. I felt a bit of nervousness bubble up as my thoughts were proven true. Tiffany was close behind me as she walked outside our cabin. I looked at her face and caught an expression of wonder as whatever she was going to ask me was forgotten. Parked in front of the cabin was a red and gold Harley. The seat was white leather and gave a sorta…humany vibe to it that I did not wanna think about. Only one thing came to mind, something I knew instinctively from the moment I saw it. Dad's War Chariot.
Or as the god of war would call it, his chariot.
"I...I think dad wants me to take his ride for a spin."
I ran my hand over the cold metal, and I realized what Dad meant about the “oldie but a goodie.” A while back, before the Second Titan war ended, and all of the children of the gods had to be claimed, there was a ritual all sons of Ares went through. It was something all my brothers did at fifteen. Drive around his Chariot and return it before sundown. It wasn't easy, my Godly siblings, Phobos and Deimos both loved to mess with whoever was in charge of the chariot at the time. And you had to deal with monsters too, but overall when it came to demigod stuff it wasn’t the most dangerous around. I dunno if that says a lot about how dangerous this life can get though.
But, shortly after the then-counselor Clarisse La Rue became the first girl to do it, Dad pulled the plug. I dunno if it was good ol’ sexism, someone totaling it, or dad not wanting to let all of his kids drive his ride, either way it wasn't super common nowadays. It wasn't like he stopped, but it was something given, not a right. Dad letting me do this was him at least giving me a chance to prove myself to be one of his kids, which was more than I expected to be honest.
I took a breath as I looked at Dad’s ride, feeling a pit of unease in my stomach as I started to climb in. If it wouldn't end up with me being tormented for the rest of my short life, I'd tell him no and go back to sleep. But, telling a god no, especially my dad is a neat way to be turned into a rodent. Or a fine red paste. Or a rodent that would be turned into said paste.
Tiffany's brows furrowed as she processed my words, a layer of disbelief on her face as she chewed over it.
You? He wants you to drive it? I...that...what the hell?"
I fought off a wince as she looked at me, then the ride, then back at me again. I could tell she was a bit annoyed. I mean, yeah from her perspective I was singled out by dad to do something she probably wanted to do for a while. I felt a pit of guilt in my stomach, it wasn't fair, really. But at the same time I had to do this.
"I mean, seriously? He must be out-"
She cut herself off. Calling my dad crazy was another way to get turned into a rat that would then be turned into a fine paste. Actually a lot of things carried the threat, my dad is kinda a jerk. I sighed, figuring I might as well tell her about why Dad was doing this. I didn't wanna hide it, but it's not like I like to talk about the fact that I've been disowned for two years. She knew, most of us did. But it's not something I like bringing up, because yeah. It sucks.
"I read a bit about previous Ares campers. He used to do this more often, at first only his sons did, but later his daughters could. I dunno why he stopped but, this isn't really like he's doing it because he's proud of me. I'm sorta disowned, remember? He said if I can drive the chariot, he'll take me back as one of you guys again. It's...more of a test to earn myself back into his good graces, I think.”
Tiffany listened to my explanation, not saying anything for a bit She looked a bit bothered about the fact that I was chosen to drive the Chariot, which again, not surprising.
"Ugh, I guess that makes sense."
I could hear the frustration in her voice as she crossed her arms. I winced again, preparing for her to resent or hate me. But to my surprise, I heard her add more in a softer voice.
"Well, don't get yourself killed trying to pass this stupid test, I don't want to have to explain to everyone why you're not coming back."
Her icy tone defrosted as she looked back at me with a bit of concern in her eyes. She seemed less annoyed and more worried about me, which was sweet. Not that I'd let her hear that. I hoped that maybe, dad would let her give it for a spin later down the road. If anyone deserved it, it would be her. I gave a nervous laugh as I took the keys out of my pocket.
"Of course, I passed my Styx Oath, didn't I? It'd be really dumb of me to die right after barely avoiding that, right? Oh, yeah. If Ellie asks for me, tell her about dad's little test he has for me. Hopefully it won't be too long but you know how it is with godly stuff. I should be back in time for us to hang out for the rest of my birthday once I do this for dad. I'll bring back something cool!”
I felt my trepidation fade away as I prepared to drive. Lots of my siblings dreamed of piloting the chariot. It wouldn't be right to reject the opportunity when it was given to me. And, who knows? Getting back in Dad's good graces (or as much as one can get in them) might help me out. At least I would have one less target on my back. As I sat down in the white leather seat, I put the keys in the ignition and instantly it began to morph.
OOC:Read this while listening to whats coming up
The front split apart into one steel horse that slowly split into two, and then four cream-colored horses that looked around with a cruel intelligence. The seat dipped, and warped before it became a horse-drawn chariot I was now standing in. The chariot was gold and blood red, adorned with the lovely images of people dying gruesome deaths, because Dad's taste in decor is somewhere between military surplus and serial killer, apparently.
“Okay…so, I need to get to Dad's temple before sundown. I don't know New York highways though, so how can I…oh hey! A gps!”
My fingers brushed against a touch screen set up on the chariot and punched The Intrepid into the coordinates. I gave one last wave to my sister before I lashed the horses and they immediately took off. I led them out of camp easily enough, but as we reached the highway they sped up to an impossible speed for a chariot. Their speed was even faster than any cars on the highway, rivaling the time that Aphrodite camper drove us to the beach once. I pulled back on the reins, trying to get them to slow down. Instead, they gave a rebellious snort and went even faster.
I would like to say that I embraced my inner Ares kid and relished the challenge. But I'm not going to lie, when you end up going past 80 MPH in a chariot, you tend to think you're going to die, fun fact. I screamed for most of the way, yanking and pulling at their reins so we could bob and weave through traffic.
It's a bit of a drive from Camp Half-Blood to New York City, I know it well, it’s a pretty common place for me to go for some monster slaying. But, up until now, I've been in the passenger seat while Argus drives. The speed of the horses really made the time go by faster. As we entered the city, the horses started to slow down and I felt a ray of hope as I started to steer them through the city. I gave a triumphant laugh as I looked down at my ETA. It was surprisingly quick, considering how congested New York can get. And I didn't see hide or hair of either one of my godly brothers, so I felt pretty good, all things considered.
“Huh. That's weird. There's not many cars today…my luck must be turning around!”
“Traffic update: Incoming Monsters. Rerouting. Cannot reroute.”
“Huh?”
Immediately, a massive boar the size of a garbage truck burst from a nearby alley way behind me. Behind the massive pig, two armored bank cars recklessly merged into traffic. One leaned out, revealing a gray-skinned human in body armor brandishing a shotgun.
“Of course! I had to open my big mouth! Is there anything that I’m going to have to deal with?”
“You are on the fastest route!”
“Well that’s just GREAT! Now I can be on the quickest way to the underworld!”
”Rerouting to: D.O.A. Records, Los Angeles.”
“Woah, woah, woah, no! Keep me on The Intrepid! The Intrepid!”
Seeing all these enemies together though, I started to put a thought in my head. They all had something in common, now that I saw them all in front of me. A boar was sacred to Ares, Spartoi too came from a dragon sacred to him. I put the pieces together as I saw the monsters come out of the woodwork and all to me. Now things made sense. The lack of Phobos and Deimos, the sacred beings to Ares, the lack of mortals on the street.
I didn't see my siblings because Dad wanted to mess with me personally.
Even now, I don't know if he wanted to test me in a Spartan way, or if he just wanted to get rid of me without kinslaying. Either way, I couldn't back down now. Not when I was so close. I snapped on the reins and the rebellious horses continued on their path, bickering and weaving left and right as they snorted and whinnied.
I heard the wiz of something traveling through the air and quickly moved out of the way. A metal feather hit the chariot, bouncing off the hull and onto the ground. I looked up and saw a few birds. They were black and crow-like, but their feathers had a metallic sheen, like iron. Their wings flapped and I heard the sound of metal on metal as they soared above me.
“Dad called in feather-shooters too? Come on!”
I steered left and right as I evaded the metal feathers shooting at me. The newcomers behind me quickly gained as I bobbed and weaved. I had to figure a way out of this, and fast. Problem was, I was quickly outnumbered and outmatched. I wasn't the best at archery, and my sword could shoot a blast of force, courtesy of the then Forgemaster. Main issue was it took a bit to charge, and I couldn't take them on so high up.
I couldn't run. I needed to fight out of this. But even if I could fight the two Spartoi and the big pig, the problem was the birds. I didn't have a ranged option…or did I? I looked to the horses, breathing embers as they huffed and pulled the chariot further on. Ares kids couldn't talk to horses, but these were godly horses. They seemed smarter than your average horse. Maybe I could talk them into behaving, the same way I got some of my siblings to listen to the plan during Capture the Flag.
“Hey guys, are you bored? I'm sure Dad and my brothers take all the good fights, huh? You know, if you guys continue fighting each other, I might lose this and you guys will miss out on a good fight.”
At first, I thought it fell on deaf ears. But then, they stopped their jostling and started to take a more unified path as we raced along the streets. Like I thought, they enjoyed a good fight as much as their owner did.
“That's what I like to see. Look, we're pretty surrounded right now. What do you say we rampage a bit before I take you guys home?”
An evil-sounding whinny came from the horses. I couldn’t really speak horse, but I took that as an okay and pointed at the birds above us. Did I feel stupid? Kinda. But as long as it worked, I couldn’t complain.
“See them? All yours. I'll cover you guys from the ground forces, and in exchange, you guys fall in line. Alright?”
A burst of fire came from one of the horses in response and I heard a loud squawk as it engulfed one of the feather-shooters. I breathed a sigh in relief as the rest of the birds started to scatter. They veered left and right in an attempt to avoid the flaming streams that were now sporadically being fired in their direction.
“Alright! Good job, I'll leave it to you!”
I gave a smile as I turned behind to my land-based foes, quickly gaining on me. I could hear the occasional woosh of fire as the horses fought the birds. One of the armored trucks caught up to my right and one of the spartoi leaned out of the vehicle. They aimed down the sights and pointed their shotgun at me.
“Sudden traffic in your area. You will be delayed by…five minutes. You are still on the fastest route!”
“Woah, that’s not fair! Come on Dad! A gun? Really!?”
I felt a tug in my stomach. It wasn’t something I could do a lot in a row without being exhausted, but I had some sorta pull when it came to weapons. When I gave a command, they were able to fall right out of their owner’s hands.
“Alright, let’s even the playerfield shall we?”
I held out my hand and they dropped it, the gun fell onto the ground, crushed by the wheels of the car. The second caught up to my left and once again, a spartoi leaned out of their car, weapon in hand.
“Another one!? Come on! How am I going to…”
I was jerked to the side as the horses suddenly veered right. At first, I thought it was the horses misbehaving again, but then a monstrous squeal came from behind me, rushing forwards.
Crash
I heard the sound of steel groaning as the boar rushed past the truck, pushing their truck out of the way as they aggressively charged forward. It was a good thing I managed to get out of the way, or else I would have been in trouble. I could see the spartoi shaking their fist as they spun out, their car massively dented with a massive gash in the armor. Now that I had to deal with two enemies, I decided to use the boar’s momentum to my advantage. I pulled back on the reins and the boar kept barreling on, too fast to stop as I made the chariot suddenly stop and then take a sudden turn away from the temple. The boar ran straight into a brick wall, seemingly dazed but otherwise okay.
”Rerouting...”
That temporarily took care of two of my enemies. Now that I had one to worry about, and my horses were pretty steady, I could start this fight in earnest. I kept one hand on the reins as I grabbed my Miku keychain. I unclipped it, and the keychain turned into a katana, with said keychain still on the bottom. It was my sword, Anime (I want to clarify, my friend Jules named it, not me). One of the Spartoi readied a spear and lunged at me. I parried it with my blade, and stabbed at their chest. I felt my blade plunge into their body. I pulled away at it, slashing at it again to tear it apart. To my disappointment though, the monster quickly reformed.
I don't know what I expected, to be honest. They wouldn't be much of an immortal soldier if they died after the first hit. But it bought me valuable time as we pushed forward. Almost as soon as its bones knit back together, it struck at me. I guarded once again, my sword starting to glow brighter and brighter with each strike. Our blades clashed and separated again and again for, I don’t know how long to be honest. I was putting up a good fight, but I just couldn’t gain the upperhand in that fight. For starters, if it was a monster or even a demigod it’d be ten ways to Tartarus at the moment. But, no matter how I sliced or diced it, the immortal soldier kept on coming back. Also, I just wasn't used to multitasking like that, I held on as tightly as I could, but the brief times I practiced Chariot combat with my friends Jules and Cel, I was either driving or fighting. Both at the same time was hard, and I was lucky that the horses were so cooperative.
I heard the whinny of one of the horses ahead as I looked back to the front. No sign of the birds meant that there was a few extra-crispy feather-shooters along the road somewhere, which was good news. But then, I looked out in front and realized that there was a big problem. One of the trucks we left behind somehow got in front of us, blocking the road with their car. Five spartoi were standing outside of the car, swords and spears drawn as they headed the chariot off.
At this moment, I knew I was screwed. I was too fast to just stop. And, even if I did stop, I’d have to deal with all the angry skeleton men chasing me down. I just winced, bracing for impact. But then, I heard a neigh as the horses pulling my chariot started to turn into steel and combined once more. The chariot started to shift, the creak of metal folding and turning. I quickly sheathed my sword as the reins turned into chrome handlebars which I gripped like my life depended on it. The chariot continued to morph until once again it was a motorcycle with flame patterns. I veered as left as I could, narrowly avoiding hitting the side of a nearby building as I sped past the skeletal blockade. I braked, motorcycle now turning back into the chariot form as I turned back and watched as the car that was chasing me slammed straight into the other.
The now pissed spartoi stumbled out of the wreckage and started to scream undead obscenities to each other. I couldn’t speak ghost, but whatever they said seemed to be pretty rude, because both sides started to unsheath their swords and get into an all-out brawl. One of the spartoi sliced the other in two, and they didn’t reform this time as their essence slid into their black sword.
Huh. Well, that was one way to deal with them.
“Whew! Good horses.”
I turned, ready to snap the reins once again, but I stopped as I saw what was waiting for me at the other end of the road. The boar, still very much on my trail stood in front of me. It pawed at the ground in front of it, and my horses started to do the same. I stared at the boar, unsheathing Anime once again as we stared off.
“Keep straight for…500 feet.”
The thing about boars is that they can be pretty deadly. They’re brutish and aggressive, and they go down fighting. You know the crossguard that’s near the pointy end of a spear? That’s so the animal doesn’t run up the spear to take you out with it. You don’t think them being that dangerous, but there’s a reason that dad’s symbol is a boar.
I had to make this quick, and efficient or I’d end up maimed, or worse. I snapped the reins one more time, and the horses started to dash down the street. The boar squealed as it barreled to me. I could see it get closer and closer. I grit my teeth, holding my blade in my right hand as it started to shine more and more brightly. My hand held onto the grip tightly, bracing for my next action.
I’d have one shot at this.
I miss, I’m dead.
I hesitate, I’m dead.
I don’t hit the vitals, I’m dead.
Time started to slow around me as I watched the boar rush at the chariot, enraged as it reached the point where there was no stopping it now. I could see the powerful muscles push and pull, the beast using all its power in an attempt to off me for good. I felt heat coming from the front as all four horses breathed a stream of flames at the swine. The boar kept on charging forwards, through the fire as the flames engulfed it. An angry squeal erupted from the inferno as it lept up from the sea of flames, still on fire as it used its strong legs to clear the horses and go straight for me.
Breathe in
I felt a sense of calm wash over me as I pulled my sword hand back. My blade shined brilliantly, even in the May sun. I watched it fall ever closer to me, the flames still eating away at the flesh. I stared into its ever-angry eyes, burning brighter than the flames surrounding it. I don’t falter. I’ve faced monsters that have crushed my bones. I don’t feel fear. I’ve fought creatures that could have killed me in five seconds. This is it. I need it to be perfect.
Breathe out.
SHING
I swung my blade and a rush of air followed it, making an arc that flew to the boar. I don’t doubt my skills. I simply watch, confident that this will end the monster once and for all. The blast, charged from my fight flew unimpeded. The beast’s chuffs turned into surprised squeal as it sliced the boar cleanly in two, bisecting it from the snout down. I sheathed my sword and put both hands back on the reins, eyes on the road as I barely watched what came next. The flaming boar started to fade into dust, still falling through the air until only a tusk was left. I held out my arm and caught it with my right hand.
“Oh hot, hot!”
I juggled it a bit with one hand before placing it down on the chariot floor. I grinned triumphantly as I realized what happened. Dad tried to test me, to see if I was “worthy” or he genuinely tried to kill me. Either way, I beat him this time, proving to him that I was more. That he underestimated me when we first met, that I was a brave warrior all along. In the end, I proved to him that I could fulfill my Styx oath even past what was expected of me. I laughed as I sped up, I felt pretty good about my victory. I wondered how his face would look, or if I could read his expression past his dumb sunglasses.
But as I rounded the corner, a terrifying sight came to my face as my glee turned to sorrow. I watched with horror as I realized Dad’s influence on the fight kept a more dangerous foe than any before at bay. Now that the fight was over, he had no reason to keep it around, and for once, I wasn’t sure if I could get through this unscathed. I gulped as I put my hands on the reins, not ready to face the impossible challenge alone. I hoped it wouldn’t break me as I prepared what little I had to fight this foe.
”There is an unusual amount of traffic in your area today.”
“Now you tell me…”
None other, than New York traffic.
I’d like to say that I did something else. Like I defeated an army of drakons on my way, or managed to fight off crazed demigods sent by my dad…but no. It was pretty much just traffic the rest of the way there. It was long and arduous, but I managed to make my way over to The Intrepid. After that traffic,I had to say, the amount of crazy drivers was almost San Francisco bad. I’d have taken as many spartoi and boars as dad could throw at me, if it meant I wasn’t drowning in the sea of cars. I drove down Pier 86, feeling a sense of relief as I got closer and closer to the aircraft carrier turned museum. As I got within eyeshot, I realized that dad said to take it to the temple, but not where to drop it off at.
It would be really stupid to end up failing just because I wasn’t sure where to leave dad’s ride. I got off the chariot, and was eyeing the prices of a ticket.
“Adults are thirty-six, Seniors and College Students…thirty four… Oh hey! Children of Ares get in free! Now, how do I wheel dad’s chariot through the front…”
Suddenly the side gate opened, lights flashing and clanging as it automatically retracted. The person standing in the booth waved me over and I hopped back onto the chariot, driving it by cautiously. They were dressed like a security guard, shades covering their eyes as they looked down onto their phone that they were absentmindedly playing with. Eyebrow piercings peeked out from behind the shades. They were tall, looked about early twenties, and seemed like your average bored museum guard, if not for that sorta godly aura I got from them.
“Take the chariot this way, Lord Ares will be at the end of Pier 86. Can’t miss him.”
I eyed the godling suspiciously. They seemed like one of those myriad younger and minor gods I saw when I was on Olympus. Not anyone I’d know, but if they wanted to stop me, it’d be annoying to get past them. They didn’t seem to be that dangerous, at least right now. But when you were a demigod, you learned to be wary of free handouts.
“Uh…look man, I’m going to be honest. I just got through some hellish traffic to get through here. So if like, you’re leading me into a trap or if my godly brothers are going to show up to try and take this, can you just start the fight and save me the trouble? It’s been a long morning, and I just wanna get this over with.”
I stared back at my reflection through their mirrored shades. Growing up, I always thought of myself as gangly and awkward. I could see my messed up hair, tousled from the wind. I stood tall, and although I wasn’t the buffest Ares kid around, you couldn’t call me skinny anymore. I looked almost heroic as I held the reins atop the chariot. Was that how I looked now? The godling shook their head as they chuckled, putting down their phone as they looked at me in the eyes.
“Kid, even for a god like Ares who likes conflict, you don’t do something like that in a temple. You can’t just attack his kid on his own grounds. Plus, it's part of the rules of war to respect neutralized zones. Trust me, you’re home free.”
“Oh. Um, thank you.”
He nodded and went back on his phone. I snapped on the reins and the chariot trotted along, even fire-breathing horses had to follow traffic laws apparently. I was on guard, not taking the godling’s words at face value. Mortals in a daze parted around the chariot, a few snapping pictures at me. I freaked out for a split second before I heard the tourists being in awe at what I heard to be a “vintage bomber”. Dumbfounded, I stopped for a brief second. It didn’t even have wings! But, I could see the mist shimmer around me and for a brief moment, see the silhouette of the plane around the chariot. It was an old fighter, a single propellor with flaming horse art on the nose.
“P-40B Warhawk? Alright, guess we’re working with that.”
I frowned a bit, trying to think if I knew that before this, from a school project or if it was more demigod shenanigans. I was never into fighter jets, but when you’re a demigod sometimes your parent’s godly influence shoves itself into your head and it’s always confusing when it does.
I drove the “plane” to the end of the pier, where I could see my dad sitting down on a barricade, blocking off a massive plane above him. It wasn’t used for war apparently, because I had no clue what type of plane it was. Looked cool though, it was really narrow around the nose end and the wings were all near the back end. He had a big wicked-looking combat knife in his hand that he used to clean his nails. He looked up at me, disinterestedly, before going back down to the knife.
“You’re alive.”
I couldn’t tell from his tone if that was a good or bad thing. It seemed… neutral. Like he was stating the sky was blue. But, overall I’d take that as a good thing, considering our last meeting. I spoke a bit warily, not sure if he was in a good or bad mood considering my victory.
“Uh, so Father. I’m finished with what you-”
“No. You’re not.”
“I’m not!? Do I need to do anything or-”
A moment of panic snuck up into my chest. For a brief moment I was afraid he was going to pull a twelve labors on me, but then he whistled and held out his hand.
“Not until you give me the keys kid, then it’s done.”
I hopped out of the chariot, the reins in my hand turning into keys as the horses went back into their motorcycle form. I somewhat clumsily tossed it to my dad, who grabbed it. He pushed himself off his perch, first making sure his motorcycle was unharmed. Then, he turned to me, eying me up and down as he circled around where I stood. I stood still, at attention as I felt my heart racing in my chest. I felt like a deer, cornered by a wolf just waiting to strike. Yet, the first pang of anxiety soon settled down. If he wanted to take care of me, he would have done so already. Or sent something more dangerous like a Drakon at me when I was driving. I felt my heart leap up into my throat as he clapped a big hand on my shoulder. The gesture wasn’t hostile, if anything, the motion seemed friendly. But his grip was anything but. His hand, like the claws of a tiger dug into my shoulder as he grinned at me.
“I have to say, I thought you were a lost cause, but look at you kid. Took you long enough, but I guess you have enough of me in you after all. Well, a late bloomer is better than being completely useless, but man! You were one of my most pathetic kids when you took that oath. I don’t think I had a kid as wimpy as you in a long time. Well, I’m glad my little nudge helped you keep that oath up after all. It would have been a waste of a perfectly good warrior if you didn’t shape up.”
I looked at him, dumbfounded. He helped me? He didn’t do anything! I wasn’t stupid enough to point it out, but I guess he knew what I was thinking as I felt his grip tighten as he growled.
“Come on, don’t give me that look, kid. Oh, don’t look so surprised. Tip of advice: don’t dip your toes into cards. You have a horrible poker face. Your mom was the same way. But, yes. I helped. Not that kids these days would understand. Parents these days are too soft, including most of us gods. Back in Sparta, we’d leave our kids to fend for themselves. Just give them barely enough food and let them hunt or steal the rest. If they end up dying in the hunt or starved, well that’s fine. They were too weak to do anything of note anyway. You should consider yourself lucky I was generous enough to just turn my back on you.”
He chuckled low, and my blood ran cold as he shook me. I shook my head, fighting off a wave of dizziness as he threatened to take off my arm.
“Oh, but that’s in the past! You passed your agōgē period, all by yourself. Now that is true strength.”
His evil grin widened as he gave me the closest thing to an approved look he’d ever given me. I furrowed my brow as I shook my head. This credit, it wasn’t mine to take, was it? Before I could think, I spoke what was on my mind.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t do this by myself. Everywhere I went, I had someone to help me out. If it wasn’t for the help from my friends, I don’t think I would be standing here. I didn’t-”
My dad’s good mood instantly soured as his grin warped into a snarl. His grip, although somewhat friendly now seemed dangerously tight as he frustratingly interrupted me.
“Oh for the love of! I’m complimenting you, kid. Look. I don’t care about those other twerps one way or another. Allies are fine enough in war, as long as you don’t make them do all the work. Kid, you’ve gotten strong all on your own, like a true son of mine. Don’t deny you and me the kleos you rightfully deserve ever again. Shut up and just take the honor.”
“I…uh…yes, Dad.”
I was surprised that all it accounted to was a mild scolding. My dad, too seemed to calm down after I agreed with his words, as he went back to a smile. He put his hand back into his pocket as he started to walk up to his chariot. He ran his finger across the chrome finish, taking out a cloth and cleaning off my fingerprints from the metal.
“About your joyride. Not bad, not bad at all. It took you a bit to embrace your birthright, but you ended up not even scratching my ride. Nice. Nice. Saves me the trouble of buffing it out. Now, if you could only stop complaining at everything that opposed you. You’re a man, aren’t you David? Start acting like it. If you think a bag of bones and a pig are hard, just wait until your future. The stronger a warrior gets, the stronger their foes get. Make sure you’re strong enough to stand up against them before you end up a stain on the pavement.”
I heard the engine rev as he got into the seat. He threw a bag at me that I clumsily fumbled with before I fully caught it. I opened it, and a few golden drachmas shined back at me.
“Since your agōgē finished up, consider yourself un-cut off. Even I’m not heartless enough to leave a son of mine stranded in New York. Keep the rest. Feel free to hang around my temple, and help yourself to the gift shop if you want, it’s on the house, happy birthday and all that. Just don’t go overboard.”
He turned the motorcycle, wheeling it around so he could leave the pier. He turned around, giving me a few more parting words he shouted over the roar of the engine.
“Don’t think you’re done yet, David. You got a lot more to grow. Especially now that you can receive my blessings again. What, did you think that taking a good hit was all you can do? You’ll see sooner or later. See ya kid! Don’t disappoint me.”
He revved his engine one more time and took off, leaving me behind on the pier. As I watched my dad leave, I realized that with that resolved, the last of what made my Styx Oath so suffocating was finally finished. A part of me felt that I’d always keep the consequences of it with me. Either dad would continue to disown me, or I’d be horribly injured from my jobs. But, to my surprise, everything worked out alright. I worked as hard as I could, and now everything was over, truly over. I…wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I mean, like obviously I didn’t wanna have them with me for the rest of my life. But, for all of my oath’s lifespan I had the deadline looming overhead, and my expectation was that something would happen to me as a result. I was glad to have it over with, but I never felt that I could relax until now. The feeling of not having the anxiety of my imminent demise was something I wasn’t familiar with, and to be honest I still have trouble relaxing. As he disappeared into the afternoon traffic, I realized that, so too did my previous life.
Maybe…maybe I could afford to enjoy my life now after all.
OOC: And there we have it! The final David storymode relevant to this storyline! I meant to have this yesterday but I didn't see the modmail that gave me the okay until literally an hour ago oop. Which means that yes, the Chariot and Ares both are approved from the mods.
Big thank you to Tiffany's writer, angelspoint for helping me with her parts, I had a blast working with them! Hope you enjoyed David's Victory lap!

The new gift-specific dialogue from the 1.6 update has me absolutely tickled pink! This one especially… I also haven’t practiced my creative writing in a while, and I decided it needed to happen sooner rather than later, so here, have a short story! Sorry if it's boring… I’m a little rusty!
“A Gift From The Void”
It was only yesterday… No one was quite sure where it had come from. There had been a sinister cackling noise ringing through the night air and Abigail had mentioned seeing an unidentifiable shape soaring through the sky during her walk home from the cemetery. The townsfolk gossiped and speculated about what it could have been that evening, but by the next morning they still hadn’t come to any reasonable explanation. It was only yesterday, and yet the entire village seemed to have already put it out of their minds and moved on. The scandal and chatter following the “Anchovy Soup Incident” at the Summer Luau several years back had lasted far longer than this… Even now Sam was still getting sideways glances whenever he got within a 20 foot radius of the soup cauldron, but this just blows over in less than a day? The priorities of small town people were strange.
Things had gone back to that same semblance of backwater, middle-of-nowhere kind of normal, and now the night had become just the same as any other Friday evening. Sebastian was playing a round of billiards with Sam, and while Sam was preoccupied with lining up the cue with his intended target ball, the farmer strolled into the saloon and up to the bar. Heads turned and raised to the newcomer for a moment before returning to whatever it was that had been previously holding their attention. Sebastian caught the sudden flourish of movement out of his periphery, but didn’t pay it much mind. The farmer ordered a coffee and a plate of the night’s special, and struck up a conversation with Gus about a peculiar egg that had materialized in their coop seemingly out of nowhere the night before. Apparently they’d decided to tuck it away into the incubator and wait to see what… if anything hatched from it.
Sebastian had never really been one to eavesdrop, but the wait for Sam to make his move was becoming boring, and sometimes the stories that passed around the saloon on Friday evenings got interesting depending on who all was involved. The story didn’t really go too far into detail. The farmer poked at their food until it had cooled enough to not scald the inside of their mouth, then they took a few bites before bringing up the events of the previous evening. What first started off as a funny story seemed to turn into some deep discussion with Gus about the mysteries of life. Eventually, Willy and Elliott were caught up in the mirth and it turned into a medley of strange tales from faraway lands and once-upon-a-times. Obviously exaggerated sightings of fearsome creatures on a midnight stormy sea, legends of colossal white whales, references to works written by masters of the mystery genre, as well as some from a trashy neo-noir novel or two that had probably been picked up from a bookstore clearance shelf.
Willy stroked his beard and mused about some daring battle between himself and a fish of questionable proportions that seemed to grow larger each time he told the story. Sebastian had heard this one before. The fight over the line had gone on for over an hour before the shadow of the fish rose near to the surface, and just before Willy could land the monster of a catch, it dove below again, taking the whole fishing rod overboard and nearly Willy himself with it.
Elliott gulped down the last few swigs of ale in his tankard, slapped the farmer firmly on the back, snorted and chuckled in an ungraceful yet jolly display that only ever crept out of him when he’d had a bit too much to drink.
“That fish becomes more miraculous each time he talks about it!” Elliott shook his head and smiled as he leaned almost a little too far forward. There was a slight sway to his posture and he tried to straighten his body back in line with the barstool. “To life, and her many little silly tricks of fate, my friends!” he declared. He raised the empty mug, and with his free hand, delicately tucked a few strands of stray hair behind his ear with the tips of his fingers. He rested his elbow back on the bar before he could lose his balance and sighed contently. Elliott’s cheeks were practically glowing red at this point and it was a wonder that he wasn’t slurring his words yet.
“Aye, you’ve all heard my fish story haven’t ye?” Willy chuckled. “How ‘bout the one about the Baba Yaga?” the farmer’s head tilted and they gazed curiously at the fisherman. Willy rested his foot on the crossbar of the barstool, lifted the rim of his hat out of his line of sight, and leaned into the counter. “Some know ‘er as the cannibal witch… others say she’s just a misunderstood haggard ol’ woman who lives alone out in woods or marshes. It’s said she lives a rickety old house that stands on chicken feet, and she likes to lure weary travelers into ‘er home, only to gobble ‘em up once they let their guard down. Apparently she’s especially fond of the taste of children…” He laughed in a hoarse tone and made strange spider-like gestures with his calloused hands as if he were telling campfire stories to a group of kids. The farmer’s nose wrinkled at the outlandish notion of some feral old woman devouring toddlers, and Willy laughed heartily at their reaction. “I think that last part the parents like to add into the story to frighten the little ones. It keeps ‘em from wondering into the forests and swamps alone at night.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and glanced back to the pool table. He watched the cue ball clack into the twelve before the twelve bounced off the barriers in the corner of the table and rolled slowly to a stop on the felt surface without pocketing. Sam huffed and stood back upright.
“You really aren’t very good at this, are you?” Seb chimed as he returned his full attention to the game at hand. Sam grinned and laughed.
“Nope!”
“Watch and learn….” Sebastian took aim at the cue ball, and after a single firm strike, drove it into the tiny gap between the two and seven. The cue stopped hard, but the two and seven sped to the opposite corners of the foot of the table, each dropping into one of the corner pockets simultaneously. Sam scoffed and paced about the pool room, but looked back over his shoulder just in time to catch Sebastian with a triumphantly cheeky grin on his face. Sam clicked his tongue and lightly thumped the base of his cue stick into the floorboards.
“Show-off…” he mumbled.
Elliott lifted the rim of the empty vessel to his lips, then chuckled again as he noticed the absence of ale and gestured it in Gus’ direction.
“Good sir, my glass is empty and…. I’m a writer!”
“Maybe you should stop for tonight…” the farmer interjected. “You won’t be sober enough to start your next chapter in the morning!” Elliott rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar counter. He tried to give one of his best theatrically exasperated sighs, but when the exhale turned into a case of the hiccups, they knew he was down for the count. He smiled defiantly and tried his best to look dignified through the sudden spasms in his diaphragm and soused thousand yard stare.
“I-am fiiine… ne’re betta’…”
“…..Aaaand, there he goes…” Leah giggled from the end of the bar counter. “It’s like dropping a ton of bricks on a peach.”
“I oughtta’ help the ol’ scallywag home, I s’pose!” Willy groaned as he stood from the bar stool. He smiled as he hoisted one of Elliott’s arms over his shoulders and stood him up from the bar stool. “C’mon you menace… Let’s get ya home before you make a fool of yourself in front of all the lassies!” he chuckled. Sam took a moment to appreciate the situation at the bar counter. He shook his head and laughed, then took another shot at the 12 and missed horribly yet again.
“Easy does it there!” Emily cooed as she cleared away the empty tankard. “Try not to drop him too hard!” Elliott wobbled towards the door as Willy struggled to keep him upright, and just before they stepped out into the lukewarm summer evening, the farmer waved one last farewell and called out to the well marinated dandy-man as he staggered away.
“Nighty-night! Sleep tight, Rapunzel!” they chirped. Elliot responded to the joke by blowing an overly exaggerated kiss over his shoulder and daintily waiving his fingertips at the company in the saloon, then he nearly tripped over himself as he turned back to the path home. A couple of snorts, giggles and guffaws rose up over the music and chatter in the saloon and quickly melted back into the white noise once the moment passed.
Seb looked Sam in the eyes with a determined glare and smirked.
“Eight in the corner pocket….” Seb didn’t have a clear shot, but leaned over the table, reared back the stick and spiked it into the cue ball. It ricocheted from the bumper, side-swiped the eight, and put just enough force into the edge to cause it to spin sideways into the pocket he’d called. Sam laughed and scratched at the back of his head.
“Awwww, man…” he groaned. “You got me again!” Sam leaned against his cue stick and looked over the table before his eyes lit up in anticipation. “How about a best three out of five?” Abigail giggled at Sam’s request as she stretched and leaned back into the sofa.
“Give it up, blondie! He cooks your goose at this game EVERY single time…. You’re doomed.” She teased. “It’s getting late anyways…”
…
It had been almost a month since the odd shape had been spotted flying over town at this point. Seb and Abby had talked in depth about it, and though most of the other townsfolk had come to the conclusion that it had merely been some sort of exotic bird flying out toward the fern islands, Abby was positive she hadn’t been mistaken. In fact she was adamant that the form looked human. She hadn’t seen or heard any wings flapping and the “squawking” sounded more so like the laugh of an old woman than the cries of a bird. The figure seemed to levitate or hover effortlessly and without the use of any physical or mechanical assistance. It was slumped over as if it was curled up or sitting and just…. Floated away.
The long night spent coding and researching the relevant programing issues at the computer, had caused Sebastian to rise late. He was groggy, didn’t have much motivation to bother rolling out of bed, and it was almost noon at this point. He could hear the rain pattering against the roof of the house and the rumble of distant thunder. As lazy as he felt, a smoke sounded pretty good about now. The sound and sight of the ocean on rainy days also had a way of clearing his head and a little stroll would probably do him some good.
He didn’t pass anyone on the way out of the house. Robin was likely at her aerobics club, Maru, at work in the clinic, and who knew where Demetrius was… Out shoving dirt samples into test tubes, or measuring the volume and PH of the current rainfall? As long as he wasn’t dissecting frogs. Out of all of Sebastian’s childhood memories, that was the one that stuck in his head and haunted him. Back then, Maru had only just been born, and while Robin was busy keeping her entertained, fixing her bottle or changing diapers, Seb was wandering the house trying to find something to occupy his time. He’d wandered into his step-father’s study and there on the examination tray was a deceased frog pinned on it’s back, limbs splayed like Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” with it’s belly sliced open. Sebastian had cried and pouted over that for several days and had given Demetrius the silent treatment for even days longer intermixed with spells of arm crossing, head turning and the occasional stuck out tongue and blown raspberry. He cringed at the thought even now.
The hinges creaked as he pushed the front door open and paused. The summer was starting to give way to autumn and the parched ground soaked up the rain and turned loose the pungent, almost overpowering scent of petrichor.
Sebastian flipped the hood of his pull-over around his head and tightened up the drawstrings. He took a moment to smell the aroma of wet grass and earth that drifted through the air and held the fragrance in his lungs as he closed the door behind him.
He began his slow, steady march toward the beach and lost count of his steps after he’d passed the old Community Center. He’d barely noticed the changing of terrain under his feet as he moved almost subconsciously toward the ocean. The raw, muddy dirt paths of the mountain, the crunch of rough stones and shuffle of old, dead pine needles that carpeted the ground… They’d transitioned into the grass and cobblestone of the town plaza at some point, but they all seemed to blend together into “just steps” after a while. His inner thoughts distracted him to the point where he barely paid attention to his surroundings until he felt his footfalls sinking and shifting underneath him, and he knew he’d hit sand. He heaved a deep sigh of the salt air and looked over the horizon as he paced toward the docks.
When the sky was this gray and muted, the color of the sea seemed to take on it’s own jewel-like quality and without the blue sky to draw attention away from it, the eyes of each breaking wave became a splendor to watch. They erupted into columns of aquamarine, sapphire and sodalite laced with the bright, almost pearlescent white of the sea foam before curling over, crashing into the tides and giving way to the next one.
Sebastian came to a stop at the furthest reaching section of the wood panels and straightened up his posture as he groped into his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. He selected one from the box, tucked it between his teeth and plunged his fingers back into the pocket for his lighter. He curled his left hand in front of his face, to protect the fire from the wind, flicked open the lid and thumbed the igniter. The flint sparked into a flame as it spun and lit up the end of the cigarette to a smoldering red glow. He pulled in a breath and held it for a moment before letting it out and watching the smoke dance away in the wind. It still wasn’t quite as satisfying as that first breath of rain when he’d stepped out of the house. Another sigh escaped Seb’s lips as he stared back at the oncoming crests of seawater and his mind started to drift again.
He imagined the city lights blazing somewhere across the ocean like stars, and thought about starting over somewhere far away. Disappearing, and reappearing somewhere else like a shadow moving through fragments of darkness and light, somewhere where no one knew him. Just vanishing and leaving everything behind. His parents, his sister, his friends… the thought excited him for a moment, before giving way to an intense feeling of regret and sadness. Maybe even a little shame. Having everyone was frustrating, but would having none of them be better or worse? He’d never known anything else. The same friends he’d grown up with, the same smell of the changing seasons in the mountain air, the same four walls of his bedroom, the sound of his sister’s laugh, or the taste of his mother’s cooking… even the way his stepfather overreacted to the littlest things was something he'd grown used to. He took another long breath.
The waves lapped and pounded at the underside of the dock so loudly he couldn’t hear the patter of oncoming footfalls against the wood and he was caught unaware when a sudden presence made itself known.
“Hey.” The start was enough to make him tense up, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Seb whirled around and when he found himself face to face with the farmer, he relaxed again.
“You scared the absolute crap out of me…..” He said as he rolled his eyes. He flicked his thumb against the filter of the cigarette to knock away the ashes and looked over the docks. They were alone.
“Sorry….” There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of them before Sebastian tried to force conversation.
“What are you up to out here?” He asked. He wasn’t really interested in the answer, but felt obligated to return the acknowledgement of his presence. The farmer held up the rod that was firmly clasped in their right hand and gestured to the ocean.
“Fishing!” Seb raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the response.
“In the rain?” he asked. His tone was almost dismissive. The farmer nodded.
“Willy said that there’s a number of fish that only come out when it’s raining, so I wanted to see what bites.” They began. “Some fish just like it better this way I guess.” There was another long pause. “…and you?”
“Hanging out…” Seb shrugged and adjusted the collar of his hoodie.
“In the rain?” The irony of the retort wasn’t lost on either of them though only the farmer seemed to find it amusing.
“Some people just like it better this way too…” Seb declared as he shifted his posture and crossed his arms over his chest. “I like to come out here where it’s quiet and have some alone time with my own thoughts.” There was a brief moment of guilt when Sebastian realized that he hadn’t actually ever bothered to ask the farmer’s name, but his introverted nature snubbed it out pretty quickly.
“Well, if you’re out here for some alone time, I won’t keep bothering you. I’ll go find a spot to fish and leave you to it.” At least they could take a hint. The farmer turned to leave and Sebastian suddenly regretted the entire conversation. Maybe he came off as cold and bristly? Either way, they hadn’t meant any harm. Just engaging in basic pleasantries. He found himself compelled to say something else just so the conversation wouldn’t end on such a sour note, then the thought of the flying figure and the appearance of the strange egg in the farmer’s coop a while back suddenly popped into his head.
“Wait….” Sebastian flicked away the spent cigarette and stamped it out with the toe of his shoe before he continued. The farmer turned back in his direction. “I was just curious… do you remember what happened a couple of weeks ago? The night that… thing… flew over Pelican Town?” The farmer’s eyes narrowed and they nodded slowly. “That was the night that strange egg just showed up in your chicken coop, right?” The farmer looked bewildered. Seb chuckled soundlessly when he realized that, for at least a moment, he was acting like the epitome of some small town country boy who was nosing into someone else’s business. The farmer was likely confused because they hadn’t spoken to Sebastian about it directly. How could he know about that? They didn’t have to ask before he preemptively put the question to rest. “I was in the saloon playing pool with Sam the night after it happened. I overheard you talking about it with Gus, Willy and uh- …Rapunzel.” He explained. A tiny snort escaped the farmer’s nose as they stifled a laugh and they nodded again.
“Right… I still don’t know where it came from.” They rested the handle of the fishing pole on the dock like a staff or walking stick and looked up at the sky as if they were contemplating something. “I don’t know if the egg had anything to do with the flying figure, or if it was just a coincidence… they did both appear on the same night.”
“Everyone in town says that the flying thing was probably just some weird bird heading toward the islands…” Seb droned. He shoved his hands into his pockets to sooth the chill in his fingers. “If that IS where the egg came from, then maybe it was just a bird…” The farmer briskly shook their head before they answered.
“No, I don’t think so.” They rested a hand on their hip, fidgeted with the line strung through the fishing rod and seemed to gaze off into the distance towards the island in question. “That wouldn’t make sense considering what hatched.” Sebastian’s head snapped upright to meet their gaze. Now this was getting interesting.
“It actually hatched?!” He piped as his eyes widened inquisitively. “What was it?”
“A chicken…. And those can’t fly long distances.” The farmer chortled as they watched Sebastian’s face droop back to some semblance of apathy. He looked mildly disappointed.
“Aww…. Well that’s kind of anticlimactic.” He groaned.
“Yeah, sorry it’s not more exciting than that…” There was a sudden gust of wind and both of them had to brace against the pelting of raindrops that came with it. “It is a pretty peculiar looking chicken, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Really?... How so?” He gazed back at them expectantly and waited for them to go into detail.
“The feathers are jet black and the comb and wattles have a bit of an odd shape to them. The eyes are also bright red, like an animal with albinism and they’re almost reflective in the dark too… like a cat’s eyes.” They paused and rested their hand over the lower half of their face as if they were taking a moment to recall more of the specifics to memory. “And there’s just something about the way it clucks.” They added. “It doesn’t really cluck like a normal hen, but it sounds more like… an echo of a cluck, I suppose.”
“What?....” Sebastian laughed as his expression shifted again. The description of the noise sounded completely ridiculous. Not a cluck, but an echo of a cluck? They may as well have likened it to a phantom voice or the cry of a specter. Something that eluded the range of sounds that most humans would ever have the chance or perception to experience. The farmer lifted their eyes back to Sebastian’s as if they’d suddenly remembered something else.
“She started laying eggs a couple of days ago. They look just like the one that appeared in the coop that night…” They let the fishing pole drop from their hand to the wood planking of the dock and slipped their arm out of the left strap of their backpack. “I actually have one with me if you want to see it….” They slid the other strap off of their shoulder and swung the bag around their right side, letting it come to a rest in front of them as they knelt down. Seb took a few steps closer and stooped to get a better look as they dug through the contents.
They gingerly grasped what looked like a tiny bundle wrapped in a kerchief and began to slowly peel away the corners of the fabric, exposing what was probably the most bizarre looking egg he’d ever seen in his life. It was black and somewhat glossy, unlike the calcified matte shells of most chicken eggs, and the surface seemed to be covered in tiny indents or fissures that exposed flecks of a bright, almost luminescent red underneath. The farmer held the egg out to Sebastian as they stood up straight and nodded, silently offering to let him hold it for a closer look. He gently cupped the egg in his hands, tucked his arms in close to his body and cradled it in his palms like a cautious child trying to hold a hamster. It was heavier than he’d expected it to be, and surprisingly warm.
The color reminded him of magma or hot coals. Something like the intense heat glowing through crackling obsidian after a volcanic eruption or a dying fire. He leaned his head even closer to the egg as he examined the texture of the shell, and his nose wrinkled a bit when he caught the scent. It was sulphurous, and almost earthy smelling, but not overpoweringly so.
“It’s not rotten, is it?” he asked as he gently turned the egg over in his hands.
“See, that’s the strange thing about it. It can’t be…. That egg was just laid this morning.” They explained. “All of the eggs that hen lays have that… little whiff of something burning to them.” The rain was starting to slow up a bit. The farmer thought for a moment and giggled at the notion of what they said next. “I’m not inclined to say that they’re edible either… at least, not to people, and I wouldn’t be keen on being the first one to test that.” Sebastian winced at the thought…and smell, and stifled a laugh.
“Me neither…” He smiled softly when the red speckled pattern caught his attention again. “It does look really cool though!”
He really did have a nice smile. It was kind of a shame that he didn’t let people see it more often. His eyes brightened, and his face looked softer and more approachable, yet also, inquisitive and curious. It was a look of fascination and wonder. Like a kid who’d just discovered dinosaurs and outer space for the first time, or someone who’d just felt their first taste of freedom and didn’t quite know what to do with it. An imaginative or inspired sort of expression.
“Since you like it so much, why don’t you hang onto it?” the farmer beamed.
“Can I?” Sebastian’s eyes lit up again and he gazed back at the farmer with a delighted look on his face.
“Sure! Hens lay eggs every day or so. There’ll be more before long!” they chimed. Sebastian chuckled as he curled his fingers about the egg and sheltered it from the rain.
“Thank you!” He gazed at it for a few moments more as the farmer hefted the rucksack back onto their shoulders and pulled the fishing rod from it’s resting place on the dock. “Hey, this might sound kind of stupid….” He began as he gazed back and forth between the farmer and his new prize… “But, do you think it’ll hatch if I put it under my pillow?” he laughed awkwardly at his own question when he realized how foolish it must have sounded, but was pleasantly surprised when the farmer’s response was more optimistic than he had expected.
“Umm, I don’t know… Maybe! It’s worth a try anyway, and stranger things have happened.”
“Only one way to find out I guess!” Sebastian said smiling in anticipation.
“Good luck! You’ll have to let me know what happens!” They scanned out over the tides as if looking for something before turning back to Sebastian. “I should hurry and find a spot to fish before the rain stops again, but it was really nice talking to you!”
“Yeah, you too!” Seb agreed. “I’ll see you later!” He distracted himself for a moment, making sure the egg was tucked away safe and warm in his hoodie pocket, when he suddenly realized something. “Hey, wait!...” he quickly turned back to where the farmer had been standing just a minute before, but by the time he’d remembered what he’d needed to ask, they’d already trotted too far out of earshot to be able to hear him. “Aw, man… I forgot to catch their name again.” He lamented. “I’ll have to remember to ask them next time… Next time for sure.”

First
Previous
The moons were barely visible through the snow and clouds as Fulmara took her watch for the night. The normal sounds of the woods were faint, muted by the growing white blanket, and even with her low light vision, Fulmara couldn't see more than thirty feet from camp, so heavy were the falling flakes. She looked upward and offered a brief prayer to Fulmos for safety before settling in. Her time was looking to be uneventful, as few creatures would be active in this weather, and fewer people.
She had just rested her hammer across her lap when she felt it, a strange sensation from above, as though something was watching her. Looking up, she saw the larger moon, not through the clouds and snow, but clearly, as though it were hovering just out of reach. The moon then began to change, shifting from it's normally pale complexion to a more ruddy appearance, before glowing brighter and more orange. The sound of metal striking metal reached her ears, and she began to understand.
She could smell the smoke of the forge, familiar enough from her childhood, and a song reached her ears, faint at first, but growing ever louder. She didn't recognize the language, but she knew a dwarven forging song when she heard one. She closed her eyes and listened for a bit, before the scene began to change. The light faded, and she opened her eyes again to see that the moon, once bright and warm, was now cold and dark, and the song that filled her ears was replaced with a cruel laughter, and a whispering that haunted her nightmares.
As quickly as it had begun, the vision ended. The moon faded from vision, returning to its place above the night sky, and the voices grew distant, before stopping entirely. A cold chill took her and the frigid wind reasserted itself. It was then that she noticed the hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her. Jeron stared down at her, concern evident on his face.
“You alright?” he asked, pulling her back toward the tent. She realized she'd wandered away at some point. “You were standing there for a couple minutes, staring at the sky.”
She shook her head, dislodging some of the snow that had built up in her blonde hair. “I think I've just been sent a vision. I'm not really sure what it means, but it's not good.”
“Alright, you go rest, and I'll take my watch. You can explain it in the morning, once we're all awake to hear it.”
Fulmara agreed, and brushed the rest of the snow off before returning to the tent. She pulled the covers over her head and tried to sleep, to forget the whispers. They echoed in her mind, swirling through her thoughts until they were all she could hear. The dwarf clenched her fists, raging against the noise in her head, and she felt her power stir. And then, like a torch that had been snuffed out, the whispers stopped, and she quickly fell asleep, the warmth of her divine magics wrapped around her thoughts like a woolen blanket.
“I think we all know what the whispers represent,” Jeron commented as they ate. “The song you heard though...”
“Right,” Firun added. “You said it was dwarven but not. Can you explain?”
“Not really. It was a dwarven smithing song. It had the cadence and the right feeling, but the language was something else. I don't think I could replicate it if I tried.”
“I have an idea,” Verrick posed. “If this was a vision, then it was sent by Fulmos, right?”
“Most likely,” Jeron agreed. “Though not necessarily true.”
“Then wouldn't the song be in a language that only the gods could sing?”
“That makes sense,” the Bard confirmed. “And it would almost confirm that it was sent by the Forge himself. The darker option is that our whispering enemy has some hold on you, and that he's trying to torment you.”
“How will we know?” she asked.
“We'll have to wait for more visions. Or we can find someone to delve into the memory with you, but that talent is not a common one, and they don't usually use it unless it's necessary. Too easy to get lost in memories, and some of the darker stuff sticks with you, or so I'm told.”
“Still, we need to look into this more,” Firun explained. “Even in my hometown, as terrified of magic as they were, people still respected visions from the gods. They didn't necessarily respect the receiver of the vision, but still...”
The human and dwarf both nodded, and Verrick looked apprehensive as he tried to sort out his thoughts. Finally, he looked back up to the group.
“We have a lot of things that need to be done, and not enough of us able to do them. Something's got to fall by the wayside, and two of those things are more important than the other.”
“Stop right there,” Jeron said, cutting the halfling off mid thought. “Firun's magic isn't going to be solved overnight. We can run tests and train all we want, but ultimately, it's going to take time for him to gain proper control. And Fulmara's vision isn't particularly conclusive either. Not many details in what she saw, so we have nowhere to start that we didn't have already. It's more likely a warning of things to come rather than a call to action.
“What we can work on is teaching you two to read properly, and tracking down your father. I think I know where he went, or where he was headed at least, and if that's not the end of the search, then we can ask around and see if any records have anything.
“Where do you think he went?” Verrick asked.
“He was carrying a large amount of alchemical equipment, right? Only two reasons for that. Either he was setting up a shop somewhere, which he wouldn't have left you behind for, or he was planning on brewing a large amount of something in an environment that was too dangerous for you. I know there was a plague in the area bowlward of Norgham around that time, and he would've had to take this trade road to get there, which lines up with the doctor seeing him back then. He definitely wouldn't have taken his child into an active plague, which explains him leaving you behind. Really, I just need to make sure the years line up with the timeline before we start traveling down that way.”
“So you might actually be able to find him?”
“Temper your expectations,” the Bard cautioned. “That was years ago. For him to not return after all that time...”
“Right, something probably happened. Still, I need to know.”
“We'll find him,” Fulmara said. “And if he's still alive, I'll hold him still so you can punch him.”
Verrick grinned. “I'd appreciate that.”
“So where do we need to go to do your research?” Firun asked, scrubbing the sleep from his face with a handful of snow.
“Back home. The merchants guild keeps records of major events like that, just in case they end up finding a pattern. As the largest trade city in the area, Norgham will have records of any plagues, disasters, and anything else that threatens to disrupt trade.”
“That makes a strange amount of sense,” Fulmara said. She strapped the last of her armor on and tugged, making sure everything was tight. “Why do I feel like merchants shouldn't be in charge of tracking history?”
“Because they'd charge for access,” Verrick commented. “And you can be sure they'd change things to make them look better, or to remove something that threatens their profit.”
“Their entire purpose is to help the merchants avoid situations where they would see a significant loss of profits,” Jeron explained. “They don't censor things because that hides critical information that could help them make more money. The trade off is that unless you have the money and a valid reason for the research, they don't want to deal with you, and they don't collect information on anything that doesn't generally affect them. Fortunately, we do have a valid reason, we've done some good work for them, and a plague is exactly the kind of thing they'd monitor.”
“Is a missing person a valid reason?” Firun countered. “If they were an important figure, I could see that working, but we're looking for an alchemist. No offense.”
“None taken. And you're right. A single missing person doesn't seem like something they'd care about.”
“We're not looking for a person,” Jeron explained. “We're doing research on a historical plague and its cure. There are any number...”
His eyes defocused for a moment, and he tilted his head slightly, as if listening to a far off conversation. The bard then cupped his hand to his mouth before speaking.
“Understood. We're on our way back now. Should be back to the city by nightfall. Need to report to the guard before we return.”
He returned his attention to the group. “Sorry about that. Ryn'Ala just contacted me. She's been doing some research through her own contacts, and may have some information about our smokey friend.”
“Then let's get going,” Fulmara announced. “The longer we wait, the later we get back.”
“I agree,” Firun said. “I don't like not knowing what our enemy is.”
Verrick had already started breaking down the tent, and grunted as he pounded the inside of the canvas to remove the snow from the exterior. In short order, their gear was packed away, the fire extinguished, and the campsite swept for loose tools and anything else that might otherwise be left behind. Within the hour, they were well on their way back home.
“Ghouls you say?” asked Mickel as Jeron gave his report.
“Correct. Two ghouls, a ghast, and a nest in an excavated tunnel system. The ghouls are dead, and the nest was burned.”
“Right, that's certainly a story.” Mickel scratched the stubble growing from his pale scalp. He set the request back on the desk and turned to the door behind him.
“Hey, Jev! Jevin! Got some hazard pay you need to authorize!”
There was a crashing sound from the back room, where the prisoners were kept, and soon the door swung open, revealing Jevin, the guard who had processed their prisoners the last time they'd arrived. He stumbled out, blinking sleep from his eyes.
“Mickel, you bastard, do you have any idea what time it is? I just spent twelve hours clearing that damned rat infestation out of the sewers. Let me sleep!”
He looked up at the group, and his expression changed.
“Oh, it's you lot! Got another load of bounties to claim?”
“Hazard pay, Jev,” Mickel repeated. “That grave robbing job turned out to be a bunch of ghouls.”
“Oof. Fought a ghoul once,” Jevin said, gesturing to a thick scar running down the right side of his face. “Not something I'd choose to do again. Now, not saying I don't believe you, but I need proof for the paperwork. You bring me something?”
Jeron pulled a phial from his belt, rattling it as he handed it over. “Left fang from each. Longer one was the ghast.”
“When did you take those?” Verrick asked.
“Right before I burned their corpses,” Firun said, “while you two were flirting.”
Mickel whistled, and Jevin snorted as he tried to hold back a laugh. Verrick and Fulmara both turned a bright shade of red and stumbled over each other's protests.
“Anyway,” Jev announced, clearing his throat, “These will do. Mickel, the forms?”
The bald man passed a parchment to Jevin, who noted the evidence and signed it, before stamping it with a wax seal. He fished around in the desk for a moment before passing the parchment and a small pouch of coins to Jeron. “Five silver for the job, and I've authorized another thirty silver in hazard pay for the ghouls. Starting to appreciate the twelve hours in the sewers a lot more now. The ghoul I fought was alone, and it took five of us to take down. I was just a recruit then, but still.”
Jeron added the pouch of coins to his bag as he answered. “We're just glad we were able to resolve that without much difficulty. You may want to send out a notice to the villages under your protection, tell them to keep an eye out for a bit. We believe this might not be a random occurrence.”
“You think someone wanted the ghouls there?” Mickel asked, incredulously.
“I found an emblem down by the nest,” Verrick explained. “Firun said it was enchanted at one point, but the magic had gone. Something like that, hidden where nobody would ever go, just steps from the ghoul nest?”
“Bit of a stretch to call that a coincidence,” Jevin agreed. “I'll send a missive out to the villages. What should they be looking for?”
“Unearthed graves,” Firun listed, counting on his fingers as he went, “bodies with humanoid bite marks, strange claw marks, attacks that leave their victims paralyzed, or strange noises in a graveyard after dark. That's what we got from our research.”
“Right, I'll let everyone know. Thanks again for your hard work.”
“Keep paying us like this,” Jeron said as they made their way to the door, “and we'll keep handling problems. Sorry about the sewers though.”
“Yeah, yeah, go on now! Before I have to drag you back down with me tomorrow.”
The party strolled through the city, the buildings now decorated with snow and ice from the previous night's storm. The road was mostly clear, though a layer of slush remained to give their footfalls a wet, squishy feeling. They stopped at a market stall to grab a late dinner of roasted meats and vegetables on skewers before returning to Ryn'Ala's home. The study was brightly lit, and several voices drifted out into the hall as the front door closed behind them. Ryn'Ala called them in, and they found two individuals sitting with her.
“You've all returned,” she said, taking a long draw from her pipe. “I'm truly pleased to see you all safe. I have some good news for you, and some of the unfortunate variety. And then something that fits into both categories, I think.”
She stood, drawing herself up to her full height, towering over the party. “Where should we begin?”
Next
Wiki
Anyone who's ever played D&D has reached a part of the early campaign where you have a bunch of goals to achieve, but no idea where to go first. In the campaign I'm playing now, that moment came when we ended a self sustaining zombie plague and blew a hole in the wall that turned the quarantine zone into magical Australia. The whole world opened up to us, even if we were technically fugitives. It's an intimidating point for everyone, where your action and inaction start to really affect the world around you.

The Legends of Fang Yuan started during the great era. It states that Fang Yuan was an otherworldly demon whose main goal was to achieve eternal life.
Having been from another world, Fang Yuan journeyed the world for years in pursuit of eternal life and there he met a handsome young man who took interest in his adventure. He was called Bai Ningbing.
When Fang Yuan saw him, he thought it would've been better if Bai Ningbing was a girl. He thought about this idea for a long time when a Gu manifested in front of him.
"Who are you?" Fang Yuan asked.
"I am wisdom Gu!" the gu replied. "I know all the answers in this world."
Fang Yuan's eyes brightened he asked immediately, "Oh wisdom gu, how can I obtain eternal life?"
"Oh otherworldly demon, many have asked me about this question before and the answer is always to seek eternal life Gu."
"How would I find this eternal life Gu?"
"Eternal life Gu doesn't exist. You have to refine it. Go find a hairy man called Lang Ya. He can help you refine it," wisdom Gu said before disappearing out of existence.
Finally having found the correct path to eternal life, Fang Yuan and Bai Ningbing spent a long time trying to find this hairy man who called himself Lang Ya Immortal. They only managed to find him when Bai Ningbing mistakenly bullied a hairy human out of boredom. This hairy human turned out to be an outcast from the human race so he fled to the lands of hairy men.
"You want to refine eternal life Gu?" Lang Ya Immortal asked before shaking his head. "Impossible. Impossible. As long as fate Gu exists, it's impossible. Fate Gu has decreed all living beings will die."
"Then we just have to destroy fate Gu," Bai Ningbing replied with a snort. "A mere gu like that should know its place."
"That's right," Fang Yuan replied. "We'll just destroy it. Where is it?"
Lang Ya Immortal shook his head again and sighed. "Fate Gu is in the hands of Communist Court. It's being guarded by powerful immortals. Even if you could defeat them, you will not be able to destroy fate Gu."
"How can I destroy fate Gu?" Fang Yuan thought out loud. He thought for a long time and once again wisdom Gu appeared out of nowhere.
"Wisdom Gu! Great! How can I destroy fate Gu?" he asked upon seeing the familiar gu.
"Find love Gu," wisdom Gu said. "Love is a type of fate. You can definitely destroy it with the help of love Gu."
"But how can we find love Gu?" Bai Ningbing asked immediately.
"Love Gu appears when love is in the air," wisdom Gu said before disappearing once again.
Fang Yuan and Bai Ningbing looked at each other. They were both thinking if the other side was a girl, then they would definitely fell in love with each other.
"Oh Lang Ya immortal, there's definitely a Gu to change a person's sex," Fang Yuan said.
"There is indeed one," Lang Ya Immortal replied. "It's called Yin Yang Rotation Gu. It's in the hands of Giant Sun. He resides in the second heaven."
"Second heaven?" Bai Ningbing asked in confusion. "There's only one spectral heaven!"
"Giant Sun resides in Longevity Heaven but you can only find that place through luck. Even if you spend your entire lifespan you will not find it. Only with good luck will you find that place. Go head north and hope you find it."
Fang Yuan and Bai Ningbing went north in the hopes of finding Longevity Heaven. They were both excited with the prospects of turning the other into a woman. They can't wait to make love with each other to attract love Gu and finally destroy fate to obtain eternal life!

Am I the Kansas City Shuffle? Are you? . . . are. . . . all of us? If I were a fucking genius billionaire CEO and I wanted to pull off the biggest of all BBQ capital of the world shuffles....but I wanted to keep things close to my chest....what would I do? Especially when the SHF are just dumb storm troopers? These fucks don't get anything! They still think crashing the price and having bots post is how to shake diamond hands LOL! How do I throw them enough of a bone to get them looking in the wrong direction???
Not saying this is what happened....but....I could potentially throw in the madman of all fucking meme makers. Like a pure mad scientist to go cook up the fuck load of all crazy fucking memes.. . and then just absolutely fucking blitz the media with it! It would create a an absolute fucking frenzy I tell ya!
Especially if I timed this shit on a massive fucking cycle. Algos or swaps or leaps or T+69 (whatever the fuck else it is I don't understand bear with me I snorted 17 green crayons today). . but somewhere where there will be inevitable action. Now stay with me...this fucking madman will just stir the waters. I mean this crazy mother fucker will rally the regards and get them moving and shaking. These regards will dissect memes like nobody you have ever seen! But listen...here is the thing. . I can not have this crazed fucking cat actually spill the beans! He needs to know the plan. . so he can make the most fucking intricate fucking memes you have ever seen! These regards will pour over every last detail..they are fucking dumb in singles but they are equally as genius when there is a whole gaggle of these sick fucking gooses...
Now if this fucking cat (who knows the plan) can just fucking throw so much fucking smoke in the air for like a week when the stock already needs to run and release some pressure...these guys and gals will spend the next 48 hours pouring over the information. But not just like one of them...like thousands. Hundreds of thousands of man hours! They will come up with splits and NFTs and mergers and bananas in the tailpipes they will come up with it all. Why is this important to me? Well those dumb fucking storm troopers can't hypothesize this shit! But they WILL watch the stonk sub. . they will take all these fucking ideas and they will make plans for them. They will try to prepare. Can they stop us? No of course they can't silly! WE ARE INEVITABLE. . but they will try.
Come Monday they will have plan A's and B's and contingency plans based on all this regard effort! But. . the Kitty knew the plan. The Kitty is so fucking meticulous he won't leave a single crumb in the right direction because congress and our bullshit agencies that regulate this shit will be all over him. They just need one sliver of a tweet to pin it on that guy but he won't make any mistakes. It will be the biggest case of smoke and mirrors we have ever fucking seen!
Then? BAM. The mother fucking wombo combo of all mother fucking time and these mother fuckers will never have seen it coming. Why? because the Kitty fucking knew and he didn't lead them in that direction. The regards, bless their hearts, came up with all sorts of amazing ideas but those bozos don't play 8D chess like me??? . . . This shit just might fucking work . .
Sleep well apes. Rest. Hydrate. Recover. We are in for a busy few weeks I think;)

Groaning awake, panic twisted my features at the sight of Marcus slumbering peacefully next to me. Flying off the bed, the sound of me hitting the floor had him snapping awake. Patting the bed, a tender blush painted my cheeks at him grinning flirtatiously in my direction. Seconds from reprimanding him, the door blew open. Tarot bounced over to me, a tarot card flipping through his fingers. Flashing a bemused grin, he flicked the card into my palm. Of course, he had to dance his way in. When was he going to stop being such a child?
“First job and you might like it. We have an unknown killer in the seventies. We have intel that they are meeting with Glanda.” He explained with a wink, confusion twisting my features. “Glanda Kills the witch we are dealing with. Prevent their meeting and you get to put another serial killer on the map. Your disguises are on the door. Have fun, my lovely weirdos.” Floating out in a scarlet velvet suit, pale blue bell bottoms and a green floral disco shirt had me rolling my eyes. Popping to my feet, Marcus looked less impressed with his navy bell bottoms and a cheesy blue and white button up shirt. Low growls rumbled in my throat, my fingers dancing along the material. Excusing myself to give my hair the Farrah Fawcett treatment, the hair curler worked overtime to give me the perfect bouncy flips and curls. Flipping through the makeup bag, the correct pallet greeted me. Painting my face the best I could, the bold lines contrasted wonderfully with the blue. Coming out to get dressed, Marcus looked miserable in his outfit. Fussing with the colorful material, a fit of laughter burst from his lips at my hair and makeup. Flipping him off as I tugged on my modern undergarments, he turned his back as I tugged on the denim bell bottoms. Tying the front of my disco shirt, hesitation lingered at the faded scars covering my bare stomach. They weren’t completely visible, a lump forming in my throat. Getting lost in my thoughts, Marcus dropping my pendant over my head ripped me back into reality. Sliding his hands down to my hips, his lips brushed against the top of my head.
“No one is going to see them and witchcraft isn’t so taboo. At least you look sexy. I look like someone’s dad back in the day.” He complained with a snarl on his lips, a quick peck on his cheek softening his frustration. Plucking the tarot card from his fingers, a date was required for me to work my spell. Lifting my pendant over my head, his hand stopped me. Fishing around his pocket, he pressed a silver engraved dagger into my palm. What was the point of this weapon? It wasn't that I didn't know my way around them but a deep disdain lingered with using them.
"I can’t have you trapped without a way out again.” He whispered gruffly into my ear, a shiver running up my spine. “Cut your palm and it should shrink into a charm.” Listening to him with a look of pure annoyance, my magic tended to keep me alive. Cutting my palm, a bright light blinded me. The light died down to reveal a jingling charm bracelet on my left wrist, pride glistening in his eyes. Offering him my palm, hunger burned in his eyes. Licking off the blood, the substance would keep him healing throughout our next mission. Remembering that I needed boots, Marcus crouched down to slide on a pair of worn black boots. Thanking him while reading the date one more time, something told me that today was going to get heated. Clearing my throat, it was time to go. Spinning my pendant clockwise, time would always be on my hand.
“I call upon the sands of time to whisk me away to the Quincy Market in Boston on the twenty-sixth of August in the year of nineteen seventy-six!” The pendant spun faster, a blast of energy knocking us onto the cobblestone street. Landing on our asses, one would think that we could land on our feet by this point but the energy was unpredictable. A sea of bell bottoms and brick buildings greeted us, a long sigh pouring from my lips. Staring at the card in my hand, nothing but the card of death greeted me. So much for the details, Marcus tapping my shoulder causing me to quit my silent fuming. Dropping my pendant over my head, his head rested on my shoulder.
“Any more information about our mission or are we in the dark per usual?” He grumbled venomously, his fingers drumming on my lap “Of course it had to be on a busy day.” Helping to my feet with him, the food vendors had people lining up and blocking the way. The energy shifted, a woman with a sleek silver bob and dazzling emerald eyes walked past me. Time slowed down, emerald ribbons following her. Her green crop top matched her brown bell bottoms to a tee, our eyes meeting for a second. Flipping her hair with a middle finger, my temper visibly flared. Chuckling under her breath, Marcus had to hold me back. Glancing around for the person she was meeting with, another energy giving us pause. A blood soaked man with dirty blonde waves around his shoulders darted after her, crazed ruby eyes lingering on us for a little too long. A golden spiked club dangled off of his wrist, screams and chaos erupted in the distance. Pushing our way through the crowd, a man lay at my feet. A jar of souvenirs rolled out of his pocket, the face having been beaten to a pulp. That mission was a bittersweet ending, a blast of green energy catching my eyes. Stomping on the tail of her time travel spell, Marcus grabbed my waist. Twisting through time to the land of the dinosaurs, the sheer force of the energy had us splashing into a pond of mud. Dragging ourselves out, she wasn’t getting away that easily. Grabbing onto her magic trail, one yank had them in the mud. Low growls rumbled in her throat as she pulled herself out, a steady stream of curse burst from her lips. Mud dripped to our feet, dinosaurs of all kinds darted around us. Parting our lips to speak, screeches had us hiding behind thick trees. More problems, right? Why did Murphy's law have to taint my plans?
“What the hell is your fucking problem!” She screeched over the chaos around us, a giant leaf tickling my legs. “The great Glanda Kills refuses to listen to anybody! The world will be ruled by chaos!” Rolling my eyes, someone was full of herself. Marcus poked his head around the tree, his club spinning in his hand. Placing my hand on his chest to calm him down, curiosity had me wondering who the hell she thought she was.
“Wow! We speak about ourselves by our names. The fact you speak of yourself by your name implies that you are less of a wicked witch.” I returned sarcastically, waiting with bated breath for a response. “Now we don’t have a backbone after time traveling like a reckless buffoon.” Marcus shot me a warning look, my palm rubbing against his chest to keep him calm. A fit of laughter burst from my throat at her mate and her arguing, the two of them weren’t in sync. Yanking Marcus down by the collar of his shirt, a purr rumbled in his throat. Not now, you hungry demon.
“Calm down, killer. We are going to split up and figure out how they fight.” I teased with a wink, disappointment dimming his eyes. “Play your cards right and we can have fun very soon. You do recall that a pure witch can only engage in such activities if she is married, right?” Huffing a playful fine, he pretended to get on his knees. Sticking out my tongue, I took my necklace off of my neck. Extending it into a smooth violet wand, violet ribbons swirled down my arm. Combining all four elements of nature into a single ribbon had been my specialty. Stepping out from behind the tree, Marcus crept in the opposite direction. Spinning my wand in between my fingers, something had to give.
“Miss Glanda, are you down for a good old fashioned witch’s duel or am I going to have to call you chicken?” I challenged her with a hearty laugh, the muddy witch stepping out from behind the tree. “She makes an appearance.” Raising her palm into the air, ruby poured down her arm. Bowing in my direction, a look of disdain leaving her lips at my steady bow. Manners weren't her strong point either, her disrespect pissing me. Refusing to show it, my composure remained as strong as it always was.
“You act like you are all high and mighty but you are no different than me. We keep breaking the laws of time and you never have yet to face any consequences like me.” She spat icily, my brow raising at her harsh words. “Oh wait, I forgot! The time guardians gave you a free pass because you want to improve people’s lives. How pathetic!” Pointing my wand her direction, another fit of laughter had me doubling over.
“Sure because destroying what has a right to live makes you so much cooler than me.” I taunted with a sly grin, storm clouds rumbling to life. “Screw you with that bullshit. Time isn’t my only strength, you foul wench. Unleash a storm!” Heavy rain soaked us to the bone, the mud splashing around our feet. Snapping her fingers, a blizzard replaced the rain. Snapping my fingers, the rain took over. Grinning ear to ear with triumph, a wave of my hand stopped the storm. Her lips parted to speak, a shrill roar ending our duel. A tyrannosaurus rex roared behind me, true fear rounding our eyes. Looking up slowly, angry yellow eyes met mine. Cursing under my breath, a bright flash of green announced her leaving with her partner. Marcus skidded up next to me, fresh bruises and cuts dotting his exposed skin. Shrinking my wand back down to my pendant, another roar rattled the ground beneath my feet. Dropping it over my head, we needed to get away from the current danger. Splashing through the mud, our eyes scanned the overgrown land for a solution. Hopping into a raging river, rough waters tossed us all about. Holding me close to him, his body took the brunt of the rocks hitting us. The water speed picked up, the sounds of a waterfall roaring away frightening me. Wiggling my fingers in the water, a wave tossed us onto a sandy beach. Rolling onto our backs, his wounds sealed shut. Turning over to face him, the corner of his lips curled into a twitching grin. Curiosity mixed with love, scarlet painting my cheeks.
“Did you plan any of this?” He inquired with a wink, a snort causing him to laugh. “Too bad that we couldn’t get him in jail. At the very least the guy will have the crimes linked to him. Why are you so beautiful?” Snorting at his compliment, his eyeballs must not be working. Sitting up, my hands rested on my knees. Taking off my necklace gingerly, Marcus grabbed my waist as I began to spin it counter clockwise. Time to blow this prehistoric dump!
“Time to go home. I call upon the sands of time to whisk me back home and to set this timeline in place.” I chanted with a wry smile, a blast of energy knocking us into a random park during present time. A familiar energy had my hair standing on in, a demon gang coming our way. Marcus noticed the numb but panicked expression on my face, his hands cupping my face. Struggling to find the words, chains had me paralyzed in my spot. Laughing with an apologetic grin, my past was coming back to haunt me. His stern expression told me to speak, my hand beginning to tremble uncontrollably. Why today of all days?
“I might have pissed off a gang of demons before I met you. So let’s say about twenty years ago.” I expressed with another nervous laugh, his hands dropping to his lap. Mumbling under his breath for a couple of minutes, his harsh words were sure to come my way. Staring around the park to seek out the gang, his attention returned to me. Working through what I had said, a long breath drew from his lips.
“Given your track record of running your mouth, I can presume that you talked yourself into the issue.” He pointed out simply, my eyes averting to the grass. “Judging by your expression, I am correct. While I enjoy our banter, most people don’t.” Jumping to his feet, his hand hovered in front of my face. Accepting his hand with vigor, one tug had me in his arms. Spinning me around, his lips brushed against the top of my hand. Was he ever the flirtatious Casanova or what?
“Wake up your dagger and get ready to talk in a different way.” He ordered with an annoyed expression, my charm expanded into its dagger. “Please do your best to keep your sharp tongue under control.” Clenching my fist, he didn’t flinch the moment I pressed my blade into his throat. As much as I adored him, he didn't have a right to talk to me like a child.
“My banter is my blade and my words are the sharp edge of it. Sue me if I like to mess with my enemies. They broke into my place in search of my pendant and I couldn’t let them take what was given to me.” I spat back, his expression twisting into a bemused grin. “Why won’t you marry me already! Am I not good enough for you! I can’t keep dropping the hint hard enough! I have been alive since the seventies. Do you know how long that is! I didn’t get abused by my father in a shitty home in the worst part of a small town to suffer an empty eternal life! Why did they have to stop me from aging at fucking twenty!” Cupping my mouth, his expression softened. Silent tears trickled down my cheeks, his mind putting two and two together. His lips parted to speak several times, seven masked demons approached us with black iron chains curled around their hands. The tallest one stepped forward, his chains whistling over his head. Preparing for a battle, dread bubbled in my gut.
“Do I have to burn you to get what I want?” He sneered furiously, my lips curling into a sadistic smirk. Must he interrupt an important conversation, my dagger spinning in my palm. Pointing it in his direction, Marcus towered behind me like a shadow. Marching up to him, surprise rounded his eyes. Did these demons not expect me to stand up for myself? Honestly, where were their brains?
“Even if you wanted the pendant, you still need me. Time travel is blood magic and that one person who has the blood is the one in charge of the crystal. Study your damn lore!” I berated him venomously, hovering the dagger over his heart. “Screw off or let me cut your freaking head off!” Rolling his inky eyes, his giant hand swallowed mine. A hearty laugh cascaded from his lips, his hand dropping to his worn jeans. Why put on a big show? Did he desire to mess with my mind in a friendly manner?
“I didn’t come here to fight. I came to warn you. My respect for you was garnered a long time ago when you mouthed off to me.” He warned me with a polite bow, Marcus lowering my blade gingerly with an apologetic smile. “No need for that, mate. Her sharp tongue is her blade. Back to why I wanted to talk to you. Glanda is hiring my cousin and his gang to come after you. Can’t help you because of family ties but know that I won’t be helping him. Have a fine day.” Turning to leave, my hand snatching the hem of his t-shirt had his eyes widening with shock. An apology was necessary, the words tasted odd on the tip of my tongue.
“Don’t leave like that. I am sorry for being rude. Thank you for the head’s up.” I apologized politely, a natural smile curling on his lips. “Where are we?” His words faded in and out, Marcus taking in the information for me. Crunching away, Marcus snapped his fingers in front of my face. Tuning him out again, Glanda’s energy seemed to be near. Dragging him towards the energy, his protests fell on deaf ears. Marching into a city, a pizza parlor ultimately being her destination. Hiding him behind a tree, our eyes watched Glanda stomp into the pizza parlor. Mumbling a spell under his breath, the filth lifted off of our outfits. Seconds from going in, Tarot stepped out of a flurry of tarot cards. Two ordinary bands glittered in his palms, Marcus grinning ear to ear. What did the two man children have planned?
“What I have here is two wedding bands that unify the lovely couple standing in front of me. They are both blessed by the demon king and the grand witch. Slide them on and you are a married couple.” He announced while floating around with a Cheshire Cat grin, Marcus turning towards me. “You didn’t tell her that you planned on asking her. After all that floating around!” Cupping my cheek, his other hand tucked my hair behind my ear. Blushing a deep scarlet, his golden heart made it impossible for me to be mad at him.
“I didn’t know about your past but I don’t care. Hear me out for a second.” He choked out adorably, his cheeks burning a deep crimson. “Do me the honor of becoming my wife in this crazy world. I have to admit something to you. Your light bathed me that day you darted past me with those wounds. You stopped to ask if I was okay and I couldn’t believe it. Everyone hated me at the time. Every moment since has been a blessing and I wish to have many more years with you. I ask again. Will you be my wife?” Melting into his arms, this had been my dream since I was a young child. The image of a big family flashed in my mind, the sight of our children running around a yard while laughing had me smiling softly to myself.
“Why would I ever say no?” I answered in an uncharacteristic lack of sarcasm, his nervous grin swelling into one of relief and pride. “Are you going to slide the ring on or what?” Returning our usual style of banter, his shaking fingers slid on the smaller wedding band. Accepting his band from Tarot’s palm, my own quaking fingers slid on his. Swinging me underneath him, his lips pressed against mine hungrily. Time slowed, the sound of the outside dying down. Our heart beat to the same beat, a tap on my shoulder had the sounds rushing back in. The bands twisted to matching silver metal flames, Marcus kissing the top of my hand. Tarot pointed towards the pizza parlor, Glanda stepping out of the restaurant. Hopping into a onyx town car, our target rumbled away. Tarot shoved his phone in my face, the article that pinned that man to those crimes. Happy to see that, something else ate at me. Why murder them if you could use them? Perhaps there was a special spell you could perform with those souls.
“Don’t worry about his death. Asphy told me that he was going to die that day, regardless.” He assured me with a comforting grin, Marcus embracing me from behind. “She is one of my friends and in charge of the universe. Maybe one day you could meet her. In fact, she is younger than you. The grand witch told me to give you this.” Feeling around the pocket of his suit, he pressed a lilac envelope into my palm. Ripping it open, my heart sank into my stomach at a request to meet with her personally. Lowering the card with a huff, Tarot shrugged his shoulders. What did she need with me now? Every time she asked for me, it was simply another witch hunt.
“Can you tell me if I am going to be ripped to shreds or is this a little spot of tea?” I questioned through gritted teeth, hating that my aunt was calling for me. “Fine, let’s go!” Bringing my dagger back to life, a quick slice had blood staining the paper. Lilac smoke swirled around us, a force of energy whisking us outside heavy lilac doors. Marcus kissed the top of my head, my dagger shrinking back down to its charm form.
“Whatever comes your way, I will be by your side.” He promised lovingly, shooting me a playful grin. “Your words are your blade and your bite is the sharp edge.” Looking back up at him, my husband watched me with all the love in the world. Our marriage may have been rushed but both of us would be more powerful. Perhaps the flames of hope could burn bright once more.

Thank you to u/SpacePaladin15 for creating the NoP-verse and allowing fanfics!
This was co-written with u/ImaginationSea3679 and is a sequel to The Way of the Human!
Prequel startPrequel endFirstPrevious
Memory transcription subject: Thass, Arxur-UN Cooperative Liaison
Date [standardised human time]: 27th of November, 2136
The cursed meeting was taking far longer than I could bear, and much the same could be said to the pathetic diplomats we were negotiating with. Despite their initial bravado, it quickly wore off and they grew fearful of my presence. So when a recess was suggested, I was relieved that it was agreed upon that we would spend [45 minutes] away from the bureaucracy for a decently timed break.
I sighed as I reclined myself in a chair. Human furniture was extremely comfortable, more than it probably had any right to be. The leaf-licking predators were arguably soft, but they had a fierce streak hidden under that calm and weak persona. The speed at which I’d seen a personality shift in some humans was so sudden I sometimes wondered if I was even talking to the same person when it happened.
What was I thinking about again?
Oh, right, furniture.
…
Well, I have no other thoughts on the furniture. I should move on.
Helaven and Barisis were eagerly munching on salads and fruits respectively. I myself had myself a freshly cooked steak, which Barisis was trying to avert her eyes from. Human food was really starting to grow on me. I had already come to enjoy the higher quality meat from my time on Earth, but the longer I had it in my diet, the more I came to appreciate the tiniest of details in the flavour.
The slight char from the ‘cooking’ process was a surprisingly savoury addition, creating a contrast from other meats. If I had the opportunity, I wished to further explore the possibilities offered by Terran cuisine. Learning how to correctly burn the meat would be a terrific way of enhancing the flavour. It was supposedly one of humanity’s greatest feats, so that only made me more eager to-
I was caught off guard by a smoky scent that most definitely did not come from my meal. Was another piece of meat being cooked?
Sniff
EURGH, FUCK!
The deep breath meant to identify the horrid smell instead sent me into a coughing fit. It was like I was breathing in toxic fumes!
“Fucking- cough -Prophet!” I wheezed, feeling like my lungs were being stabbed by hundreds of tiny needles. “What is that- cough -horrible smoke- cough -in the air!?”
I turned to see a human female holding some sort of roll of paper that had been set on fire. The human then proceeded to-
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” Helaven shouted as I stared in both awe and absolute terror.
This human was literally breathing cinders and smoke without any sort of complaint.
“I’m taking a smoke. What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” The human said with an almost incredulous expression.
Was this sort of extreme toughness normal?!
“YOU JUST INHALED FUCKING SMOKE! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! DO YOU WANT TO FUCKING DIE?!” Barisis joined Helaven in her screeching. “HAVE HUMANS SOMEHOW MISSED THE DANGERS OF SMOKE INHALATION!?”
The possibly deranged human looked confused. “I’m just taking the edge off, what’s the problem?”
“What’s with all the screaming?” asked an annoyed Hans who had just arrived, accompanied by a meek looking Udey. “I’m on the verge of a God damn headache, so please, just stop it.”
“It’s the xenos who are yelling!” defended the insane human. “I’m just trying to have a smoke and they’re acting like I just kicked a puppy.”
The human Captain sighed. “Jana, you know how things are,” he began, looking at the now named human. “Aliens don’t know what smoking is, they have no idea what to think. Just try to explain to them what it is you’re doing instead.”
“What reasonable explanation is there for burning one's lungs?” I questioned, still baffled by what I was seeing. “And a soldier who needs to be in tip top condition, no less!”
“That's what the kerfuffle was about?” the nervous Harchen Minister spoke. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm with the Grey on this one. How can one justify the thing it-... he described?”
Gendered pronouns already? My, my, he's quick to learn how to address me properly.
“Well it helps me focus, alright?” Jana explained grumpily. “Helps get rid of stress.”
“You mean to tell me that smoke isn’t poisonous to you?” wondered Barisis, sounding amazed. “That would make you incredibly powerful against Exterminators. The ashen air wouldn't harm you!”
Hans sucked in a breath, hesitating a moment before speaking. “About that…”
“Don't tell me it is bad for you, yet you still allow her to do it,” the aqua-skinned medic said, sounding like she already knew the answer. “Please, Hans, captain of this whole operation. Tell me that this is not the case.”
A voice different from Hans answered. “Nope, you're correct. Lung cancer is a bitch and that lady there is gonna get intimately familiar with it soon.”
It was Tyler, the human who introduced Risha and her… Venlil lover to the defector Vraka.
I’d decided not to mention either defecting Arxur to my superiors when bringing in that scumbag Vizz, as they clearly didn't seem up for battle for much longer. I was saving rations that would ultimately be wasted as they’d be executed for being defective. It wasn't about mercy, it was purely logical. By sparing them, they’d no longer be our problem and the real traitor was brought to justice either way.
Oh how I enjoyed seeing Chief Hunter Isif gut that bastard Vizz’s with his bare claws. And shooting the corpse a couple times for good measure had also felt pretty good.
Informing the Chief Hunter just how Vizz was defeated was almost just as good. Taken to a draw by a measly Venlil, infamously one of the weakest species in the galaxy. The humiliation that traitor felt in his final moments was better than even the juiciest cut off meat.
Pulling my mind back to the present, I noticed that the two prey medics were still arguing with the ‘smoker’ Jana.
“...incredibly serious afflictions, yet you give yourself them willingly?!” exclaimed Helaven in exasperation.
“Look, it's my concern, not yours, so shove it,” replied the female soldier with a hostile tone. “Quit whining or it’ll burn up before I can smoke it.”
I decided that after my bout of silence it was time to voice my opinion on the matter. “Excuse my language, but why the actual fuck haven’t you detained this woman for her complete and utter insanity?” came the question, directed at Captain Hans.
Hans opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the female human. “It’s my fucking body. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with it, Lizard.”
That hardly seemed like an excuse to me. The body was a sacred thing. It was one’s embodiment in the galaxy, and to actively damage it of one’s own will without care for the consequences was not only idiotic, but beyond disrespectful to oneself.
I found my thoughts being agreed upon as Barisis scoffed. “Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.” She pointed an accusatory tentacle at the human.
“Well, your kin shouldn’t have engineered the galaxy to conform with your primitive bullshit excuse of a worldview, yet you still did it for no other reason other than because you could!”
…
Silence permeated through the room as the Kolshian shrunk, her skin seeming to both pale and darken, a remorseful expression developing on her face. Helaven immediately went to comfort her.
“Jana…” Hans said as my attention was brought to him and the stern expression he bore on his face. “That was completely uncalled for and needlessly hurtful.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said. “Very not cool.”
Feeling oddly offended by the human’s harsh words toward Barisis, I decided to defend the Kolshian’s honour. “If she shared her government’s and people's views, she would have remained on Aafa with the rest of them,” I stated coolly, though adding an edge of anger to ensure that my opinion came through clearly. “The fact that she is able to bear being in close proximity to not only your species, but mine, should be all the evidence required to debunk the idea that she subscribes to her society’s ideals.”
Then, the Kolshian in question did something entirely unexpected.
She left her open position and took cover behind me, shielding herself from the hostile human female. Even more shockingly, she grabbed a hold of my tail, as though it would further protect her.
Did she… find comfort in my presence? No, no, that couldn't be possible. She simply sees me as the biggest piece of cover available.
“They're just concerned for your health, dude,” Tyler pointed out, gesturing to the medics and myself.
Jana huffed. “Whatever. I’ll just go smoke somewhere else.”
With that she left, forcing me to hold my breath as she passed, lest I breathe in that horrid smoke.
“Urgh, dammit, my head is pounding,” complained Hans, sounding exasperated to a degree I had never heard from him before. “I need some water or else I’ll be stuck with this for the rest of the day.”
With that, he left, Tyler following behind him.
The tentacles of the prey medic let go of me as she no longer needed to protect herself from the harshness of the huntress-soldier. She looked at me timidly, as though she expected me to yell at her for her behaviour. Instead I gazed at her with a mostly blank expression before she sheepishly returned to her salad bowl.
With the drama over, I returned to my meal, scarfing it down with speedy efficiency. While I’d been enjoying its flavour, the fight, and all the talking that had come with it, had drained my desire to savour it. The quick influx of flavours was good, but I washed it down with a glass of water.
Quite surprisingly, Udey, who openly disliked me, sat down at our table, taking a seat by Helaven.
“Do humans really do that kind of thing often?” he asked. I noticed despite being in such close proximity to me, he remained relatively relaxed.
It was a truly strange thing when I thought about it. So many leaf-lickers, who only mere [months] ago would've cowered at the sight of me, now tolerate, or possibly even enjoy, my presence. The change felt almost unnatural to me.
And yet… I didn't dislike it. It was like I was experiencing how the galaxy was meant to be. Of course, that was impossible, as predators were superior to other life, with Arxur on top. It was probably just that these prey were particularly tolerable for their kind. Yes, that was what it was. And the Harchen were former omnivores, which meant their natural state made them closer to us than they would've wanted to admit. They, and all other ‘cured’ species, were our mutilated kin. It was their right to be restored to the status of true sapients.
If possible, I wanted to convince our leaders to take up that goal. We would no longer be anomalies, or a coincidence. We would have dozens of our sort. We were at the top, of course, but they would be tolerated by the rest of the Dominion. A brotherhood of hunters. Quite an appealing concept, in my opinion.
Leaving the maze of thoughts in my mind, I noticed the two medics and the minister were having a blast of a conversation, with humans as their topic of discussion.
“No, you're messing with me,” chuckled the Harchen. “There is no way that they're the weakest of their family.”
“It's true!” Barisis exclaimed. “Out of all the apes, the animal family humans belong to, they have the least muscle mass. A wild ape is stronger than even a highly trained human.”
Udey guffawed in amusement. “That is unreasonably funny. To think we were afraid of them!”
Really? If what the Kolshian says is true, that's very interesting. No wonder humans prefer ranged weapons. I knew they were physically weaker than us, but I didn't realise they were also weaker than the beasts of their own planet.
“They still have binocular vision like my kind. And as arboreal descendants, I’d wager their eyesight is even better than ours. That means they can see you from very far away, Minister,” I added to the conversation, watching the colouration thin in Udey’s scales.
“I see…” he murmured, sounding put off. “How… comforting…”
“Quite,” I mock-agreed. “They’re always watching, those humans. Ever vigilant. Ever-seeing.”“Thass, you arse, stop it,” Barisis commanded. My snout shifted as the front of my lips curled, an equivalent gesture to when Hans would raise an eyebrow at his underlings’ actions. “He’s uncomfortable, so you’re doing to stop it.”“Are you ordering me, prey?” I asked, adding a twinge of hostility that normally wouldn’t be there.
The aqua Kolshian was unfazed, a massive change from a month ago. “Maybe it was. What are you going to do about it?”
Such a brave, foolhardy thing, she is.
I snapped my jaws at her, making her flinch ever so slightly, but otherwise she didn’t move. Her unwavering made me let out an impressed chuckle. “Very well then, doctor. I’ll listen, for now…”
“And the next time too,” she responded confidently. “You like to bluff, but I know you’re full of it.”
“Want to stake your tentacle on that claim?” I asked with a cold but tone. Though I was amused, I didn’t let much of it show externally.
Wordlessly she stuck out her limb. A month ago, she had been afraid that I would eat her. And yet now she was goading me into taking a bite out of her. She wasn’t just foolhardy, she was downright overconfident.
Moving my head toward the outstretched manipulator, my powerful jaws opened as I got closer. Udey and even Helaven looked worried, but the Aafa native did not. Even as her tentacle was in my mouth, she didn’t pull away.
Saliva dripped onto her, making her shudder. And yet she still refused to back down.
She’s not just toying with death, she was outright tempting it, goading me into trying. I don’t know if I should be impressed, bewildered or both.
Unwilling to back down, I took it a step further and ran my tongue across her limb. The taste of her skin was pleasant to the palate, much better than the steak I just had. As I had to have won with that step-up, I waited for her to register what I did.
Out of all the responses I expected, amusement wasn’t one. “You’re gross,” the medic snickered.
I started to laugh, stunned and awed by her lack of fear. She was a mere meek prey, yet was entirely unafraid of my powerful jaws ensnaring her precious body parts. It was so ridiculous it became funny!
My laughter soon became full on cackling as I relented, letting Barisis win. “You are really one brave Kolshian!” I chortled. “An exemplary specimen of your kind!”
“Wuss,” she chuckled jokingly, far more amused than the Harchen or her colleague sitting across from her.
“Don’t count on me backing down again, Barisis,” I jested. “You taste far better than anything I’ve eaten in the past [weeks].”
Unexpectedly, Helaven snorted.
“Something funny, Hel?” asked the Kolshian quizzically.
She snickered, having to take a moment to speak. “Spicy~”
“How DARE you!?” I roared in genuine offence. “To accuse me of… feeling for prey! Urgh, no!”
I stormed off, absolutely fuming. The Zurulian had the nerve to accuse me of such defectiveness to think I could develop weak feelings for a weak creature. The very thought made me sick to my stomach. Quite clearly she was too used to Risha’s less-than-standard tastes to assume that I would share her tastes. Herbivores were unworthy of my mere gaze! She should be honoured that I speak to her at all! The fucking gall to call me defective in the vilest way…
If it weren’t for our truce with humanity, I would rip her worthless spine out here and now.
My legs had carried me by themselves as I brooded in rage and had taken me far in a short time, having walked out of the building entirely without realising. I was furious with that fucking Zurulian, and wasn’t planning to speak with h- it, nor the Kolshian, anytime soon. Fucking bitch…

My QPR told me to at least talk to people about my problems, so I came here so yeah, here I am. Also, apologies in advance if this is very ranty cuz It's going to be. A lot of thoughts I just vomited out.
I (18 He/They) pride myself on being the comedic relief. Nothing makes me happier than making other people laugh or snort, except maybe seeing my QPR and realizing they are my QPR. Anyways, it's also a defensive thing... I can make myself into a joke before people can make me into one. Being ADHD, Autistic, and Dyslexic means there are a lot of situations where that can happen, and I hope to God that I'm funny enough to make people think I'm not annoying. One of my biggest fears is being abandoned.
When it comes to my family, it is generally the same, but it has become difficult over the past week. So, backstory time.
My dad has Parkinson's (since mid-2017), which has caused him to have early-onset dementia (diagnosed around 2020). Living in a third-world country where the medical field absolutely sucks, it's just an awful thing to deal with. We took care of him because, frankly, our dad was the heart of the family, an absolute sweetheart, for an ex-police inspector anyways.... we thought at least. His dementia is the more violent kind, and during these episodes, he messes everything up, have called my mum a whore in our native language, accused her of cheating on him, and accused my sister of becoming a runaway bride and all that. Think, he attacked my Mum with an Axe kinda violent. During one of these episodes, he pulled everything out of his wardrobe and threw it on the floor. My two cousin bros and I were there trying to get him under control. I saw a folder I had never seen before, and my curiosity won over. When I picked it up, he tried to take it away from me, but I opened it and found a bunch of documents and letters and stuff. I took one and read it. It was... well, it was a letter to the police Chief (his friend), formally asking him to get a police officer to follow my mum to make sure she wasn't cheating on him because he was away in another province, written back in 2012, which explains why my mum was so paranoid about walking alone when there was a literal police officer stalking her. Another letter was addressed to her work, directly asking them to keep an eye on her to see if she was cheating on him, written in 2013, which might explain why she didn't get a promotion for nine years working with that company when normally it takes around three to four and she is an incredibly hardworking women, though that could be a stretch.... And there are many more ranging from 2004 to 2019, which you know is a shit thing to do. My mum wants a divorce because this explains all the awful things people at her work have accused her of, and you know, her husband hired a literal stalker. The thing is, he doesn't have anybody else to take care of him, so we have no choice but to take care of him.
That all happened last month. It's been a month since then, and my cousin bros, who stayed with us to take care of Dad, had to leave to visit family, so I had to stay home to take over those duties and let's just say it's not been great since he clearly hates me.
Anyways, I had time alone to reflect on... just my life (Cringe I know lol), and I realized that my dad, who I idolized, was not a good person at all. He supported my emotionally abusive Tamil teacher, who was the main reason why I felt worthless enough to try killing myself. He called me skinny and hated the fact that I wasn't "masculine" or a "fighter," which is probably the reason why I just accept getting beaten up instead of fighting for myself, and probably the reason why I hated eating because he forced me to eat because "I'm too skinny" or "You're a man! So be a man and eat up!" I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to hate him. He's my Father, the person who I used to go Morning Hikes with, the Person who told me that he would still love me if I was Gay back in 2022....
I want to pretend that everything is okay. I have a normal family, I have a normal life. No, my father wasn't a dick... that's just me being a dick, right? Yeah, what am I thinking? I'm an idiot for thinking it could possibly be him. I'm the idiot for thinking that way... right? Those are, to quote a meme, the wolves inside me. One that is blaming him and one that is blaming me for thinking I'm even important enough to be cared for. I don't care if anything happens to me; I'm useless anyways except as a comedic relief. Others matter more than I do, so that's what I'll do... I will make a mask and cover myself with it. I will make sure everyone else feels better because no one deserves to go through what I do except me.
A stupid thought? Yeah, definitely, but I don't know how to think of reality any other way anymore. I have to make my dad's worse-than-death sentence at least better by being there for him, but then again he is an asshole, basically. So this whole thought process is crumbling my mask that I have put on to make myself likable, and the mask that makes people laugh at me being a dumbass, the Mask that makes me Happy.
I can't lose that; it's probably the only reason why I think I should be still living... to make other people's lives better, cuz that's what they deserve... Joy, glee, Happiness. I haven't been to school in a week and a half, and now I have to go back on Monday and no one except my QPR knows why I didn't attend school for so long. My mum forced me to, saying that she can handle him on her own when she can't. I know this because this week I saw she couldn't do it on her own, but she is a strong woman and scary when she's angry so I accepted. Now I'm terrified of going to school because, again, my mask is breaking, and terrified that something might happen at home when I'm not around. But I also want to go to school, to be away from this house so I might feel like a normal kid again. How fucking Selfish is that... Why should I talk about my problem? I don't matter.... Maybe that's why I apologize every 5 seconds, because if anything goes wrong, it's my fault right? Is that also a Selfish thought? Maybe I am still that Narcissistic self that I was before Covid... Maybe I just deserve to be alone
I just don't know what to think, how to feel, what to do... Why this has to be so damn complicated. I just want.... peace, and not have a million thoughts going on in my head screaming how I'm a failure, an awful person for thinking he shouldn't take care of a person with dementia because of their past life, my life was a lie, and I still live a lie, an act, a movie for the universe to laugh at and the moment I stop acting people will abandon me.... I just don't know.
All I know is, I can't break. My Family relies on me being strong enough to make a "Haha funny joke", they need me to keep their spirits up... My Dad lost his role as the Heart and I will be the Heart of my Family. I cannot afford to fail... lest whatever that is remaining of my fragile family crumble into nothing.... I can't fail, I wouldn't let myself fail.
P.S. Apologies for my horrible English, again Dyslexia and I used a lot of Autocorrection sites for this, because I need this to come out clearly annnnnnnd do these post normally take 2 hours and 50 minutes to write???

Chapter 26 - The Infinite Beckons
Previous Chapter
“Okay, this part’s a little tricky.” Ma’et gestured out the shuttle’s cockpit. “You got lined up easy enough, and our velocity’s at a relative zero to the ship. The bay door’s open. Now you engage the lateral thrusters while monitoring the distance from the shuttle to the bay’s interior wall. Come in too fast and you’ll damage them both..”
Trix looked over at the controls, and the neatly gummed labels that the humans had placed over the English text with her own language. She gingerly pressed the ‘Lateral Thruster’ button, then as the control knob next to it lit up, she twisted it slowly.
An earlier misadventure when lining up the ship and the shuttle where she’d twisted the control knob much more rapidly made her much more cautious about giving it too much power too quickly, yet the shuttle slowly drifted - away from the ship. “Other thruster, feathers.”
Chagrined, she dialed the thruster back to zero, then rotated it the other direction. The ship immediately stopped moving away, and instead drifted into the hangar bay. Trix watched as it drifted past the door, staring at the distance readout until it dropped into the yellow and immediately swung the knob the other way. It took a couple of tries to get the velocity back to zero, but she managed it.
“Beautiful. Now we engage the grav plating which lets the ship’s internal grav pull us down as it ramps up, and close the external door via the console over there.” Ma’et gestured to the remote console, and Trix scanned it, punching the buttons as she found them.
“Nicely done. Go ahead and hit the engine shutdown. In the old days there’d be like, thirty steps to it but nearly all of it is automated. But lucky you, you get to read all about the manual sequence since taking over in the event of computer failure is one of a pilot’s duties.” Ma’et chuckled and squeezed Trix’s shoulder. “For now, that’s good enough. Go ahead and open both the lateral boarding door, and the rear loading door. Also extend the rear loading ramp.”
Trix did, then glanced over at Ma’et. “Anything more?”
“Nope. First day on the job, and you’ve done the first job successfully. Not perfectly, but pretty damn good for your first time piloting off planet. Go ahead and head back to talk with the Captain, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Trix unbuckled the acceleration harness (Though, she felt zero acceleration during the entire trip so she couldn’t fathom just WHY Ma’et had insisted on her buckling in) and moved past the much smaller woman as she left the cockpit.
In the back, Josh was already outside the ship, grabbing a handtruck. She watched as he pushed it up the loading ramp to the stack of boxes that contained the food and equipment she’d need for the next few weeks of existence here in space. “Why aren’t you using one of the gravity belts?” She gestured over to the wall where the belts were hanging.
“Eh, this stuff’s fairly light and those have a limited lifespan. I don’t want to burn out the Keplite cores on stuff we can just move by hand. They’re expensive.”
“Oh. What’s Keplite, anyway? Ji and Min have mentioned it a few times.” Trix glanced over at the large belts with their big circular pads in the middle.
Before Josh could answer, Alex walked in between them. “Ji, Min! We’re going to be converting the room across from yours back into crew quarters for Trix. Gonna need you two to move the Spider. Is there room here in the hangar for it?”
“It’ll fit better if we assemble it and use packing mode.” Ji countered, as he hopped out of the shuttle. “It’ll take a day or so. We’ve got it spread all out in there.”
Alex turned over to Trix and beckoned. “Follow me. Gonna give you the full tour while they’re unloading." He took a few steps back, then lifted his arms wide to gesture to their surroundings. "This is obviously the hangar bay. Shuttle's the big thing you were just flying. Below us is a small cargo hold, empty right now. Not gonna show you unless you happen to like large empty boring-ass boxes.” He raised an eyebrow, and Trix quickly shook her head. "Alright. Most of the shit in here is just maintenance tools and loading gear. Nothing exciting. Ramp to main transit corridor here."
They walked out into the hallway. “Okay, well through that door’s opposite the hangar is the fabber bay. The fabber is a huge machine that manufactures stuff for us, like a 3D printer. Do you guys have anything like that?” Trix shrugged, and Alex continued. “Well either way, it can make virtually anything from a bed to a bomb to a computer. The more complex and difficult items take a hell of a lot longer to make. It’s also a major power hog since the manufacturing process uses extremely powerful fields, both magnetic and force. In other words, if you need something and we didn’t bring it with you we can make it here.”
He walked down the hall a bit, and gestured to the doors on either side. “Launcher bays, 1 and 2. Normally we use ‘em to launch beacons, buoys, sensors, things like that into space. If someone tries to start shit with us we CAN use them to launch missiles but we have very few of those available. We’re not out here to get in fights, but if we have to defend ourselves we pack a big punch.” He opened one of the doors and walked inside. “The big hatch over there is the manual tube loader. The ship can auto-load various things but if we need to put something into space that isn’t already in storage, that’s where we do it. If Ji tells you to climb in yourself, he’s joking and you should hit him because it only exists to launch shit into space.”
Trix laughed at that, but she had learned enough of Ji’s sense of humor while working on the car to understand the sentiment. “Will I even be in here at all though?”
“Maybe. If something needs to be manually loaded, we use these. Back when we were at the derelict ship I had to send a battery over to help out while we planned our rescue. You might be asked to do the same.” Alex shrugged and lead her out into the hall. “Last thing here is the ship’s primary armament.” He reached over to the side of the hallway and pressed a hatch release. The compartment it lead to was incredibly small and tightly cramped.
“We don’t use it much outside of scaring off pirates or relieving stress, but this is our primary weapon out in space. Eight-chamber five meter long rotary railgun. Fires one round every 1.2 seconds that travel roughly a million kilometers per hour when fired stationary, or closer to 280 kilometers per second. It fires either solid armor-piercing unguided slugs or flak munitions that are used to produce clouds of metallic debris. The former will shred a ship’s armor and pulverize anything inside. The latter can overwhelm particle shields and damage exterior components without nearly as much penetration. The reason I’m saying all this to you,” He tapped the top of the cannon where it joined to the ship. “This thing’s got a super limited firing arc. Meaning that we can only shoot what we’re pointed at. If, by some miracle, we get into a fight out there then our ability to shoot back is gonna depend on your ability to fly the ship while facing the enemy.”
Trix swallowed heavily as she tried to imagine just how powerful this massive cannon was. She glanced over at the side of it, to the twin belts that fed in ammo. Each round it would fire was longer than her forearm and thicker than her waist.
“That’s the worst case scenario though. In reality, if we get into any shit out there, fighting is the LAST thing we want to do. Negotiation to avoid hostility first, escape second, fight last.” Alex shooed her out of the compartment. “That said if we encounter any low-yield junk out there then we’ll get some target practice in. If you’re game then we can let you try targeting for a bit and unload some kinetic mayhem while things are dull.” He grinned wickedly, as he manually pulled the hatch back into place, sliding two large locking levers into place.
“Okay, that’s it for this deck. There’s stairs on the far side leading up to the tech deck but the ladder here’s quicker.”
They climbed up the ladder, with Alex leading and Trix following. Her wings banged against the ceiling as she climbed, and it took her a few moments to get them tucked in tight enough to get through the hatch but with Alex’s help they got up there.
“Tech deck. Mostly. In the front of the ship here right under Bridge access is the exception, the pool room.” He opened the door and they walked in together. “Mainly used for observation but the pool there is great for relaxation. You can adjust the temperature with the controls on the wall there, goes from chilly to full on hot tub. Adjustable depth from 3 to 10 feet, and the pool walls are display panels. If you use a breather it’s fun to turn the display to external then go down underwater and relax while staring at the stars. Do you swim much?”
Trix nodded. “Sure, there’s a river a… couple kilometers? I think? I’m not good with converting distances yet. Anyway, it’s near the hab and we’d go there when I was younger and didn’t have as much to do in the fields.”
“Cool. Well, feel free to use it but just a word of warning you might want to check if anyone’s in first. Swimwear is optional and since the crew is a pretty tight family we don’t usually get embarrassed if we’re seen swimming in the buff.” Alex waved over at the control console. “If you’re not sure the big green button on the outside is the comm button, just ask if anyone’s using it.”
“Ji brought me in here when we came up to do the medical scans. He showed me Kiveyt from orbit for the first time. Do all human ships have a room like this?” Trix reached over to dip her hand into the water. It was quite warm to the touch.
“Nah. This ship wasn’t originally designed as a scout ship or survey ship. It was originally a yacht. Big luxury vehicle for rich people to fly around in space and have fun in. Throw parties. Most of the ridiculous amenities it has I got rid of ages ago, but that left a huge amount of space we filled up with all the launchers and sensors and whatnot. I kept the pool though because I love soaking after a long day.” He pressed the door control and they left the pool room.
“Just past the pool room on either side of the ship we have collection dishes for D-space particles. Those are EVA only, so you won’t be dealing with those. They let us collect extremely powerful particles which lead back here.” Alex spoke as he walked, and turned the corner into a much, much larger room.
“This is the ship’s main power supply. Charged particles enter the torus reactor and discharge energy which is converted into electrical power and routed through the ship. Those bottles over there…” He gestured to four massive grey metal canisters on the wall. “Contain the actual particles. They’re made of the strongest materials we have because if one ruptured, the ship would instantly explode from the inside out. Don’t worry,” Alex quickly raised his hands. “The chances of that happening are virtually impossible. This is the single most well-protected location on the ship.”
He gestured to the other side of the large room. “Over there’s the terminals that Min is usually at. She and Ji are in charge of all engineering. That means power, propulsion, all computer systems, and the like. Well, the physical parts of them that is. Ma’et is our computer geek when it comes to integration, programming, and all the fun software shit.”
Alex left the room, and gestured to the other side. “I’m sure you’re familiar with medical over there. Let’s do us both a favor and not have to go there much. Otherwise I’m pretty sure Kyshe will gut me.” He didn’t stop to show her inside, and they reached the main staircase. “The back half of the ship on this deck is all propulsion access and maintenance. I’m more or less our damage control guy, along with Ji and Min. For them it’s because they’re smart as shit and for me it’s because I had to learn how to maintain my own ship. Most common damage out here is stray micro meteors or debris while we’re parked and the particle shields are down. Sometimes worn out components inside. Again, no EVA for you so the only thing you’ll need to worry about for DC is being an assistant to one of us while we fix shit.”
They went up the stairwell to the uppermost of the three floors. “There used to be an observation bubble above us, but I had it removed because it was useless. Even if I covered it with ablative plating it was a massive wart on top of the ship that served zero practical purpose. Anyway, the top floor here is where you’ll spend 90% of your time on the ship. Back here…” Alex started walking to the rear of the ship, and walked through a large open doorway. “Mess hall. We generally have two kinds of meals here - when we’re on long deployment, the food extruder over there can produce rations. They’re not amazing but they’re quick both to make and eat. It’ll also make reasonable meat and dairy substitutes. If you want a real meal though we usually keep the good stuff in deep freeze so it takes a fair amount of time to be ready. Other than that the bev dispenser is over there. Water and various juices on tap all the time, alcohol is restricted only to meals only. We all get together for breakfast and dinner though, since it’s just a good way to socialize. Tonight expect a big meal in celebration.”
He walked out of the mess, and opened a door to a large open area. “Rec room. Not used a whole lot because most of us use haptic suits for exercise and recreation but we don’t have a suit that’ll fit you or your wings, so I want you to be in here twice a week at least. Ma’et is a great partner for any exercise that doesn’t involve fighting, unless you like bruises in which case she’ll happily go a few rounds with gloves on. Pilots don’t get the level of exercise you’re used to on the planet working fields so exercise up here will be pretty damn vital.”
She looked around the room, then hurried to catch up to the captain as he walked out. “On the other side of the hall from the Mess is general storage. Cleaning supplies, a small laundry unit if the one in your room quits working, random odds and ends. Also a few extra bunks just in case we need them. Unfortunately I am going to have to have you spend one night in here while we get your room cleaned up and ready for you.” He walked in, and over to one of the walls. “Bunk folds down from here. Looks, uh…” He glanced at the fold-down bed and back at Trix. “Looks tight. Do me a favor and see if you’re gonna be OK there?”
It was very close, but Trix laid down on the sleeping pad and adjusted until she found a good comfortable spot. “For just one night, this will do…”
“Alright, no worries then. We’ll have your room ready quick as we can.” She got off the pad and Alex gestured for her to follow. “Quarters themselves are here, 4 on either side of the main hallway. Myself, Josh, Ma’et, and Amanda on the right in that order. Ji, Min, Your quarters, and the last was converted into a mechanical room for Par. Speaking of…”
He walked into the last room and knocked on a large hatch. “Par, would it be alright if I introduced our newest shipmate?”
“Of course, Captain.” The hatch slid silently open revealing a large, intricate array. Circuit boards were laid out in rows and wires ran between them in perfectly neat, ordered channels. In the center of it all was a large oblong egg-looking object. “Trix, may I present to you Parathanelias Sigma-822.”
Several rows of lights lit up along the side of the egg, and the pleasant musical voice she’d heard so often came from a small speaker alongside it. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Trksehnoarala.”
Trix stared at the open hatch then gestured behind her. “I thought you were in those floating metal balls…?”
“The spheres you mention are my remotes. None of them are large enough to house my primary systems. In a way, they are my eyes, ears, and limbs. My true nature is integration here within the ship itself, and I make up for my limited mobility in person by having the greatest mobility of any other member of the crew.”
“He also has an avatar in VR of an organic human, but most of the time he uses the floating spheres to interact with us and the rest of the world. His core,” Alex gestured to the egg-like central object, “houses his base personality and his most important memories. The rest of this is extra storage for less critical information. I’m a bit jealous because his most important memories will always be preserved forever in perfect clarity. The rest of us get to have our memories fade with time, but his will be eternal.”
Alex stood there mutely for a moment then shook his head. “Anyway. Back to the tour. Thanks Par!”
“My pleasure.” The hatch slid silently shut and Alex and Trix left the room. “This room has been empty for long enough I pretty much gave it over to Ji and Min for a long while.” Alex walked into the room next to Par’s. “It’s kind of a mess but we’re going to get it cleaned up then it’ll be yours.”
There was no bed in the room, and the tables against the walls were covered with electronics and quickboards. In the center of the room, a huge metal contraption was spread out. Eight large jointed legs were wired in to a big central circular turret. Above that, a multitude of ‘limbs’ extended out - one a large grasper with clawed metal fingers, another ending with an odd cone-shaped implement with a blackened tip. A third was a huge metal pipe jutting out, and a fourth looked to be a number of small openings to place something into.
Trix gestured to it, “What is THAT thing?”
“That’s the Spider. It’s a long-time project the Twins have been working on. Pretty much since they joined the crew, really. It was meant to be a mechanical walker for the military but… well, that’s their story to tell.” Alex snorted. “There’s going to be enough time to go into the details later. Point is, before we even start leaving the system we’re gonna move this out, get a full king sized bed in here for you, some more storage, and so on. That door,” He gestured to a door on the other side of the room, “Leads to a hygiene unit. Full on shower, no bath but if you want to soak the Pool’s down a floor. Aside from no tub it has a deluxe toilet, sink, and a small cleaning unit for clothes.”
Trix cautiously stepped around the large disassembled robot, and opened the door to peer inside. The hygiene unit was much larger than she’d expected, and she was grateful to see that most of the facilities was familiar to her.
“Okay, one last stop and it’s the most important.” Alex walked out into the hallway and Trix rushed to catch up, almost tripping as she hopped over a piece of scrap cable along the floor. “I’m sure this will become your second home on the ship real fast. The bridge.”
They walked down the hall through a small access corridor into a large, wide open space. A large chair sat in the center with a number of controls and articulating arms present on the back. In front of it, a number of control panels were arranged in rows. The front of the bridge and both sides were dominated by massive window screens that showed the area the ship was currently facing. She could see one screen to the side with a display showing Kiveyt, first as a small dot with a zoomed-in and blown up image next to it.
“The door back there in the corner leads to a briefing room, nothing special there but a table and chairs. The big chair in the middle is mine, but if you ask super nicely I’ll let you sit in it.” Alex grinned, and pointed at the console in the very center of the bridge, in front of the Captain’s chair. “But that station over there is primary navigation. Josh is there quite a lot of the time, though just as often I navigate from the Captain’s Chair or Ma’et controls the ship from her neural interface. As of now, though, I bequeath ownership of it unto you - for the next few weeks, at least.”
Trix walked around the bridge staring at everything. The control consoles were smooth, rounded and sleek in their presentation. Each one had a large keyboard in front covered with the strange runes of the Humans’ language. Various other instruments and implements were present at each station, but at hers she smiled gratefully to see that the keys had already changed and had more familiar and recognizable letters in place of the Humans odd script. The layout was definitely weird, and she knew it was going to take time and effort to grow accustomed but at the very least she would be able to understand what she was doing as she learned. Even better, the seat lacked the same high back that the other seats had, which would have been pressed tightly and uncomfortably against her wings.
She glanced back at Alex, who just nodded at her. Encouraged, she took a seat and glanced around. “This is mine.” She whispered it and then let her wings spread out with pleasure as she realized that from here, from this station, she would be the one personally controlling the entire massive vehicle behind her. It lacked the flight stick of the shuttle or the handle controls of her aircar, and in a way she felt disappointed she wouldn’t be able to manually control the ship the same way she could the smaller vehicles. But as she looked around her and rested her hands on the cool surface of the console, she felt something else. A thrill of anticipation at the thought of being the one in control of this massive ship and everyone inside of it.
Alex climbed several steps up to the captain’s chair on its elevated dais, and took a seat directly behind her. The sight of a winged alien in front of him at the nav console with the stars stretching out above and beyond her was a strange one, but a pleasant one. He tried to think of a witty quip to finish the tour with, but failing that he settled for a much simpler one instead.
“Welcome aboard, Pilot.”
—--
“Okay, before we get started, I believe that this is a special occasion warranting a toast.” Alex sat at the head of the large table at the mess, with the other six organic members of the crew assembled further down. “To our new pilot trainee!”
“Here Here!” “To Trix!” “To our Trainee!”
Alex took a sip of his whisky, and sighed in pleasure. “God that hits the spot. Okay everyone, dig in.”
The dinner was an odd affair, mostly because every single member was wearing their visor. Trix could not speak English, and the crew couldn’t speak her native tongue. Masks which would automatically translate couldn’t be worn during a meal so the solution was to have real-time speech to text appearing on everyone’s visor. Trix, who never had worn a visor before, had a difficult time getting the display to appear just right in front of her eyes but she and Par had gotten it dialed in.
Trix glanced at the array of food in front of her. Some items looked familiar, others completely foreign, and none of it smelled quite right. She gestured to the food. “None of this is from Kiveyt. Is it safe for me to eat it?”
“I went through our entire comestible database while we were on the planet. Surprisingly there’s almost no Terran food you can’t eat.” Josh had a massive burrito nearly as long as Ma’et’s arm on the plate in front of him, and he spoke while dabbing hot sauce over it. “All of our Macronutrients are completely interchangeable. Most Micronutrients are as well. There’s a few exotic vitamins and amino acids that you need that we can’t provide, but we have supplements from the planet that’ll handle those.”
“Oh.” Trix glanced around at the table, trying to decide what to eat. The spread was, per Alex’s suggestion, extremely large and quite diverse. “I’m not sure where to start then.”
Min picked up a large platter with a circular dish on it. “Far as I’m concerned the best place to start is with Pizza. It’s one of the most widely loved foods throughout Terran space.” She dumped a slice onto the plate in front of Trix, while Ji slid a very tall glass of water over to her, alongside an odd reddish looking beverage.
“Give the fruit punch a try too. It’s much more sweet than the juice you were serving down on the planet. A lot more mild too.” He suggested, and gestured to another plate. “Also? Tacos are never a bad choice.”
Trix reached out and picked up one of the odd, semi-circular items. Ji grabbed one as well, and bit into it with gusto. Trix mimicked the motion, crunching into the hard shell. It was quite interesting, tasteless at first as she bit into the shell and the lettuce, but then the spiced meat hit her tongue. It was quite mild but not unpleasant. She chewed on it and gulped down a mouthful. “Not bad.” She took another bite.
The taco vanished quickly, and she glanced down at the slice of Pizza next. “Like this, Trix.” Min gestured to pick it up by the crust, putting her fingers in front of it to prevent it from flopping down. Trix followed Min’s example, and took a huge bite. This one was even milder, almost disappointingly so. “Not much flavor to this one. Is all your food really light like this?”
The humans glanced around at that. “Y’know, Sophie mentioned our rations were tasteless. They have a pretty strong cinnamon taste to ‘em.” Alex sat back thoughtfully as he nursed the glass of whisky in his hand. “The food we had down on the planet was all pretty strong flavors…”
Josh handed the bottle of hot sauce in his hand over to Trix. “Try a dab of this. It adds a kick to some foods.”
Trix took the bottle, and put a few drops of it on the slice of pizza in front of her. She took another bite, and her eyes lit up. The next few bites all had more hot sauce each, and the crust itself ended up practically drenched in it. “Thanks, Josh. That was delicious.”
The rest of the crew was staring at her and she shrunk back slightly at their intense scrutiny. Had she done something wrong? She hadn’t ever offended them during any meals back on the planet, so the sudden shift in attention was jarring and quite uncomfortable.
Ji whistled at the sight of the alien hungrily wofling down the slice of pizza covered in bright spicy sauce. “Here, try some of that on a taco next!” He picked up another shell and offered it to her.
Trix reached out and took the taco, this time pouring a hefty amount of sauce on it. Eating this one was much messier, and she could feel the hot sauce dribbling down the side of her mouth as she took a huge bite. Min handed her a paper towel, and she embarrassedly wiped away the errant food. “Thanks, Min. That was great too, Ji.”
“Hold up.” Alex stood up and walked over to one of the cupboards, pulling out another bottle of sauce. “I’m curious now. This is a lot hotter than the sauce you’ve been trying thus far. See if it’s to your liking. Just, start with a very small amount. A little goes a LONG way.” He walked back to the table, placing the bottle next to Trix. She studied it briefly, mostly the logo - a caricature of a human whose head appeared to be on fire.
“Um, Okay. Should I try it with the Pizza or the Taco?” She glanced between the two dishes she’d already tried. “Either one. Whichever you prefer.” was Alex’s reply.
Trix reached out and grabbed a third Taco, opening up the bottle. Immediately she could smell the fragrant sauce within, and she carefully poured a small amount into the shell. She cautiously took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.
“Too hot?” Alex suggested, but she shook her head. “No. Just…” She poured more sauce on the taco, and ate the rest in only a few bites. “Whew. Sorry, Captain Alexander. That was incredible! I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”
“Captain Alexander just sounds weird. Call me Alex or Al. Or ‘Captain’ if you really, really need to use my rank for whatever reason.” Alex sat down, and chuckled. “But that’s interesting. Very, very interesting. That sauce there?” He gestured towards the bottle. “It’s made with a chemical called ‘Capsaicin’. To humans it’s a powerful spice. Too much of it causes a painful burning sensation that lingers. We normally dilute it to make it more palatable and less painful.”
Trix glanced at the bottle. “I guess that explains the fire on the little picture here.” She grabbed another slice of the pizza, and drizzled the sauce on top.
“Three tacos and two slices of pizza?” Ma’et was impressed as she saw how much food the Avian was packing away.
“The disadvantage of those muscular bodies.” Josh waved his hand towards Trix. “They require all the calories that a Human does and more. Back on the planet I learned their species used to be a lot smaller, but after developing animal husbandry and reliable sources of higher calorie foods they bulked up pretty quick.”
Trix, for her part, slicked off the second slice of pizza with gusto. She grabbed a fourth taco, and liberally poured the spicy sauce all over, before wolfing that down as well. She grabbed the fruit juice that Ji had offered her… the ‘punch’? And downed it almost as quickly.
“I hope after all this is over, we can buy some more of that sauce. I definitely want the others back at home to try it.” She licked her lips, and sighed with contentment. “This juice too. I like how sweet it is.”
“Birds are immune to Capsaicin.” Josh murmured softly, but it was picked up by the visor and translated perfectly. “I wonder what the chances are that space-birds would be too?”
—--
“Slide the jack under that joint there.” Trix did as instructed, wheeling the small hydraulic device under the ‘spider’s’ massive leg. “Great. Just gotta line up the leg with where the servos join in…” Ji and Min lifted the leg and immediately began connecting up cables and lines. After all the connections were made, Ji braced himself against the wall and shoved - hard - against the leg, firmly connecting the mechanical rotary joint into place.
“Okay, testing.” Min walked over to the console and began punching in codes. Like the other six limbs before it, this one shook slightly then began to flex, twist, and move around. “Range of motion is nominal. Motors are all showing peak. Locking joints and anchor bolt systems are green.”
Ji wiped off some sweat from his forehead, and leaned back against the wall. “I knew it was a mistake to work on it up here. At least if we put it in the hangar we could have lowered the gravity.”
“It would have been in the way during the rescue op, and we had enough shit going on then we didn’t need to add ‘reassemble a multi-ton walking modular platform’ to the list.” Min gestured with her head, not even glancing over at her brother. “Man up. Trix hasn’t even broken a sweat.”
“I don’t sweat.” Trix mumbled, as she stared at the massive machine. “This thing is crazy. Puts my car to shame.”
“Yeah, our pride and joy. Together we’ve spent decades refining it.” Min glanced over at Trix with a broad smile. “The modular bay on top has been my focus, while Ji’s been adjusting and perfecting the leg and motion systems.”
“What’s it for?”
“Well, right now it’s kind of in between intended uses.” Ji walked over to a large shelf and gestured to the assorted objects there. “With our original plans it was going to have a bunch of swappable options. Right now, it has short and long range assault armaments and a plasma cutter for breaching sealed doors. A basic military drone capable of adapting to all kinds of situations.”
Trix stared at the array of weapons in front of her. “So this is what the human military uses to fight with?”
“Nah.” Min set down the quickboard and walked over to the huge machine. “We envisioned it as a multi-purpose response unit. Capable of dropping in from outside the atmosphere an landing anywhere, going anywhere. Dealing with any situation that could possibly arise. It’s an all-terrain support mech and its modular nature would have made it able to respond to nearly any situation. And it was rejected by the military.”
“What? Why?”
Ji held up a hand and ticked off his fingers. “One, it’s more expensive to drop one of these than a squad of soldiers. Nevermind the fact that it can do 10 people’s worth of work without putting even a single person in danger. Two, it’s too big to be fired out of normal launchers. Adding new launchers to ships would have been a significant amount of work and cost that the navy wasn’t willing to foot the bill. Three, we didn’t have any money after developing it. Meaning we couldn’t bribe anyone in the government into pressuring the military to work with us.”
“Four, they already have hover tanks and artillery and we couldn’t convince them that our system was superior to those.” Min sighed, and threw herself into a chair.
“Hovering is cheating though.” Ji glared at his sister.
“Cheating? What?” Trix just looked bewildered at this.
“Hovering isn’t all-terrain. Hovering is NO terrain.”
“Oh.” Trix took a seat in a nearby chair herself. “So did the captain buy this then?”
“Nope. See, we were finishing up Uni and started developing the Spider, but we didn’t really have the money to actually MAKE one. We had all the plans and all the research on our side but not the raw materials or the money to get those raw materials.” Ji pulled out a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. “At first we tried going straight to the military which was a huge mistake, they just made a million excuses and told us to get lost. Then we tried approaching some weapon dev companies for funding. They basically told us they’d fund it in exchange for all the rights to production and we’d get whatever they felt was fair. Which when we pressed on a figure, wasn’t much.”
Trix glanced over at the massive mech. “But it got made, obviously.”
“Yup. When we weren’t sure what to do, a buddy of ours mentioned that Al was looking for an engineering team. We can do starship engineering.” Min grabbed the quickboard and extended one of the spider’s legs towards her, so she could kick her feet up on it. “Matter of fact, this ship’s a thing of beauty. Al is a complete doofus but he takes fantastic care of the ship. When we came on we gave him a list of everything that should change. He sat down with us, went over it point by point, and even though it ended up costing over half a million credits he gave us full authorization to make every single change we suggested.”
“So after we did a stint working as engineers we joined up as crew.” Ji had an odd smile on his face. “Since then, we’ve put the money we made from working here towards building this thing. We actually had it completed but then I had this idea of using an array of microservo actuators instead of a larger servo to give us a lot more fine control over the joints. That didn’t work, like, at all but when we used a combination of them we managed to find just the right ratio that gives us twice the amount of precision in each joint, which lets us use the-”
“ANYWAY.” Min interrupted her Brother before he could get too deep into the weeds. “We had it built, with the original armaments we envisioned, but Al suggested making a module for mining and sampling. We brought it in here in order to disassemble it to make the servo adjustments and while we were at it we were going to be replacing the actual weapons with a mining beam, core sample collector, and an array of sensors. Now though we’re going to put it in storage for a while. We got much more important things to take care of now.”
“Oh.” Trix had begun to tune Ji out when he launched into his diatribe. “But what do you mean joined up as crew? You were already crew, weren’t you?”
Min swung her foot down, and gestured to the ship. “It’s different. There’s employees… and then there’s crew. Right now you’re an employee. You’re working with us, you’re out here, but your home’s back with your Teff. Right?”
Trix nodded.
“Well, when you’re crew… this is your home. We’re all family out here. I don’t know as much about the whole Teff thing but I think it’s sort of similar. This ship’s our home, the crew is our family. Alex may be a childish idiot but he’s loyal to his crew like nothing else.” Min stood up and walked over to put her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “When we worked here and started to see how well he treats his people, we felt like we could really belong here. He asked if we’d like to join up, so we did. Best decision we ever made.”
“Yup. He treats the crew as well as he treats the ship.” Ji gestured around him. “Working for him paid well. Working as crew, we don’t get paid regularly but we get a cut out of every mission and that cut is HUGE. That’s how we could afford to actually build the spider in the first place.”
“Ah. So if he invited me along, does that mean he wants me to join the crew too?” Trix wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Joining another family was commonplace for males who left their Teff to join others, but incredibly rare for females.
“Dunno. He’s hired on specialists in the past who’ve come and gone. And he’s invited people to join up who said no and that was that.” Ji shrugged and pressed the release on the hydraulic press, letting it collapse down. “C’mon, we should get the last leg attached. Then we can pack it up and use a grav collar to move it down to the hangar. Don’t want to make you stay in that cramped storage room again tonight.”
“Yeah, I tried to stretch my wings in the morning and I banged up against one of the shelves. Really not looking forward to that again.” Trix grumbled at the memory, and stood up. “Okay, what more do we need done to get this over with?”
—--

Chapter 25 - The Job Offer
Previous Chapter
The massive shuttle rocketed through the atmosphere as Trix reached out to nudge the throttle down slightly. Josh was right, it wasn’t anything like flying an Aircar. At first it consisted of programming in the destination, desired speed, height, and letting the computer do all the work. When she expressed dissatisfaction at that, Ma’et had kicked the boys out of the cockpit and showed her how to access the manual flight stick. That was where things began to get fun.
And then when turning down the gravitic inertial compensation so she could FEEL the power of the shuttle pressing her back in her seat, feel the vibration of the wind against the shuttle as it roared through the skies, feel her body pulled to one side or the other as she sent it into a tight turn… that was when the world fell away entirely. The skies opened up in a vast vista before her.
Ma’et sat beside her, occasionally mentioning a tip or trick here. A small adjustment to make there. The shuttle had zero control surfaces, it handled like a brick - but it compensated for all of that with sheer, raw power. The power to smash through the sound barrier like it was made of paper. The power to soar effortlessly a few feet above the waves, or to rocket up into the stratosphere with ease. Gravity was a mere suggestion, one which Trix rejected entirely.
After a few minutes Ma’et went into the back to speak with the others. “I think our girl is completely hooked. She picked that up faster than anyone I’ve ever seen before.”
Josh walked over to Ji, handing him a small pill and a cup of water. While most of the crew was fine with the reduced inertial compensation and the feeling of actual motion that Trix was putting the shuttle through, Ji was the exception. He was definitely looking very green about the gills. “Guess we’re seeing thousands of years of flight instinct coming to the fore. That’s the best explanation I can come up with at least.”
“I was wondering about that.” Ma’et sat down next to the captain’s head and smacked the side of his head lightly. “Would a species that evolves from birds be naturals at flying? If she’s any indication the answer is ‘yes’.”
“I don’t know how universal it was. In the races there were some pretty decent pilots but you ask me, Trix outflew them all. S’why I’m thinking maybe she’d be a natural pilot.”
Josh glanced over at them. “I think she’s better than me. And I’ve been flying this thing for decades.”
Ma’et nodded. “She took to every bit of instruction we gave her like it was second nature. I don’t know if it’s because she descended from a flying species or what, but she’s a natural. If the rest of the planet has as many naturally skilled pilots as she is, then every captain this side of Mars will want to hire them on.”
“Well, that’s assuming we let her fly stick in the first place.” Min pointed out. “I think that first bit where we had her on autopilot actually made her mood WORSE.”
“Either way, I want to see whether or not she can take those flight skills and upgrade ‘em to zero-g.” Alex sat up and tapped the conference button on his breath mask and turned off the translator. “Crew meeting. Amanda, you there?”
Amanda had spent most of the morning in the Presh manor, going over some of the finer details of the proposals for exchange between Terrafault and the locals. Meaning while they were out joyriding above the ocean, she was up to her neck in paperwork thousands of kilometers away. “I’m here, Alex. What’s going on?”
“We’re on the shuttle. I put Trix at the helm. She’s phenomenal. I’m taking an official vote. All in favor of offering her a position on the ship as pilot?”
“Aye.” Ma’et and Min-ah spoke as one. “Sure.” was Josh’s response.
“Wait. Pilot? Hold on, Al….”
Ji raised a thumb, but didn’t speak - concentrating on keeping his mouth closed as much as he could. “Par?”
“There are a number of advantages it would bring. I have not interacted with her as much as you have, but our conversations have been pleasant. I vote yes.”
“Hold on, hold on!” Amanda tried to interject. “Alexander, before you go tearing off and….”
“Too late. Six to one, you’re outvoted. Do me a favor and draw up an employment contract.” Alex pushed the leave button on the chat, smiling. He missed whatever response Amanda made but he was sure it was spectacular judging by Min and Ma’ets reactions to it.
He unbuckled himself from the seat restraint, and made his way up to the cockpit. “How’s it going up here?”
“Fine, fine.” Trix made a dismissive gesture. “I’m doing fine up here. No need to check in on me.”
“That’s not why I’m here. Do me a favor, and put the autopilot on back to the Presh mansion. I’ll send Ma’et up here to watch it. But you and I need to have a little chat, so out of the cockpit for now.”
Trix looked up at him in surprise, then frowned and pushed the release button on the control stick. She pulled up the list of previous destinations just as Ma’et had showed her before, and touched the control to send the shuttle back to land near the capitol of the Presh lands.
In the back of the shuttle, Ji was looking decidedly unwell, and Josh was at his side. Ma’et scrambled back up front while Trix took a seat on the center couch, and Alex sat down opposite her.
“So, Trix, not gonna beat around the bush here. You were great in the race. You took to the shuttle just fine. I want to see how well you do flying a bigger ship. My ship.” he gestured up above his head.
“What, like now? I thought we were heading back to the Presh?” Trix glanced up, as though she could see the massive bronze ship out there through the ceiling of the shuttle.
“We are. But I don’t mean right now. I mean, I want to hire you as a pilot. For our trip out to JR692 to survey minerals. Off planet, on my ship.”
Trix froze up entirely at this. Not even a direct impact to her helmet by a challenge round could have been more unexpected and surprising, and she found herself entirely unable to respond. Unable to THINK.
Alex took her sudden silence as indecision, though, and decided to just press forward. “Honestly it’s a huge decision, it’s not something I’m expecting a yes or no right now on. You haven’t been around us very long, just a few weeks here on the planet. But you’ve gotten along superbly with Ji and Min. That alone makes me think you’d do well up on the ship.”
“I… uh, I hadn’t…” Trix stumbled over her words for a moment, then coughed suddenly. “I’m not sure. Uh, I really don’t know how to fly a space ship.”
“I know. I’m not expecting you to know how to right away. Flying outside an atmosphere with no gravity is worlds different than flying an aircar or the shuttle, and you’ve got zero experience. But to be blunt, I have a good gut feeling about you and I want to give you a chance to learn and join us.” Alex held up a hand, ticking off points on his fingers.
“First, we are a seriously social species. We make friends easy and quickly. That means when we find someone we like we want to be around them. That’s already a big point in your favor. Second, after we complete our survey mission your testimony to Kyshe can help alleviate her worries about whether or not we can be trustworthy. Third, ours is a small crew and we have to split duties. If you’ll join us and take on the role of pilot, that will reduce the load on the rest of the crew. And lastly, in the future I hope that our two societies will be able to interact a lot more closely. But people will be reluctant to take that first step. If you join us and it works out well, then others who would be reluctant will be more likely to do the same in the future.”
“However!” Alex let his hands fall back to his sides. “With all that said, it’s not all sunshine and roses. It’s going to be a lot of work to learn how to fly the ship. It’s going to be long hours spent learning and training, and lots of the training will be boring. If you do decide to come with us, then it means spending a lot of time in close quarters with the crew. We won’t be able to return until we complete our survey mission, which normally lasts at least a full month. During which there WILL be a lot of tedious chores that need to be done around the ship, and you’ll be expected to help out. We split the chores fairly, and you won’t be made to do anything unreasonable that the rest of us won’t do.”
Alex leaned back on the seat, and crossed his arms. “So that’s the offer. I want you to become the first Sovalin to work alongside Humans. You’ll be paid fairly, you’ll have good accommodations and recreation available, but it’s going to be a lot of work and if you agree you can’t back out anytime soon. Our current plan is to head to JR692 in roughly a week. Take as much time until then to decide. If you have any questions at all, don’t hesitate to let us know.”
—--
Kyshe glared irritably at the human across from her desk. He had arrived at her request, alone and without any of the rest of his crew. “Captain. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Always happy to be here. Since I wasn’t escorted by soldiers this time I take it I’m not in trouble?” Alex grinned and tried to lighten the mood with a joke.
“I would not go that far. The only reason I did not order your arrest is because I am trying, very hard, to afford you the benefit of the doubt. And I would appreciate it very much if you would explain to me why I should continue to exercise that restraint.” One of her wingtips, adorned with a metal sheath similar to the ones that Sophie often wore, tapped against the floor as she sat waiting in her chair.
“Okay, I’m assuming this isn’t about us breaking the sound barrier out over the ocean.” Kyshe glared and nodded. “So it’s about the job offer. There’s really not a whole lot to explain really. I felt like Trix could be a good fit with the crew and it seemed like a natural way to put my ideals into practice.” Alex leaned forward as he spoke. “I’m not trying to force her into anything, she’s free to refuse and we won’t hold it against her. It’s not a big deal.”
Kyshe closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m having a difficult time believing it’s so simple. You said your people wouldn’t use ours as labor. Yet now you attempt to lure one of our young adults into your employment?”
“Now hold on. We’re not trying to use her for labor! The job that I offered to her was Pilot, not janitor or anything.” he protested.
Kyshe opened her eyes and banged a fist on the table. “You expect me to believe that?” Her hand swept out around in a big arc. “She’s a farmer! Nearly everyone in this valley is! She’s used to hard work day in and day out. Not flying starships. You seriously expect me to believe you don’t just want to dump all the difficult tasks on her?”
“Okay. Point taken, I can see why you’re concerned about that. And, to be fair, she WILL be doing more than just piloting. We all do.” Alex held up a hand. “The crew has seven members total. On a starship. Even with all the automation we have, that’s still running fairly bare bones. We all of us, myself included, have to do dozens of things every single day to keep things running smoothly. Equipment checks. Replacing worn out components. Making meals for everyone. But even though she WILL be expected to help out, there’s nothing at all we’ll be asking her to do that we won’t also be doing. That’s just the nature of being on a small ship.”
Kyshe continued to tap her wingtip on the floor. “It is perhaps the fact that you’re trying to hire an untrained farmhand that most concerns me. It seems as though it would be much, much easier to simply look for someone already trained as a pilot. The M’rit for example often ferry resources up to orbit. I’m sure that one of their pilots would be a much better fit.”
“Eh, that’s a bit doubtful. They may have experience with your ships and systems but from what I’ve seen, ours are going to be pretty alien to them as well. They’ll likely require just as much training. Hell, if anything Trix might have an easier time because she won’t have to un-learn what she already knows. Plus we’ve already built up a rapport with Trix. That’s important when you’re spending weeks and months together. That’s a big reason why I offered the job to her in particular.”
Kyshe grunted noncommittally, and Alex stood up. “It was a gesture made in good faith, Matriarch. When I spoke of our two peoples standing beside one another this is pretty much what I had in mind. Humans and Sovalin working together. On a ship, on a planet, on a station, whatever. But working together as a team is the important part.”
Kyshe looked unconvinced so Alex continued. “Matriarch, if the offer is going to cause difficulties then I’ll retract it. I hadn’t thought it’d upset you this much, and I’m not willing to lose what little faith you have in me over this.”
“I’m very, very tempted to tell you to do exactly that.” Kyshe muttered. “I already feel like we’re placing far too much trust in you as it is.”
“Yeah, I understand. And I’ll leave it up to you. I really do want to have her join us up on the ship, but earning your trust is more important. That said, I think maybe you should talk to her directly? She’s been around us the longest out of any of your people, after all.”
Kyshe hesitated at that, wondering whether or not the girl had somehow been influenced by the Humans. Ultimately, she nodded. “That’s reasonable.” She sat there in thought for a few minutes, then stood up and walked over to the other side of the desk. “I won’t make any choices until I speak with the girl. But I do question the necessity of this. Do you truly need to take her with you?”
“No, we don’t. It’s not at all necessary.” Alex admitted. “We can still continue on with our original mission without another crew member. But just because it isn’t necessary doesn’t mean it isn’t a good idea. Matriarch, every single thing I know about Humans and everything I’ve seen here on the planet tells me one thing - sooner or later our societies WILL become friends or allies. The big question is gonna be ‘when’ because I am sure it’ll happen. I for one want that to be ‘sooner’. I think it’ll be better for your people if we can cooperate quicker. I think my people have been alone in the void too long and need new friends to help us grow as a people. And your people have been betrayed by ‘friends’ and could use someone to help you regain the independence that was stolen from you. We have plenty of reasons to come together.”
Kyshe grimaced as she leaned back against the desk. “I wish I could share in that sort of optimism. I admit I would prefer if everything went as well as you say it will. I simply doubt things will go as smoothly and as easily as you claim.”
“Probably not, if I’m being honest.” Alex stood up as well and gestured out the window. “I know I often talk big, but that’s because I like to dream big. I know that I’m moving quickly but that’s just how I do things. Sometimes it gets me in trouble and sometimes everything works out well but either way I live without regrets.”
Kyshe pressed a button on the desk she leaned against, and an aide came in. “Please call Trksehn into the office. I’d like to discuss this with her.” As the aide left, Kyshe nodded towards the Captain. “Just know, Captain, that I will hold you responsible if something does occur.”
—--
Trksehn walked into the office, and upon sighting the Matriarch immediately took a knee, placing a closed fist in front of her respectfully. “Matriarch, you have summoned me.”
Kyshe motioned to the aide who tugged on the girl’s arm. “The Matriarch doesn’t enjoy the more formal expressions of respect.” they whispered into her ear.
“Thank you for coming promptly. We wish to speak with you about the offer you’ve received.” Trix glanced over and noticed that Captain Alex was present in the room. She raised a hand to him in greeting.
“So, uh, if you two are going to be talking, maybe I should go?” He offered, taking a step towards the door.
“No. Stay. There may be questions we have for you.” The Matriarch commanded, and he froze, before stepping back to the chair he’d vacated shortly before. “Have a seat.” Kyshe told Trix as she gestured to the empty chair next to the Captain.
“The reason I called you here is because I have a number of concerns with the Captain’s proposal to you.” Kyshe began, as she moved back to her chair on the opposite side of the desk from the others. “I know you have not had much time to consider it, and I do apologize for that. My primary concern in this matter is with your well being.”
“Uh, in what way Matriarch?” Trix shifted uncomfortably in the chair. The Matriarch was clearly quite unhappy and being in the presence of an unhappy leader was incredibly intimidating.
“We know so little about the Humans. We still have little more than the Captain’s reassurances that they are as they say - here to befriend us, to offer help. He speaks passionately about wishing to walk beside us as friends and allies. As you have been around the Humans the longest, I wish to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
“Yeah, he’s said the same to me.” Trix glanced over to the captain and back. “And to the others in the Hab. The rest of the crew makes jokes about it.”
“Do you believe that he means what he says?”
“Well, the crew thinks he means it. Or more like…” She hesitated a moment, not sure how he’d take this. “Well, to be honest from what I hear they all think he’s being overly optimistic. And they, uh, often claim he has other motives.”
Kyshe's eyes narrowed at that. “And have they specified what those ‘other motives’ are?”
Trix glanced over at the Captain, who was not looking particularly comfortable with the way the conversation was going. “Yeah, most of the crew thinks he’s attracted to our people.”
“Now hold on. HOLD ON. That is absolutely DEFINITELY not why I offered you a job!” he immediately protested.
Kyshe was a bit stunned by the girl’s statement and the captain’s outburst, and she found herself trying very hard not to smile at his discomfort. “Well, Captain? Are you attracted to us?”
“Matriarch, that has absolutely no bearing whatsoever on the topic at hand!”
“His face is red. According to Ji, that’s a sign of embarrassment.” Trksehn helpfully pointed out. Indeed, he was blushing rather hard at the way the topic had shifted.
“Indeed?” Kyshe could not suppress her smile now. “Captain, you never mentioned attraction to us in any of our previous conversations.”
“That’s because it’s irrelevant! Whether or not I find you all appealing has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with whether or not our species can earn your trust!” He shot to his feet as he said this. “I most certainly am not inviting Trix to join up just based on her attractiveness!”
“But you do find her attractive?” Kyshe pressed him on this, clearly enjoying his frustration and embarrassment.
“That’s not relevant. It has nothing at all to do with anything!" Kyshe and Trix sat there waiting for an actual answer, and he sighed and sat back down heavily in his seat. "Okay, yes. She’s gorgeous. So are you. And Sophie back on the station. But!” He made a cutting motion with his hands. “None of that makes any difference at all. It doesn't earn me your trust and it doesn't help you all out in any way. I didn't mention it because it's absolutely inconsequential.”
“No, but perhaps it does explain why you’re going to such great lengths to try to befriend us.” Kyshe’s face turned thoughtful as she said it. “Do you think that by aiding us in trying to escape the Bunters’ influence that you’ll be able to find a partner among our kind?”
“NO! I'm trying to aid you because I don't want an incredible species with immense potential to be trapped in sevitude!”
“Hmm.” Kyshe glanced over at the captain as if she’d not heard a single one of his protests. “I am sure that there are many who might be interested in your people, but whether or not you could be accepted would be quite another thing entirely…”
“The crew just like to joke and make fun. It’s not serious!”
“Well, that’s at least partially true, Matriarch.” Trix was enjoying watching him squirm, but he was becoming more frantic as Kyshe pressed him on it. “They enjoy jokes at his expense.”
“See? It’s just my crew giving me a difficult time!”
Kyshe nodded, but continued on anyway. “Whether they’re joking or not, at least now I believe I understand your motivations better. I won’t say I share in them,” She glanced the human up and down, “But then at least you are not as repulsive as the Cetari or the Fwenth. I am certain that if we were to put out the offer, there may be a number of females who would wish to court you…”
Alex buried his head in his hands. This conversation had gone completely off the rails and he desperately tried to find a way to steer it back to safer ground. “Please, no. I swear to you on my ship, that my purpose in helping you all is NOT due to my attraction to your species! I’m NOT trying to find a partner!“
“Very well.” She dropped the topic for now, but mentally made a note of how easy it was to rile up the captain on this subject. His response made him particularly fun to tease. “Trksehn, back to the relevant point. The Captain’s offer to hire you for his ship. I’ve spoken with him about it. May I hear your thoughts on the matter?”
Trix sat in silence briefly before she answered. “It’s kind of surreal. When they landed and I spoke about flying my aircar I was just trying to make conversation. And now they’re talking about me flying out in space. I wanted to race the Firelands Challenge just for fun and because I thought it might make me stand out to the men of the valley, but this?” She waved a hand as she spoke. “The attention I’m getting from everyone is way outside anything I ever expected!”
“I would say that you are indeed standing out. From my understanding on the subject, you’ve become a celebrity overnight.” Kyshe stood up and walked over beside the younger woman. “I am not particularly a fan of the challenges, but I am not ignorant of their influence. I have had reports given to me of the fans you’ve acquired. And of the fact that not everyone is particularly pleased with your success.”
Trix was surprised by this. “Wait, really? You know about all of that?”
“Of course. I take care to know the goings on here in the valley, and you’ve made a name for yourself. It’s always important for a Matriarch to know of all the major goings on of her people, and I was apprised of your success within an hour of the challenge.”
“Thank you, Matriarch.” Knowing she had achieved global fame from her race was still mostly just a thought. But actually hearing it from her Matriarch made it all the more real. “It’s been, uh. Kind of weird?”
“I can imagine. Fame thrust upon someone who is unfamiliar with it can be quite overwhelming. In truth, I should have reached out to you sooner to offer my aid should the need arise. The Noarala may be a small Teff but all those who live under the Presh are my responsibility, and any assistance you need is available if you ask.”
Trix nodded, then turned to face the Captain. “Thank you again, Matriarch. For the Captain’s offer, though, I think it’s an offer in good faith. I spoke with Min about it and what he said to me is true. The others fly the ship but that often isn’t their primary duty. They all share in the work and responsibilities on the ship, and Min thinks I would fit in well. I don’t know the others as well as Ji and Min but they have offered their support.”
Kyshe ignored the captain for now and focused her attention entirely on the young avian. “It is a major decision. You would be apart from us, from our protection. If they would mistreat you, offer offense or harm…”
Trix actually laughed at that. “I don’t think they’d do that. Not deliberately. I’ve spent enough time around them that I don’t worry about that at all.”
Kyshe visibly relaxed at the younger woman’s confidence. “But then you would also be away from the rest of the society. Away from males, for some time.”
Trix nodded at that. “Yeah, that part worries me too.”
“Wait up. Worried why?” Alex’s face had regained its normal color and he looked back and forth between the Matriarch and Trix. “Are you dating… errr, I guess exploring? Or what’s that about?”
“Extended time away from males can be distressing.” Kyshe explained. “Not necessarily exploring or becoming accepted is required. Simply being around other males can be calming.”
“Okay, that’s actually news to me.” Alex had to sit and think about that. “Could you be a bit more specific? What you mean by ‘distress’, and how long until it becomes a problem, things like that?”
“It can vary, but usually after a few weeks signs and symptoms begin to appear. Frustration, more hostile and aggressive behavior is the most common issue encountered.” Kyshe answered, and pressed the aide call button on her desk. As the smaller male walked in at her call, she immediately instructed him. “Go gather information on Rhenima for the humans.”
Meanwhile Alex had tapped the page button on his breath mask. “Hey, Josh. I’m hearing about something you never mentioned, wondering if it’s a concern. Something about emotional distress for Sovalin who are away from males too long. Ring any bells?”
“Not off the top of my head, no. I’ll have to go over the data dumps for info there.” Josh’s voice was clear over the comms.
“Get together with Par. Look up something like ‘Renimah’. The Matriarch’s also getting us info it sounds like, so if you come up short I’ll try to get the details to you as well.”
“We shall begin looking into it immediately, Captain.” Par responded immediately, and Alex closed the channel. “Sorry. I just asked our medic about it and he wasn’t familiar, but we’re going to start looking into that. Our plans right now are to spend about four weeks out doing the mineral survey, and with travel times that’s pushing it.”
“I had thought it might. Still, while it is tremendously unpleasant, it is not life threatening. The trip could still proceed despite the circumstances, but it would virtually cripple any productivity until it can be remedied.” Kyshe glanced between the Trix and Alex. “Trksehn, we are still a number of days out from the planned departure date. Do you require more time to consider?”
“Well…” Trix shrugged slightly. “The past few weeks I feel like the Humans have been better company than my friends. I’ve had a lot of fun with them modding my aircar. We don’t have much in common but we still always find plenty of things to talk about. I don’t know if it’s because of what happened in the race but I almost kinda want to just go to get away from everything back here.”
“An understandable feeling. Though, perhaps, a bit extreme - usually when on the run from unwanted fame it is normal to retreat to a remote location in the plains or perhaps spend some time in the temples. Not to escape the planet itself.” Kyshe smiled and patted the young woman on the shoulder. “I’ve no desire to restrain you against your will, I simply wish to ensure you’ll be safe.”
“She’ll be as safe as the rest of us, that I can promise.” Alex cut in suddenly. “We’ll be adjusting her duty roster so she won’t have to do any EVA, and we won’t be getting into any fights this far away from Human space. Piracy isn’t a thing out here and if the Tanjeeri show up, we plan to hightail it. Errr, I mean run away rather than stay and fight.”
Trix looked slightly apprehensive at that. “Do Tanjeeri just… I mean, do you expect to see them out there?”
Alex shook his head. “The first time we encountered them they were chasing a ship they’d damaged. That’s been more than five weeks ago. There’s a chance they’d still be in the system, so we do plan to gate out a fair ways from the system proper. We scout from way outside, if the Tanjeeri are there we abort and look for an alternative. If they’re gone, we carefully complete our survey and grab the most valuable minerals we can before we come back here. Either way, no fighting.”
Trix sat in silence as she weighed that up, and spoke confidently to Kyshe. “Matriarch, I would like to take them up on their offer. If I refuse, I will always wonder what I would have missed.” She lifted her wings confidently.
Kyshe shot a glare over at Alex, then nodded. “Very well. Captain, I expect to be seeing you back here in six weeks. Not one feather missing or injured, do you hear me?”
“Clear as a bell, Matriarch.” Alex lifted his hand in a very human-style salute and nudged Trix. “C’mon, let’s go before she changes her mind.”
—--
“Not even one day later and I’m already regretting this decision.” Trix slumped forward over the table, and dropped the stylus from her hand.
Amanda reached over and grabbed the implement as it rolled across the tabletop before it had a chance to fall to the ground. “Stop overreacting. It’s not THAT bad.”
“It absolutely is that bad!” Trix complained as she tapped the board. “Half the questions and fields on here don’t make sense!”
“I told you, just skip the ones you don’t understand and we’ll come back to them afterwards.”
“I did that!” Trix shoved the board over to Amanda. “And I got to the end and it said I missed fourty-seven fields and it wants me to go back and re-enter them.”
Amanda picked up the board and skimmed it. “Wait. I think you broke the form. Did you really try to put in over sixty names for your immediate family?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? It asked who I was related to and so I started writing in the Teff.”
“The form is for close personal relations. Like, your mother and father, your brothers and sisters…” Amanda went down the list. “Nothing here for schooling, no dependants, we’ll have to go over the indemnity clauses later. Independent Contractorship involves a slew of confidentiality and non disclosures, so we’re going to have to waive sections C and D but there will be forms 8114-A and 8114-B to fill out instead. Oh, we should absolutely also begin discussing whether or not you’re going to be pa-HEY!”
Alex had picked up the quickboard, and threw it over his shoulder onto the grass. He slid his own over to Trix. “Yeah, welcome to Proxima. Always in direct competition with Sol as to who can produce the most ridiculously boring paperwork in the galaxy. Here. Sign your name on the line on the bottom. Press your thumb print next to it. You’re not working for Terrafault, you’re working for ME.”
Trix groaned and reached over to take the stylus from Amanda, scribbling her signature down. “You couldn’t have told me that an hour ago before I sat down to start all this?”
“Nope. I had to do some on-the-record statements with Kyshe about your employment, and Par had to record ‘em. Lots of boring legalese like this crap. Anyway, welcome to your new job. Here’s your first two weeks of payment.” Alex fished a large bar of metal out of his pocket and dropped it down on the table.
“Eh? Payment? What’s this?”
“One solid kilogram of Silver. 99.9% pure. To be honest, not that expensive to us. But for reasons we have no idea about, Silver’s hard to find on your planet. So in local currency… probably around 32 or 33 hundred moyu.” Alex sat down and thumbed the off button on the signed quickboard. “Standard pay for a fully licensed pilot is around 3000 credits per week, at least in the private sector. But our credits are worthless here, but a rough conversion tells us that a kilo of silver is roughly the same. Since you’re going to be a trainee for this trip, we felt like half pay was a good compromise. First two weeks up front, and you’ll get one more of these bars every two weeks. So two more until we’re back here on Kiveyt to decide how we want to…You okay there?”
Trix’s jaw had dropped as she started at the small heavy wafer. Her AIRCAR had cost 2500 moyu and that was two YEARS of saving up for it working overtime on the farms. Now she was paid more than that, every two WEEKS. She tentatively reached out and lifted it up. It felt heavier than she thought it would.
Amanda walked back from picking up the quickboard where Alex had thrown it, and lightly smacked him on the back of the head with it. “Fine then. If she’s not on the Terrafault payroll though that means her cut is coming out of yours.”
Alex snorted at that. “Manda, you think that’s gonna matter? After the bonuses we get from this op it won’t matter. I’m already planning on doubling everyone’s cut as it is, and we’ll still have enough to buy a damn fleet carrier afterwards if we want to. But if you really, REALLY want to try to adapt and adjust that paperwork for Sovalin then knock yourself out.”
Amanda sat down opposite of Alex and Trix, and set the board down in front of her. “You realize that the reason I’m so adamant about all the paperwork being completed is to protect everyone from liability? To make sure that there’s no confusion about her employment? To try, god forbid, to avoid any complications or problems that being vague will cause?”
“Sure. And I’m telling you right now, there’s no need. I take full responsibility.” Alex responded to her diatribe with a big grin. “C’mon, Manda. After all the shit we’ve been through convincing the Matriarch to, y’know, not arrest or murder us and then even more to let her allow Trix to go up there in the first place. After all that you think there’s any actual confusion left?”
Trix glanced up at the two bickering humans. “You said I get one of these every two weeks. But if I complete training I get double that?” She balanced the bar on her palm and stared down at it.
“Yep. Once we get some decent asteroid mining ops going the price of silver’s gonna plummet. Best to spend it before that happens. But by then we’ll have good trade avenues with Terrans open, so we’ll just pay you in credits that you can spend normally at that point.” Alex put his elbow on the table, propping his head up with his hand. “As for the training, it’s fairly easy. There’s a licensing exam that’s just proving that you know how to fly to a bunch of boring pencil pushers. Completing that will be a cakewalk if we can get some practical experience under your belt.”
“Oh. But I don’t know if I’m going to do well as your pilot yet. I know absolutely nothing about flying a space ship.” Trix carefully placed the silver back on the table. Alex picked it back up and put it in her hand.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re flying with me, you’re learning, you’re getting paid. If you do well then that’s perfect and we can talk licensing. If you don’t do well, no harm done. Maybe we find another role for you or maybe you come back home. Either way you walk away with silver in your pocket and a fun story to tell everyone and impress the guys.” He smiled and gestured to her room. “You should probably start deciding what you want to take with you. Kyshe is sending along several months worth of food to bolster our supplies and to make sure your nutritional needs are fully met, so I’m heading over with Josh to start loading it all up on the Shuttle. We’ve committed to a departure date four days from now.”
“I’ve never really packed for something like this. What do I bring?”
Alex didn’t answer verbally, but instead made a short, sharp whistle with his lips followed by a shout. “MIN!”
The engineer was on the other side of the courtyard, and immediately jogged over when called. “Yeah?”
“Go with Trix and help her pack up for the trip. Six weeks worth of clothes, hygiene supplies, whatever.” Alex glanced over at Trix. “Sorry, actually I just assumed you’d be more comfortable with another woman helping you pack. I can call Ji over if you prefer.”
“No, no. I’d rather Min help me.” Trix stood up from the table and jerked her head over towards her room. “Thanks, Min. Sorry to be a bother.”
“No problem. Gets me out of lifting the heavy shit to put in the shuttle.”
—--
Next Chapter

Standing in front of an abandoned buffet style restaurant, Lord Actorn shifted uncomfortably next to me with his ruby rifle. Blood bullets hung around his belt, his request for it only being two of us throwing me off. Glancing over at him, the next demon’s energy swallowed the area in unnatural darkness. Perhaps today would be easy. Then again, my luck would never allow such a luxury.
“Not that I have a problem with today but why did you want it to be the two of us?” I queried with a curious grin, wondering what sin he represented. “Unless you have something that is bothering you.” Sniffing the air, the sweet smell of gluttony had a bit of dread hardening in my stomach. Actorn’s presence made sense, another secret resting on his tongue.
“Nothing but an old rivalry that I wish to settle. I am a stickler for ending the fights I begin.” He answered nonchalantly, my brow raising at how casual he spoke. “What is wrong with wanting to spend some time with an old friend?” Plucking my blade from its case, ice crept out a bit from underneath my boots. Was his mate with a little bat? Shrugging my shoulders, that was his news to share. Smoothing out his simple onyx suit, his crooked grin had me smiling to myself. Kicking the door open, a barrage of eighties decor had me scrunching up my nose. Candles burned on the counter, a rat scurrying past me had me leaping into the air. Landing clumsily, embarrassment painted my cheeks. Scanning the space for any sign of our target, a greasy bright orange curl floated to my boot. So we were looking for a redhead.
“Are you delivering the final blow?” I whispered for him and only him to hear. His sadistic grin spoke of what he desired, the final blow becoming his. Accepting my role as the distraction, his revenge would be served for him on a silver platter. Getting lost in thought, a smack to the back of my head had me hissing in his direction. Dragging me into a booth, his hand held my head down. Hiding in the shadows, a gaunt demon walked into the view, the lights flickering on. Inky eyes scanned the space, Actorn covering my mouth. What had him on edge?
“In the case that death claims me, I need you to know this.” He whispered with a big old grin, the anticipation killing me. “She is carrying a little bat and I have to make this world safe for my family. Will you help me with that?” Mouthing congratulations, pride glistened in his eyes. Focusing on the greasy curls, her mark glowed bright. Fussing with his loose gray suit, his eyes checked his watch. Chewing on his bottom lip, the door creaked open. Arvy stepped into view, her clawed fingers drumming against her legs. Actorn held me back the moment she ripped out his heart, her bloody hand dropping his heart down her throat. Watching him decay to ash, her eyes flitted around the room. Sniffing the air, a devilish grin curled on her lips. Something smelled different about her scent, concern flashing in my eyes for a hot second.
“Come on out, Nyx!” She sang sweetly, the level of sweetness sickening me. “I know that you are here. He had to go because that poor guy was going to side with you. We couldn’t have that now, could we?” Dragging her blade along the metal buffet table, the locks on every window and door clicking had chills running up my spine. Our way out was gone, blasts of energy shooting booths into the air. Crawling on the floor, Actorn urged me to move faster. Popping to our feet in the corner, her blade whistled in my direction. Smashing the nearest window, Actorn’s protests fell on deaf ears the moment I threw him through the broken window. The glass repaired itself, his fist banged on the window. Throwing my hand in the air, there was no way this battle would be safe for him. His injuries would hinder what I wanted to investigate, anger mixing with bewilderment in his eyes.
“Get Salem to bring some potions for me. That is my order!” I shouted through the glass, the hem of his coat floating up as blood ribbons whisked him away. Spinning on my heel to give my full attention to my sister, a wicked grin resting on my lips. Running my hand through my hair, my baby blue sweater dress made me feel out of place. Prepare yourself for a battle of lovely banter, I told myself with a huff
“What a lovely family reunion.” I scoffed with a bit of a bite, her eyes rolling. “Wounds won’t do much to me but you are going to hurt horribly in the morning.” Ice crept out from underneath my feet, her finger wagging in the air. Blood coated her teeth, alarm rounding my eyes. Her blades hit the floor, horror rounding my eyes at her collapsing to her knees. Shit! My nose had been correct. The word boss had me spinning around to find him, her discreet moans waking me up to her situation.
“My boss sent me to warn you of what happens if you don’t listen to him.” She wheezed with a free smile, blood pouring from the corner of her lips. “I wanted to say goodbye to my dear sister. Before you ask, I don’t want your immortality. That sounds like a bitch.” Approaching her cautiously, her hands cupped her cheeks. Getting on my knees, my hands cupped hers. Kissing her forehead, our relationship may have been strained but that didn’t mean that her happy ending couldn’t happen. Tears welled up in my eyes, our foreheads pressing together. No one deserved this ending, the coldness proving to be more frigid than my ice powers.
“Why did your boss kill you?” I choked out through a wall of tears, her grin softening to a broken smile. Her lips parted to speak, her hands shoving me to the worn floor. A blade made of chains slid into her brain, the color draining from my cheeks as I moved my eyes up to an eight foot tall mountain of a demon. His ashy gray waves floated around his shoulders, his ruby eyes glittering with malice as she lifted up her body. Horror rounded my eyes at him dropping her limp body into his mouth, clammy sweat glistening on my skin at his inky lips closing with a single swallow. His ornate Victorian suit hugged his muscular body, his tongue licking his lips with a wink. Scrambling back, this couldn’t be happening. Who the hell was he? Playing his ruby horns, his fingers traced the immense curls. What was his weakness? Dread bubbled in my gut as I popped to my feet, my trembling hand pointing my blade towards his throat. Sauntering up to it with a cruel grin, the tip pressed into his throat. A ribbon cascaded down his throat, a newfound fear had me swimming in the pool of hesitancy.
“You are like the rumors say, Miss Nyx.” He mused with a wicked chuckle, his fingers curling around my blade. “Thank you for weakening my stepdaughter. She was a pain in my ass and spoiled too. Her mother tasted like the finest cut of beef. The operation is now under new management and you are in my way.” Panic twisted my features at him plucking me off the floor, a simple throw smashing me through the wall. A broken pipe impaled me, a fountain of blood burst from my lips. Holding the pipe, ice devoured it until it became a brittle piece of metal. Smashing my hilt against the ice, shards glittered in the moonlight the moment I hit the floor. Crawling behind the counter, he was going to know who he was messing with. Mouthing a silent healing spell, the wound sealed shut. Poking my head over the counter, his boots rang out in the next room over. Sliding back down, my fraying nerves had to die down before I made the next move. Rolling onto the bottom shelf, chains shattered the mirror behind the counter. Struggling to keep my head on, the corner of my lip trembled with pure fear. Even if I charged at him, his strength surpassed mine greatly. Glass crunched as he rounded the corner, the realization of my trail of blood sickening me. Ripping me out from underneath the counter by my throat, he smashed me into the broken glass. My blade clattered onto the floor, his boot kicking it away. Refusing to let despair haunt my eyes, my defiant grin pissed him off.
“Wow! You can’t devour me like your freaking family.” I taunted coolly, hiding my fright behind an even bigger grin. “Get over yourself.” Shards of glass dug into my back, his grip tightening on my throat. Black chains curled around my neck, my pride not letting him show how much he was scaring me. All I had to do was hold on until Salem showed up to rescue me, an idea coming to life in my mind. If his ego ran his mind, then I was going to screw with it. A sly grin on my lips had curiosity twinkling in his eyes, his head cocking back. What would get him going?
“If you are the big guy, show me what you have. Unless you’re a chicken.” I pointed out with a disdainful sigh and wink, air becoming a rare commodity. Swinging me around, bones groaned with every slam on the counter and then the floor. Dragging me through the glass, the pricks of every piece sinking into my tender flesh had me wincing. Landing inches from my blade, my fingers clawed for the hilt. Extending my claws from my fingertips, relief washed over me at the hilt hitting my eager palm. Ice crept out from underneath my palm, wicked laughter rumbling in my throat.
“Ice kingdom! Devour everything around you.” I chanted with another dark chuckle, a blizzard roaring to life as a foot of ice devouring everything. Too stunned to move, the heel of my boot smashed into his chest. Skidding back, my palm slammed onto the counter. Rising to my feet with a tired smile, I spun my blade in my palm. Skating over to him, this next move would be sure to bring the house down. Raising my heel over my head, the building shattered to pieces. Skating around the bewildered jerk, his eyes couldn’t follow me in all of the snow. Now the field was mine, a chance could be withstood.
“Quit playing, little mouse! Party tricks won’t fool me.” He bellowed over the howling winds, his body smashing towards me. Sparks danced in the air with every violent clash, our bodies flipping over each other. Landing on the other side of the debris, his blade swung towards my head. Slamming the tip of my blade into the ice, the sheer energy had me flying into the air. Angling my blade for his beefy neck, shock rounded my eyes the moment his hands curled around the sharp edge of my blade. Slamming me into the ice, several bones broke as a couple organs burst. Cursing under my breath, he stomped over to me with a ball of flames in his palm. Aiming it for my face, a quiet chuckle had his brow cocking. One leg still worked, a swift kick sent him flying into the sky. Mouthing another healing spell, bones clicked back into place. Huffing impatiently, time wasn’t on my hands. The last fragment clicked into place, a quick roll over the left had his blade missing me. Hopping to my feet, my boots skated with ease. The energy shifted, a discerning alarm rounding my eyes. Forming an ice dome over me, his black flames melted everything around me. Cold water soaked me to the bones the moment another wave of flames stole my protection, his eager grin spreading cheek to cheek. This wasn’t a battle I could win, my eyes flitting around the surrounding trees and abandoned buildings. Time slowed as he lowered his blade towards my neck, a clear escape presented itself. Pushing off the snow last minute, my boots glided down his blade. Taking my shot, the sharp edge of my blade cut through his horns like butter. Flipping out of his range, the snow crunched with every step away. Running until I couldn’t anymore, Deerthos yanked me through his wall of protection. Collapsing into his arms, his kind smile had me trembling like a damn leaf. My new enemy marched up to the edge, his fist banging away. Shouting an endless barrage of insults, my back straightened. Asserting my authority with a fit of hearty laughter, my middle fingers made an appearance. Alas, it was not the most mature reaction but it was all I had in me.
“You may have your team but I have mine.” I bragged with Cheshire Cat grin, frustration mixing with rage beautifully in his eyes. “It seems that this little mouse is still up to playing your silly little game. Love the new look by the way. Who knows when horns grow back? Is your pride hurt a bit?” Chewing on his lip, his finger traced the wall. A sly grin spread cheek to cheek, his tongue licking his lips. Lewd, that was utterly lewd.
“You are quite lovely! What I wouldn’t do to have you as my mate.” He mused with a wink, disgust mixing with my obvious iciness. “Our fight t’was fun. Imagine that, a bride that can’t be devoured by me. We are made for each other.” Laughing so hard that snorts had me cupping my stomach, my blissful grin gave him pause.
“Absolutely not. My bond is with somebody else.” I returned stiffly with a polite smile, his lips curling into a hard snarl. “There’s the jerk I know. Did you really think you could shoot your shot after devouring your step daughter. Hell no.” Backing up, Salem rising up behind me had him shrinking back. Black flames whisked him away, Salem held the bastard’s horns in his hand. Spinning me around to face him, his stern expression had me shrinking back.
“Want to tell me how you pissed off Emberon? He was in his little piece of paradise and now he is out to destroy the world.” He chastised me, shame dimming my eyes. Shame boiled to impatience, impatience boiling to justified fury. Facing my back towards him, my arms folded across my chest. The whole day had been a shit show and he had the galls to yell at me.
“I didn’t bring him, Arvy did!” I spat viciously, his arms curling around the small of my waist. “He devoured her whole and mumbled something about eating her mother. As much as I didn’t like her, her ending didn’t need to be that. If she had come to me before, I would have taken her under my wing and saved her. The problem is that she showed with death’s hand on her shoulder. I hate myself for not being able to save her.” Silent tears stained my cheeks, his chin resting on my shoulder. Apologizing with a peck to my cheek, his loving gaze doing little for fraying nerves. Actorn waved in the distance, an icy gust giving him pause. Too much raw anger sieged in my mind, snowflakes danced around aimlessly. Ice knocked Salem back, a portal into Hell creaking open. Leaping into the snowy landscape, creatures of all kinds darted around. Crunching through the snow towards the castle, the hole sealed shut. Alone, I needed to be alone. A noise had me crunching to a halt, Mamba approaching me with a weary smile. Fussing with his thick winter coat, his hand reached for mine. Continuing to walk away, his pleas fell on deaf ears.
“Please stop and listen to me.” He begged with a pensive grimace, a huffy yes flowing from my lips. “What is eating you? You are not usually like this.” Spinning on my heels to face him, he ran his fingers through his hair. Concern had me sighing to myself, my wet eyes meeting his. What I didn’t get was the constant fear of Salem? Sure, he had his bad side but he meant well.
“What I don’t get is why he immediately recoiled away from Salem and why that bastard thought it was okay to devour his family.” I ranted freely, Mamba taking it all in with an honest smile. “His dark side was as bad as mine. What crimes did he commit? All I remember while working with his mother was him coming home bloody and bruised every goddamn night. Whenever I would ask, he wouldn’t give me a generic freaking answer.” Clearing his throat, Salem’s hand held my shoulder. Struggling to speak behind me, he didn’t ask me to turn around.
“I killed a few people and I got into several spats with a few gangs. Generally, I let my shadow take over to numb any emotion I had left. Then you came along, a new light stealing away the darkness.” He admitted with tears in his voice, his hand trembling on my shoulder. “I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. I saw you that first day and the violence meant nothing. You can h-” Spinning on my heels, my lips pressed against his tenderly. The tenseness in his muscles dissolved in seconds, my hands cupping his cheeks. Gazing lovingly into his wet eyes, his hands curling around mine. This was the Salem I needed, the truth helping out a bit.
“We all did things we weren’t proud of. Lord knows that I have made a few but we are human in a way. The darkness had you and I was your lantern.” I comforted him sweetly, his arms clutching me close to his chest. “I am sure whatever beef you had with that monster was necessary. Next time you need help, tell me. My ears are always open.” Resting his chin on my head, his next words had me laughing to myself.
“Only if you come to me if you have problems. Trust me. Murder isn’t in your repertoire.” He joked lightly, his laughter causing my heart to flutter. “Do you think that he has more medicine ready? We might as well use our trip down here.” Bending down, the cool snow felt nice in my palm. Rolling it into a ball, I bounced it off of my palm. Throwing it in Mamba’s direction, his features brightened at it hitting his jacket. Scooping up a pile of snow, it whistled in my direction. Engaging in a full on snowball battle, our laughter danced in the air. Snow covered their suits, both of them catching their breaths. Basking in the warmth of the moment, Salem ran up to me. Spinning me around, our hair floated up. Lowering me to the snow, his lips kissed my big smile passionately. Time slowed to a stop, our hearts beating to the same song. The sounds rushed in with Mamba clearing his throat, the way back home glowed to life underneath his feet. Hopping into his circle, his ribbons whisked us into the kitchen of the mansion. Actorn leapt from the table to ambush me with gentle queries of my mental well-being. Placing my hands on his shoulders, he had nothing to worry about.
“I am good. Go smother your mate with love and adore her with all of your heart.” I urged with a couple of pats, his lovely lady calling for him in between vomiting bouts. “Let's make you a pot of tea.” Focusing on the task at hand, Mamba excused himself. Staring out numbly at the golden moon, Salem helped me get the teapot of ginger tea going. Embracing me from behind, his body swaying back and forth. Grabbing a couple of tea cups, two of my team members were going through a rather special experience. Was it because of me that families were being created.
“What did you do to Emberon to get him scurrying away like the cockroach he is?” I interrogated calmly, my tired eyes meeting his exhausted grin. Dropping his hands to his side, his hand ran through his hair. Bowing his head in shame, a grimace twitching on his lips. Surely, it couldn't be too horrid.
“I killed his first wife because my mother told me to but they were running a slave ring. Part of me regrets committing that action but so many children got to go home that day.” He choked out through a wall of tears, the teapot whistling. “I killed his mate that day. He could have killed me but he broke down. That wail was something else.” Moving the teapot off the burner, he had nothing to worry about. Wrapping my arms around his waist, his suit jacket brushed against my cheek. His heart meant well but they were criminals at the end of the day.
“The way I see it, they had it coming. Yes, it sucks. What about the people you saved?” I pointed out with my real smile, our foreheads pressing together. “Our job isn’t easy. The odds of us breaking up a family are rather high. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I was thinking about something. What if we tried for another one when this is all over? Imagine loads of kids running around and growing up together.” Life returned to his eyes, his hands sliding down to my flat stomach. Rubbing it affectionately, pure bliss twinkled in his eyes.
“Do you promise to give me as many kids as I desire?” He gushed with his million dollar smile, his mind seeming to be churning about. “Remarry me!” Stepping back in confusion, a tender blush rose to my cheeks as my lips curled into a playful grin. Pinning my ears back, his eager eyes picked up on my odd expression.
“Let’s do it right this time. My whole life I wanted to do more than simply eloping you. A gorgeous wedding gown would be stunning on you. We could celebrate and all that jazz. Our anniversary is approaching. Please!” He pleaded adorably, his palms pressing together. Samson ruffled my hair on the way in, Flyx bounced in behind him. Placing Sphynx into my arms, his plaid shifted as he began to prepare the tea. How did he always know when to show up? Right, I was his alpha in all technicality.
“Do it!” He spoke up confidently, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You have an eternity together and a hell of a second chance. Have the wedding of your dreams and live life like you never got to. Things are bleak but celebrations are known to lift the mood. I look forward to planning your wedding menu for you.” Swiping the cups off the counter, he bounced down the hall. Like the unsung hero he was, his heart was in the right place with that sweet suggestion.
“I would love to but let’s keep it simple. Big parties scare me.” I chirped cheerfully, rocking my son back and forth. Scooping up Flyx, Salem covered him in feverish kisses. Giggles twinkled in the air, the flames of hope burned high. Grant us the ability to win this war.

”Stop.”
I really needed the bathroom.
For fifty painstaking minutes, I had been staring at the clock on the wall, willing it to go faster, uncomfortably shifting side to side in my seat so much that I was starting to get weird looks.
2:52pm.
Eight minutes, I thought dizzily, squeezing my legs together.
Which was just two chunks of four minutes.
Four chunks of two minutes.
The pain started like normal stomach pain, the kind I could deal with.
I swallowed two Tylenol with lukewarm soda.
But this was different.
This kind of pain was contorting and twisting my gut so much, I had to keep leaning onto my left buttock for relief.
I must have done it so many times, I caught the attention of the guy sitting next to me. Roman Hemlock who was half asleep, dark blonde curls hanging in half lidded eyes, his chin leaning on his fist. He shot me a look. I couldn't tell if it was Are you okay? or Can you stop moving around so much?
From the single crease in his brow, the slight curl in his lip, I guessed the latter.
It's not like Roman was helping.
For half the class, he'd been tapping his foot on the floor, then his chair leg, and to complete the orchestra, his fingers joined in, tap, tap, tapping on the edge of his desk. I didn't know if it was a bored thing, an ADHD thing, or he was trying to keep himself awake. It was easy to tolerate without the pain, but with it, the boy’s incessant tapping was more akin to a dentist drill splitting my skull open. I already felt nauseous, the sad looking chicken nuggets I forced down at lunch making an unwelcome appearance at the back of my throat.
It was too fucking hot, the stuffy summer air glueing my hair to the back of my neck. The material of my shirt was making me cringe, sticky against my skin.
Tipping my head back, the lights were too bright. Every sound was too loud. Imogen Prairie, who was sitting behind me chewing her gum a little too loudly.
Kaz Samuels scribbling notes like a maniac.
I could hear every stroke of his pencil, every time he paused, looked up at the presentation, and continued writing.
When I leaned forward in my chair, I could smell exactly what Isabella Trinity had eaten for lunch, the stink hanging in the air.
It became a case of sucking in my stomach and taking slow, deep breaths.
I’d never had these kinds of stomach cramps before. But it didn't take me long to figure out what they were.
I was yet to start my period at the grand age of sixteen, which meant this was it.
After countless sessions with the doctor, and feeling like a social outcast among my group of friends who started their periods in middle school, it had finally happened. The cramps in my gut that felt like my torso was being ripped apart, was in fact me entering womanhood. When my breath started to quicken, my mouth watering, I raised my hand, biting my lip against a cry.
Fuck.
Something lurched in my gut, a wave of nausea crashing into me.
I was going to throw up.
“Mr Brighton.”
Roman spoke up before me, waving his arm. “Can I use the bathroom?”
The teacher’s answer was always the same. Which was why I had been crossing my legs for the entirety of the class, unable to focus on anything but my gut trying to twist itself inside out.
Mr Brighton leaned against the wall, his eyes glued to the PowerPoint awash in our faces. We had been staring at the exact same slide for maybe five minutes now, and our physics teacher was yet to speak, his gaze somewhere else.
Mr Brighton was my Dad’s age, a greying man in his early fifties who always wore the exact same suit with the exact same stain on his collar.
The man was about as interesting as watching paint dry.
Normally, I would drift off myself, lulled into slumber by the low drone of his voice.
But the pain ripping me apart was keeping me awake.
“Mr Brighton.” Roman said, louder. His voice snapped me out of it. “Can I use the bathroom?” He paused, exaggerating a loud sigh. ”Please?”
The teacher straightened up, folding his arms.
“Mr Hemlock, you know the rules. Why didn't you go before class?”
“I didn't need to go an hour ago, did I?”
“You will no longer need to go to the bathroom, Mr Hemlock.”
Roman made a snorting noise.
“What?”
The low murmur of my classmates collapsed into white noise.
Glancing at the clock, I was anticipating the school bell.
The sickness swimming in the pit of my belly was reaching dangerous territory.
2:52pm.
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
It was 2:52 the last time I checked, and five minutes had surely passed.
This time, I waited a whole minute and counted the seconds under my breath. The clock still didn't move. The ticker was frozen halfway between three and four.
Slowly, the same realisation began to hit the twelve of us. The clock on the wall had stopped. But it wasn't the only thing that had stopped. The cool breeze drifting through the window was gone.
The sound of birds outside, and the cheer squad practising their routine.
Everything had stopped. Trying to ignore a sickly slither of panic twisting its way through me, I checked my phone under my desk. There was a text from my Mom lighting up my notifications. When I tried to swipe it open, nothing happened. My lock screen was frozen, stuck at 2:52pm.
With my hands growing clammy around my phone, I stared at the time, willing it to move, to flick to 2:53.
But nothing happened, the numbers stubbornly staying at 2:52.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Roman’s voice brought me back to reality, though I was sure I'd dropped my phone. I heard it hit the floor with a sickening crack. Whatever he was saying, though, faded into dull murmur, when I turned toward the window.
Something was wrong outside.
The cheer squad were nowhere to be seen.
Being on the top floor gave us a front row seat to their practice sessions.
I stopped watching when their flyer did a death defying flip, almost breaking her neck. 2:52pm. I couldn't see the cheer squad. But I did see Jessie Carson mid-sprint across the track field, strawberry blonde curls suspended in a halo around her.
I could see exactly where she had frozen in place, her left foot hovering off of the ground, her right foot driving momentum. It wasn't just Jessie who had stopped. The dirt she was kicking into a cloud behind her was hovering, caught in mid-air.
Studying the faces around me, my mouth went dry.
Roman Hemlock, mid-argument with our physics teacher.
His eyes were wide, lips curved into what would have been a yell.
Fuck.
Was I the only one?
But then Roman blinked, and I realized the boy wasn't frozen. He was trying to think of a comeback. “What do you mean I won't need the bathroom anymore?”
“Mr Hemlock, please lower your voice.”
“Why? You can't dictate to me when I do and don't need the bathroom, dude!”
Moving onto the rest of my class, the others were still moving.
It was too quiet, though.
Yes, Roman was still tapping his foot.
Imogen was still chewing her gum.
Kaz was still scribbling notes like a psychopath.
But they were the only noise I could hear.
I wasn't the only one confused. The classroom had pricked with a sense of urgency. Kids were checking their phones, their gazes glued to the clock. Even Roman, who was still arguing, was starting to notice. I watched his gaze lazily roll to the clock on the wall.
I pretended not to see his cheeks visibly paling.
We had all come to the exact same terrifying conclusion.
2:52pm.
Time had come to a halt, and somehow, we had not.
“Is that clock broken?” Roman interrupted, leaning forward in his chair.
Kaz twisted around, settling the boy with an eye-roll.
“Check your phone, dumbass.”
“I broke my phone.”
Imogen threw her iPhone at him, narrowly missing hitting him in the face.
“Everything is frozen,” She said, her voice shuddering. “It's not just the clock.”
I waited for Roman’s response. For once, though, he was speechless.
“Well done, Imogen. That is correct.” Mr Brighton spoke up, tearing a piece of paper from a workbook and striding over to the door, glueing it over the glass window. When we started to protest, some of us were shouting, while others bursting into tears, he calmly took out his key and locked us in.
I should have been surprised that our teacher had spontaneously decided to take his entire class hostage, but the rumor mill had been churning.
According to Becca Jason, the guy’s wife divorced him and took his kids.
I could feel myself sinking into my chair, phantom bugs filling my mouth.
So, this guy had nothing to lose.
Taking his place in front of his desk, the man settled us with a patient smile.
“From now on, you will stay inside this room.” He said. “In case you haven't noticed, time is currently frozen at fifty two minutes past two. The thirteen of us are tucked into the twenty first second, and will be, for the foreseeable future.”
I could tell the others wanted to argue, but we couldn't deny that time had stopped. Kaz was staring down at his frozen phone, Imogen hyperventilating behind me, Roman glaring at the clock, chewing on a pencil. We wanted it to be a prank, a joke, some kind of glitch in the matrix that would fix itself.
But then a whole minute passed by. Followed by another. Kaz threw his phone on the floor, hissing in frustration. Imogen let out a wet sounding sob.
Roman’s pencil split in his mouth, slipping from his fingers. We couldn't pretend it wasn't happening or call our teacher out on his BS, because it was everywhere around us. The sudden absence of outdoor ambience, birdsong, planes flying overhead, and traffic outside the school gates. Everyone and everything had stopped, and we were the only ones left.
This was a nightmare, surely.
My physics class were some of the most boring and pretentious people in the school, and somehow the world had been reduced to the twelve of us inside our classroom. We were scared, of course we were. But reality had stopped making sense, crashing and burning in a single second. We had no choice but to listen to our teacher. “Now, before you freak out, it may not feel like it, but the twelve of you have also stopped.”
Mr Brighton held out his own hand, and placed it on his heart.
He was right.
I was so busy trying to understand what was happening, I had failed to realize my period cramps were gone.
“Do me a favor, and press your hand over your heart.”
“You mean like, in a culty way?” Imogen whispered.
“Obviously.” Roman grumbled, halfway out of his seat. He was hesitant, though, in case our teacher was armed. It only took one glance from our teacher, and he slumped back into his chair. “This crazy fucker clearly wants to play mind games with us.”
“No, I'm just asking you to feel for your heart.”
I felt for mine, and there was nothing, my stomach twisting.
Roman stabbed his fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse.
He tried his wrist.
Then his heart.
Nothing.
“The twelve of you are currently in a state of stasis,” the teacher explained to us, “You are not alive, nor are you dead. Your bodily functions are also on pause, such as your heartbeat and your pulse. In this state there will be no need for food and water, or going to the bathroom.” His gaze found a ghastly looking Roman, who looked like he was going to faint. “Your minds, however, as you can see, are working as usual.”
“But why?” Imogen demanded in a shriek.
Mr Brighton’s lip curled. “I would rather not answer that question.”
“Because you're lonely.” Roman spoke up. He swung back on his chair, narrowed eyes glued to the teacher.
“Your wife and kids left you, so you're asserting power over a group of sixteen year olds. Which is kinda fucking pathetic.”
Mr Brighton’s expression darkened, and something slimy crept up my throat.
The worst thing any of us could do was threaten him. He had taken kidnapping to a whole new level, and we were alone with this psychopath, trapped inside a second. I waited for the man to stride forward and attack the kid. But he didn't. Instead, the teacher leaned back on his desk. “Yes.” The man nodded.
“I suppose you could say I am.”
“But why us?!” Kaz hissed.
“Because you are children.” Mr Brighton responded casually.
He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards Roman’s desk. The rest of us leaned back. I tried to pull my desk with me, but it was glued to the floor. Frozen. Mr Brighton’s shoes went click-clack across the hardwood floor.
“You are right,” the man said in a murmur, “I am lonely. My wife and kids did leave me, and I have nobody left to control. I have nobody else to contort and use to my advantage.” Reaching Roman’s desk, he leaned in close until he was nose to nose with the kid.
“Congratulations, Mr Hemlock. You have just earned yourself detention.”
Roman stayed stubbornly still, but he was visibly afraid. I could see him very slowly backing away. Roman was all bark and no bite. He was a loud mouth, sure, but he was also the least confrontational person in the class.
“What?” He spluttered. “You trap us in a time loop or time trap, or whatever, and you still want to act like a teacher?”
“Stand up.” The teacher ordered.
“What if I don't?”
Mr Brighton’s expression didn't waver. “You said it yourself. I can and have trapped you inside a single second. What else do you think I'm capable of?”
Roman stood, kicking his chair out of the way.
“What are you planning on doing to me, old man?”
The teacher maintained his smile. “Stand up straight, and close your mouth.”
To my confusion, Roman Hemlock did all the above.
He straightened up, and closed his mouth.
“Do not fight me.” The teacher said calmly, “Do as you are told, and follow me.”
The boy did exactly as instructed.
His jaw slackened, that rebellious light in his eyes fizzling out.
I think that's when we all collectively agreed that going against this teacher and trying to escape was mental suicide.
“I will use Mr Hemlock as an example to all of you,” Mr Brighton said, turning to the rest of us. “If you break the rules or are derogatory in any way, you will be given detention.”
He grabbed the boy’s shoulders, forcing him to walk towards the supply closet. Roman moved like a robot, slightly off balance, his gaze glued to thin air, like he was tracking invisible butterflies.
"Your time in detention will depend on the severity of your rule-break.” He opened the door, gently pushing Roman inside, and following suit. When the door closed behind them, there was a pause, and I remembered how to breathe.
Kaz Samuels slowly got up from his desk, inching towards the closet.
“This guy is a certified nut.” He announced.
He turned towards us. “Whatever he's doing to Hemlock, we’re probably next.”
“He stopped time.” I spoke up, my own voice barely a croak. “He’s capable of anything.”
“But how did he stop time?” Kaz whistled, tipping his head back. The boy was slow, his fingers grasping each desk as he slid down the aisle. “He said he was lonely, right? But why take it out on us? What did we do to him?”
“Check his desk for a weapon!” Imogen whisper-shrieked.
Kaz nodded, striding over to the man's desk, his hands moving frantically, shoving paper on the floor. He took an uncertain seat on the man's chair. “There's nothing here,” he murmured, lifting stained coffee mugs and ancient textbooks. “It's just…test papers.” Kaz ducked from view, trying the drawers.
“He's a fan of Pokémon,” he said, “There's a tonne of Pokémon cards,” Kaz straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “No sign of a weapon, though.”
He picked up a ruler, waving it around. “This could work. If we plunge it in his eye.”
“Try his laptop!” Imogen was halfway out of her seat.
Kaz did, slamming the keys. “It's locked.”
“Look harder!” Ren Clarke threw a pencil at him.
“I am!”
After a minute of searching, Kaz grabbed a single piece of paper.
He held it up, and I squinted.
It was a list of our names, with several of them highlighted.
“Fuck.” Kaz dropped the list, his expression crumpling. The stubborn bravado facade transforming him into our sort of leader dissipated, hollowing him out into exactly what he was. Just a scared kid. Kaz’s hands were shaking.
“Mr Brighton’s got a hit list.” He whispered. “He's going to kill us.”
“How do you know that?” I found myself asking.
Kaz slowly dropped into a crouch, picking up the paper and holding it up.
“Look.” He pointed to a capitalised name at the top of the list highlighted in red.
ROMAN HEMLOCK.
There were six names highlighted in red, including mine.
CRISTA ADAMS.
As if on cue, Roman’s cry rang out from the supply closet, suddenly, freezing us all in place. Kaz jumped up, adapting the expression of a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, almost unseeing.
He fell over himself to tidy up the desk, putting everything back where he had found it, sliding the list between a pile of test papers. Kaz took slow, stumbled steps back, his feverish gaze glued to the closet, before turning and making a break for it and diving into his seat.
“Brighton’s got a hit liiiist,” Kaz said, in a mocking sing-song, “And we’re all on it.”
What followed was deathly silence. I think we were expecting Roman to cry out again. But when he didn't, the class started to stir. Some kids started praying to a god they didn't believe in, while others were in varying states of denial, trying to call their parents with dead phones.
I wasn't sure what parts of me had stopped, but I was still alive, still felt like my lungs were deprived of oxygen, my chest aching. I'm not sure how long I sat there, trying to find my voice, a shriek trying and failing to rip through my mouth. Being kidnapped and held hostage is one thing, but being imprisoned inside a single, never ending second, was an existential hell worse than death. Slowly, I pressed my palm over my heart once again. Then I breathed into my cupped hands.
I was expecting it, but no longer being able to feel my own heartbeat and breath, was fear I didn't think was possible. The kind that glued me to my seat, hollowing me out completely until I was nothing, an empty shell with no heartbeat, no breath, no thoughts, except denial, followed by acceptance.
And finally, regret.
I regretted not hugging my mother goodbye before I left for school.
I regretted acting like a spoiled brat when my parents refused to drive me halfway across the country so I could attend Coachella.
I regretted stepping inside Mr Brighton’s fourth period physics class.
Mr Brighton reappeared, slamming the door behind him and locking the boy inside. Part of me flinched, while the rest of me remembered not to move a muscle. I was barely aware of time passing. Or it wasn't. Time had stopped, so now long had I been sitting there?
I could no longer measure the passage of time with hunger or thirst, and my body felt the same. I wasn't stiff or tired or achy. Looking out of the window, the sky was the exact same crystal blue, every cloud in the exact same place.
Jessie Carson was still frozen mid-run, strands of dark red hair caught around her.
“What's wrong with you guys?” Mr Brighton chuckled, and I twisted back to the front, a shiver writhing down my spine. “Why don't you give me a smile?”
The teacher returned to his desk, and I was already subconsciously sitting up straight in my seat, forcing my lips into a jaw-breaking grin, following Brighton’s instructions. In the corner of my eye, Imogen was sitting very still, forcing an award-winning cheesy smile, while Kaz grinned through gritted teeth.
“Mr Hemlock just earned himself two weeks inside the supply closet.” he said casually, perching himself on the edge of his desk. The man studied each of us, taking his time to rip every shred of us apart.
Mind, body, and soul.
I struggled to maintain my stupid smile, shoving my shaking hands in my lap.
“Would anyone like to join him, or are you going to follow the rules?”
The rest of us stayed silent. I don't think any of us breathed.
Our teacher nodded to Kaz, inclining his head.
“Samuels. Are you all right?”
Kaz’s smile faltered slightly. He shifted in his chair. I could see sweat trickling down his right temple. “Uh, yeah.” He swiped at his forehead, like he couldn't believe he was sweating. “Yeah, I'm good.”
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. He moved toward his desk, and we all held our breaths. Mr Brighton seemed to study his hit-list, lips curving into a frown.
His gaze flicked to the boy, and then the paper.
He knew, I thought dizzily.
Mr Brighton knew the kid had been rummaging through his desk. But this was all about control. The teacher was using fear to control us, to manipulate our thoughts without having to get physical. He could have called out the boy right then, but Brighton was settling with mental torture instead. He just wanted to make my classmate squirm.
Without a word, the man folded up the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Mr Samuels, you are sweating,” our physics teacher said, mocking a frown. “Are you feeling okay?”
Kaz hesitated, tapping his shoe in a rhythm.
Being one of the smartest kids in the room definitely gave him an advantage.
I could already see the cogs turning behind half lidded eyes. Kaz was weighing each scenario, sorting them into positives and negatives.
The positives of answering would mean he was one step towards being in the clear, but there were two negatives.
Brighton would question him if he had left his seat, and then demand how his hit-list had magically moved across the desk.
Talking back was surely a rule-break, as well as outright lying.
Opening his mouth would get him in trouble, either way, and Kaz knew that.
So, he just nodded, forcing an even bigger smile.
Brighton’s lips pricked, his gaze straying on Kaz. “Good!” He cleared his throat, turning to the class. Kaz slumped in his seat with a sharp breath, resting his head in his arms. If Mr Brighton noticed, he didn't say anything. “Ignore the sweating. It should stop, along with hunger and thirst.”
Our teacher seemed to be able to manipulate everything in his vicinity.
Time.
Minds.
And slowly… contorting us into his own.
In the single second we were trapped inside, I felt days go by in a dizzying whirlwind that was like being permanently high. When I stood up, I felt like I was floating.
When I sat down, hours could go by, even days, and I wouldn't even feel them. I did try and count the days, initially, scribbling them on a scrap piece of paper, but somewhere around the thirteenth or fourteenth day, I lost count. The world around us never changed, in permanent stasis, and maybe that was sending us a little crazy.
After a while of being stuck at our desks, Mr Brighton allowed us to wander the classroom, as long as we stayed away from the door. I lay on the floor for days, counting ceiling tiles.
Sometimes, Imogen would join me.
I couldn't sleep, but I could pretend to sleep, imagining a world that was back to normal. I didn't feel hungry, but my brain did like to remind me of food at the weirdest times. I was aware of weeks passing us by, and then months.
I never grew hungry or tired, and my bodily functions were none existent.
I couldn't remember what pain felt like, or the urge to go to the bathroom. Even the concept of eating and drinking became foreign to me. Putting something in your mouth and chewing to sustain yourself?
That sounded odd.
The only thing that was changing was our slowly unravelling metal state.
I don't know how it started. Weekends and Tuesdays blended together. On one particular SaturTuesday, I was hanging upside down from my desk, watching Kaz and Imogen doodle on the whiteboard.
Kaz had a plan to escape, but after a while, his ‘plan’ to distract the teacher, had gone nowhere. After passing notes between us, the twelve of us had decided that we needed a weapon.
That was maybe a month ago. I wasn't sure what mind games our teacher was playing, but Kaz Samuels, who we were counting on to be our brains, was slowly falling under his spell. Their game had been going on for three days. The two of them were having a competition to see who could draw the craziest thing.
Mr Brighton was at his desk as usual, marking papers.
Imogen was drawing a weird looking ‘skateboard’ when the doors to the storage closet flew open.
Roman Hemlock appeared, and to my surprise, wasn't a hollow eyed shell.
He held up his hand in a wave, his lips forming a small smile.
“Yo.”
Roman’s reappearance was enough to snap us out of it. Kaz and Imogen stopped arguing, the rest of the class going silent. I sat up, blinking rapidly.
I was sure our collective consensus was that Roman Hemlock was dead.
Mr Brighton lifted his head and gave the boy a civil nod. “Mr Hemlock will be rejoining us,” he said, his gaze going back to marking papers. “Please make him feel comfortable. I'm sure he's very excited to be able to talk to you again.”
Instead of going to his desk, the boy immediately joined the others, snatching the marker off of a baffled looking Kaz, and drawing an overly artistic sketch of a penis. I wasn't sure what confused me more. The fact that Roman Hemlock had some serious artistic skills, or that he seemed suspiciously fine for someone who had been locked in the storage closet for two weeks with no social interaction.
With my last few lingering brain cells still clinging on, I studied the boy.
There were no signs of bruises or scratches.
His eyes seemed normal, not diluted or half lidded.
Unable to stop myself, I jumped off of my desk and joined the others, where Kaz was already interrogating the guy.
“WHAT–”
Imogen nudged him, and he lowered his voice, leaning against the wall. “What did he do to you?”
Roman shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Relax, dude. He didn't do anything to me.”
“Then what was that yell?” Imogen hissed.
The boy cocked his head. “Yell?”
“You yelled out,” Kaz folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. He was already suspecting one of us had been compromised– or worse, brainwashed into compliance. Kaz stepped closer, backing Roman into the desk. “You cried out when you first went in there,” he murmured, “So, what was that?”
Something in Roman’s eyes darkened. “Oh,” He said, his lip curling. “That.”
Kaz’s expression softened. He rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Yeah,” He whispered. “What did he do to you?”
Imogen shoved Kaz out of the way, shooting the boy a glare.
“You don't have to tell us, you know.” She said in a small voice. “If it's too traumatising, or he did something you don't want to talk about–”
Roman cut her off with a laugh, and suddenly, all eyes were on him.
The remaining nine of us were eagerly awaiting an explanation.
“Are you fucking serious?”
When Kaz didn't respond, Roman gathered us in a kind of hustle, the four of us grouped together. I felt like I was on the football field. Still, though, if the guy’s goal was to look as suspicious as possible, he was doing a great job.
Roman studied each of us, one eyebrow cocked. When Mr Brighton glanced up from his work, Roman shot him a grin, lowering his voice to a hiss.
“You seriously think our fifty year old physics teacher has been abusing me in the storage closet?
“Then why did you cry out?” Kaz demanded. “Did he hit you?”
Roman stuck out his bottom lip. “I'm pretty sure he didn't hit me.”
“So, you cried out for no reason.”
“Why are you covering for him?” Imogen poked his forehead. “Are you lobotomised?”
Roman wafted her hand away. “Stop prodding me, and no, I'm 100% good.” He backed away from us, like we were observers, and he was the zoo attraction.
“I won't be, if you keep treating me like I'm senile.”
“Okay, fine,” Kaz sighed. “Just answer one.”
“Shoot.”
“When you first went in there, you made an unmistakable sound of distress–”
“Not this again,” Roman groaned. “Of course I yelled! I was shoved into a pitch black storage closet on my own! What, did you expect me to stay silent?”
Kaz didn't look convinced, Imogen nervously sucking her teeth.
The boy leaned back, resting his head against the wall. His eyes flickered shut.
“Stop looking at me like that, there's nothing to tell you,” he murmured, “Brighton didn't do shit to me. I was just freaked out.” Prying one eye open, he fixed us with a glare. “I am so sorry for reacting like a human. Next time, I'll make sure to attack him and pin him to the ground.”
It's not like we believed him. I don't think Roman believed himself.
Something significant had changed in him. He was no longer argumentative, like half of his personality had been torn away. Roman set a precedent. Because once he was following instructions and walking around with a dazed smile, others began to follow. I can't remember how much time had passed since I thought about escaping.
Days and weeks and months had collapsed into fleeting seconds I only noticed when I wasn't playing games.
I wasn't aware of my own lack of sanity until I found myself, on a random SaturWednesday. I was laughing, gathered with the others on the floor, around a Monopoly board. The game had been going on for almost a week.
Reality hit me when I was laughing so hard I tipped back.
I can't remember why I was laughing. I think Imogen told a bad joke.
“Hand it over.” Roman, who was the King of Monopoly, held out his hand, demanding my last 250 bucks. I remember noticing his smile, my foggy brain trying to find hints that he was in some kind of trance, or being controlled by Brighton. But no. His smile was real.
Genuine.
To my shock and confusion, so was mine.
I wasn't in a trance or any type of mind manipulation. I was completely conscious.
Was this… Stockholm syndrome? I thought dizzily.
Was I enjoying this?
My thoughts were like cotton candy, disconnected and wrong, and they barely felt like my own. My gaze found Imogen and Kaz, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, enveloped in the game.
They looked exactly the same, their hair, clothes, everything about them staying stagnant. It was them themselves who had drastically changed. I had never seen them look so carefree. Imogen was a hotheaded cheerleader, and Kaz was the smart kid who gave himself nosebleeds from overworking himself. But now, they were laughing, nudging each other, caught up in an inside joke. Blinking slowly, my gaze strayed on them.
Sure, it could be manipulation. It could be brainwashing. But it could also be real.
Kaz caught my eye, raising a brow.
“You good, Christa?”
Shaking my head, I nodded.
Again, my smile felt real. Like I was having fun.
“Good. It's your turn.”
I picked up the dice, throwing them across the board.
Two sixes.
“I can already see her landing on one of my hotels.” Roman murmured. He sat up, resting his chin on his knees. “As the clear winner, I have a proposition.”
Ignoring him, I moved my piece– immediately landing on Park Place.
“I'll give you 500,” Roman announced, “If you give up New York avenue.”
“That's all I've got!”
Imogen nudged me. “Don't do it. If you give him New York Avenue, he only needs one more.”
“One thousand.” Roman waved the notes in my face.
“My final offer.”
When I reached for the cash, he held it back.
“New York Avenue, he said, with a grin.
“And your pride.”
Reluctantly, I handed my only property over.
Kaz threw the dice and moved his piece, and I half remembered we had an escape plan. “Community chest.” Kaz picked up a card. “Go straight to jail.”*
Roman spluttered. “That's karma,” he said, “For stealing from the bank.”
“You were stealing too!”
We had a plan.
We had…. a plan.
After discussing it in detail, Imogen and I were going to try and get onto Brighton’s laptop. It wasn't a perfect way to escape, but it was coherent.
So, what happened?
We were going to get out, so what… what was this?
Kaz’s earlier words hit me from months ago.
“Mr Brighton *is the thing keeping us here,”* he explained. “If we kill him, I'm like, 98% sure we’ll go back to normal.”
“Okay, and what if he dies and we’re *stuck?”* Imogen whisper-shrieked.
“I said 98% for a reason. Yes, there's a small chance his power will die with him. But there's a bigger chance that its effects will die when he does.”
Ren nodded slowly. “Right, and where exactly did you learn this information?”
“You'll feel a lot better if I don't answer that.”
“Okay.” Ren gritted his teeth. “So, we just need to find a weapon, right?”
“And don't tell Hemlock,” Kaz rolled his eyes. “I don't care what he says, that boy definitely had his mind fucked with. Hemlock is a liability. If we tell Roman, he tells Brighton, and we’re screwed.” Kaz nodded to me, then the others. “Keep your mouths shut.”
Presently, I wasn't sure the boy wanted to escape.
Slowly, I rolled my eyes over to Mr Brighton, who had joined us to play.
He was happily marking papers, taking part when he could.
It felt…right.
Not like we had been forced or manipulated, but more like he belonged. Part of me wanted to question why I felt like this, but I found that I didn't care. I didn't care that we were essentially dead, in a never ending stasis and stuck inside fifty two minutes past two. I stopped thinking about the outside world a long time ago.
I couldn't even remember my Mom’s face.
I made my decision, dazedly watching Imogen throw a chance card at Roman.
He flung one back, threatening to tip the board.
I wanted to stay.
In the corner of my eye, however, someone was still awake.
Ren, who had been sitting next to me, kept moving, further and further away. I didn't notice until he was inching towards our teacher, a box cutter clenched between his fist. There must have been a point when we found a box cutter, when we made it our weapon of choice.
But somewhere along the way, I think we just… lost the longing to want to escape.
I didn't see the exact moment the boy stabbed the blade into the man's neck, plunging it through his flesh, but I did feel a sudden jolt, like time itself was starting to falter and tremble.
Mr Brighton dropped to the ground, and I found my gaze flashing to the frozen clock.
Which was moving, suddenly.
Slowly creeping towards 2:53pm.
Something sticky ran underneath me, warm and wet.
Blood.
Blood that was running.
Roman’s half lidded eyes found mine, and he blinked, dropping the dice.
Like he'd been asleep for a long time.
2:53pm.
We were free.
The cool spring breeze grazing my cheeks was back. I could feel my own heartbeat, sticky sweat on my forehead.
And outside, Jessie Carson let out a gut-churning scream.
For a disorienting moment, I don't think any of us believed we were free.
Roman twisted around, his gaze on the doorway.
The piece of paper the teacher had stuck to the glass slipped away.
But Roman’s gaze was glued to the door, his cheeks paling.
His lips parted into a silent cry.
Following his eyes, I glimpsed a shadow.
A shadow that was frozen at 2:52pm.
2:53pm.
“Fuck.” Roman whispered, stumbling to his feet.
He turned to the rest of us, his eyes wild.
“Get DOWN!”
When the thing crashed through the door, our classroom exploding around us, chairs splintering against the walls, I was already dropping to my knees, crawling under a desk. It took me a moment to understand I was already kneeling in what was left of Imogen.
Her body had been hollowed out, singed straight through.
I was crawling through pieces of her flesh, mounds of her bisected brain.
Keeping my hand over my mouth, I watched this… thing.
A bulbous black monster, chewing its way through my classmates. Blood splattered the walls, raining from the ceiling, and that same striking pain ripped through my gut, agonising enough to force a cry through my lips.
My frantic gaze found the clock.
2:54pm.
Lurching forwards, I heaved up what was left of my lunch, agonising pain wrenching my stomach back and forth.
I jumped when another body joined me, thankfully alive, squeezing under the desk.
Roman, his face slick and dripping scarlet.
When the thing was gone, neither of us moved.
3:05pm.
“What are those things?” I managed to get out.
“I don't know,” Roman whimpered, covering his mouth. “But they're everywhere.”
3:10pm.
Another thing found our classroom. This time I saw it up close, a giant, bulbous black thing with an eye stalk. It knew we were there, peeking under the desk we were hiding. But it didn't kill us.
The thing left the room, stopping to gorge on half of Ren’s torso.
Roman shot me a questioning look, but I could only be relieved.
3:15pm.
Roman threw up black slime all over me.
He caught my eye, swiping his mouth. “Well, that can't be good.”
The pain in my gut was getting harder to deal with.
3:20pm.
“Did you have chicken nuggets for lunch?” Roman murmured. He got a little too close, his breath on my neck.
I had to suck in my stomach to stop the pain.
I was going hot and cold, sweat dripping down the back of my neck.
“Why?” I hissed back, taking deep, shaky breaths.
“I dunno,” Roman murmured, “I can smell them on your breath.”
His teeth grazed my flesh, sending shivers down my spine.
“Weird… huh.”
3:30pm.
Roman nudged me.
“Fuck.” He hissed. “Is that Kaz?”
Following his gaze, I found the remnants of Kaz under a crushed desk starting to… convulse.
“Was he bitten?” I whispered.
Roman’s eyes were a strange color. “Maybe.”
3:35pm
“Mr Brighton.” I was on my knees, sobbing, shaking my physics teacher.
“Mr Brighton! Take us back!”
I squeezed his ice cold hand for dear life.
“Say, ‘stop’,” I whispered “Please!”
3:40pm.
The thing that found me didn't attack me. It sat there, head cocked, watching me roll around on the floor, the pain writhing through me. I watched its transformation in short bursts, consciousness swimming in and out.
When I found light again, the thing was sitting cross legged next to me, chewing on a human arm. Maybe I was hallucinating. I watched it for a long time, trying to figure out why it was wearing strips of Roman’s white shirt.
3:52pm.
No longer in the school, I was in the back of an ambulance, a lady screaming in my face. I could see the time on her watch. She told me I was going to be okay, and I think I was. But I wasn't sure how to tell her she smelled good.
Like chicken.
It's been three months since my teacher froze time.
Mr Brighton wasn't imprisoning us. He was protecting us.
I'm still alive, but I have to take regular shots. I think they're just in case I was infected by those things.
I asked Mom if the incident has been on the news, but there's no coverage.
According to the people in white who treated me, everything has been covered up. According to the Mayor, ten kids died in a gas leak.
No mention of the monstrous things hunting us down…
Our town is just a blip on the map. You can't find us. I wish you could, though.
I need help.
I'm terrified of myself.
I’m not going to tell Mom she smells like chicken, because she'll freak out.
Last night, someone, or something knocked on my window.
When I turned on the light, a single, bulging eye was staring at me through the glass.
I still don't know why it was crying.