Rub tug map

As darkened clouds loomed overhead, lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the dark forest with a brilliant burst of light. The crackling energy split the heavens, casting jagged veins of illumination across the landscape. The resounding BOOM that followed reverberated through the air, shaking the very foundation of Cornelia's cozy cabin. Inside, she reclined in her plush chair, enveloped in its welcoming embrace. A soft, crackling warmth emanated from the fireplace, casting a gentle glow that bathed the room in a comforting radiance. She sighed contentedly, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls, as if they were performers in a mesmerizing show.
"A good sign, isn't that right, Wendy?" Cornelia whispered, her voice a delicate murmur filled with reassurance and affection.
“Wendy wike wain,” said Wendy, with her lustrous ebony-colored fluff, nestled against Cornelia's stomach, her presence a velvety touch against her skin. The room filled with a soft, contented humming as Wendy expressed her happiness.
Cornelia smiled as her pale fingers traced gentle paths along Wendy's back, their movements a tender caress. Her gaze drifted to the window, where nature orchestrated a symphony of raindrops cascading against the glass. Each droplet carried its own rhythm, harmonizing with the crackling fire to create a symphony of soothing melodies.
As Cornelia admired Wendy, a sense of curiosity began to blossom within her. Were there other fluffies out there with the same unique hue? Elves and wealthy humans often boasted vibrant and diverse-colored fluffies in their care, while the "street-rat" fluffies that roamed alleyways possessed more muted variations. Yet, Wendy's fur was a rarity—pure black that held an air of mystique.
Whispers had spread among the villages, snaking through ears and fuelling imaginations. Tales, distorted and embellished, spoke of a sinister pact between Cornelia and the Demon Vlae. In their twisted narratives, the villagers claimed that the evil spirit-lord resided within Wendy, bestowing upon her the cloak of inky blackness.
Cornelia knew these rumours to be falsehoods, mere figments of overactive imaginations, but that did little to quell the villagers' misguided intentions. Not wanting the villagers to burn her at the stake, Cornelia made a deliberate choice to slip away into the embrace of the ancient woods. There, among the towering sentinels of bark and the rustling tapestry of fallen leaves, she sought solace and a life of peace with Wendy.
Just as Cornelia and Wendy began to settle into a tranquil nap, an insistent knocking on the cabin door shattered the serene atmosphere. The abrupt interruption stirred them from their drowsy state, pulling them back into the realm of uncertainty and peril.
Ygor knocked on the door with the force of a strong but controlled thunder. The heavy wooden door swung open by itself, revealing a flaming shadow with crimson eyes that glare into his very soul.
“You do not disturb a witch’s nap you...” scowled Cornelia but she paused upon seeing a sad yet familiar ogre standing before her.
In the ogre's hands, cradled gently like a fragile treasure, was an injured blue fluffy curled up into a ball. The fluffy's delicate hooves pressed against her belly as she whimpered in pain, her soft cries filling the air with a heart-wrenching melody. The scent of fear and desperation clung to her, mingling with the damp earthiness that permeated the cabin.
Cornelia's piercing gaze softened, her eyes lingering on the wounded blue fluffy nestled in Ygor's hands. The dancing flames of the crackling fireplace painted shifting shadows on her face, accentuating the genuine concern etched across her soft features.
“Ygor?” asked Cornelia, her voice a gentle murmur that wrapped around the room.
“Ygor need help, widdle fluffy hurt” replied Ygor, his voice filled with a mix of deep worry and desperation.
"Bring her inside," Cornelia replied, stepping aside and waited for the giant ogre to enter her home. "Don't worry, the cabin is bigger on the inside," she reassured him, her words imbued with a touch of enchantment.
Ygor carefully stepped into the cabin, his massive form casting long shadows against the sturdy wooden walls. Inside, he found himself awestruck by the magic in the cabin. The air is alive with ethereal energy, a tangible testament to Cornelia's formidable abilities.
With deliberate grace, Ygor approached Cornelia, his every movement infused with cautious tenderness. The crackling flames of the fireplace cast a soft, golden glow that danced and flickered, creating a mesmerizing play of light and shadows across the room.
Cornelia placed a soft, crimson blanket on the smooth surface of the wooden table, its vibrant hue contrasting against the rustic backdrop of the cabin. Cornelia's voice resonated with warmth and reassurance as she spoke; her words carrying the echoes of countless months spent mastering witchcraft.
"It's one of the first spells I had to learn as a witch, so don't worry about trying to fit in," Cornelia assured Ygor, her tone comforting like a soft caress.
"Now, tell me what happened," Cornelia gently prompted, her voice a melodic invitation to share their burdens.
Her empathetic eyes fixed upon Ygor and the poor fluffy, eagerly awaiting their tale of woe. The fire crackled and the raindrops tapped against the window, forming a soothing symphony that seemed to draw the elements closer, eager to listen and offer solace.
“Ygor fed fwuffy raw meat, now fwuffy tummy hurts,” Ygor explained.
“wed’ meat? Fwuffies nu’ eat wed’ meat” Wendy exclaimed, her eyes widened with fear and confusion.
“Put her on the table!” Cornelia's command sliced through the air, her voice resonating with authority as she directed Ygor to carefully place the injured fluffy on the plush red blanket that adorned the sturdy wooden table.
With eager determination, Wendy scurried towards Cornelia. The little fluffy snatched a flask from a nearby shelf. The green liquid concocted from the nearby river and the roots of an ancient tree glowed inside the flask. The aromatic scent of the potion wafted through the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of burning wood. Ygor's sensitive nose caught a hint of bones in the fragrance, causing him to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Ygor smell bones” said Ygor upon picking up a strange scent coming from the flask.
"It's just the potion, Ygor. You can sit near the bookshelf; I'll handle this," reassured Cornelia as she guided Ygor to a seat beside the collection of well-worn tomes. His heavy footsteps resonated against the wooden floor, creating a gentle vibration that shook the nearby furniture.
Meanwhile, Wendy, her ebony-colored fluff rustling with each hurried step, made her way to the kitchen. The soft tapping of her little legs echoed through the cabin, the sound blending with the crackling fire and the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the window. Guided by Cornelia's request, Wendy retrieved a bowl of ash and garlic, their distinct scents mingling in the air, creating a heady mixture of earthiness and protection.
Cornelia's hands moved with practiced precision, like a knife gliding through the cloves of garlic as if guided by an invisible force. With each expert stroke, the pungent aroma of freshly cut garlic permeated the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the wooden table.
Once the garlic lay in neat, small pieces, Cornelia turned her attention to the bowl. She poured the green liquid into its depths, a shimmering cascade that glimmered like emerald flames. As the liquid settled, Cornelia's voice hummed with an incantation, her words carrying the weight of ancient knowledge and power.
In an instant, a flicker of green fire sprang to life, dancing atop the surface of the liquid. Its ethereal glow cast a surreal illumination, transforming the ordinary bowl into a vessel of enchantment. Shadows flickered and played upon the cabin walls, as if the very room had become a stage for magic itself.
Ygor's gaze locked onto Blue, his eyes filled with concern as he witnessed her unconscious. Despite her silent state, his sensitive ears detected faint, almost imperceptible whimpering that tugged at his heartstrings.
In a mesmerizing display of magic, a radiant golden light took the form of Cornelia's hand, delicately reaching towards the green flame. As her hand made contact, a breathtaking transformation ensued. The liquid within the bowl seemed to defy gravity, soaring out of its confines with graceful fluidity. It floated in the air, suspended like a glistening bubble, casting an iridescent glow that bathed the cabin in a surreal radiance.
The floating liquid became a canvas for the dancing and shimmering golden light, which traced intricate patterns written in the runes of magic. With every subtle movement and shift, the elixir responded, guided by Cornelia's hand, as if it were alive. The soft, ethereal hum resonated through the cabin, its gentle vibrations filling the air and contributing to the enchanting atmosphere that enveloped the space.
Ygor's eyes widened in awe as he witnessed this captivating spectacle, his senses fully immersed in the enchantment unfolding before him. The delicate scent of the potion wafted through the air, an intoxicating blend of natural ingredients and mystical energies. It mingled with the comforting aroma of burning firewood, creating an olfactory tapestry that enveloped the room.
“Wemembeh’ jus’ one dwop o’ fwuffy fwend goes fowebah sweepies” Wendy reminded, her voice filled with caution and trepidation. The anticipation was palpable, causing her little legs to tremble with a mixture of anxiety and hope.
“I know, Wendy” Cornelia replied with concern. Slowly, with delicate precision, she reached out and began removing the intricately carved magic runes that encircled the floating bubble. Each rune dislodged weakened the magic, and the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.
As the runes dissipated one by one, a single drop from the shimmering green bubble fell into Blue's mouth, like a droplet of life itself. In that fleeting moment, the magic took hold, invigorating her senses and drawing her back from the abyss of unconsciousness. Blue's eyes fluttered open, her vision initially blurry as she adjusted to the renewed world around her. Gradually, the fog lifted, revealing the figure of another fluffy sitting in front of her, a woman with a mysterious allure, half of her face veiled by a cascade of hair, and Ygor, the gentle ogre.
Blue wakes up, her vision blurry at first. When they cleared, she saw another fluffy sitting in front of her, a strange woman with half her face covered by her hair, and Ygor.
"Mommeh?" Blue's voice trembled with a mixture of longing and confusion, seeking comfort in the familiarity of a mother's embrace.
"No, sorry," Cornelia replied gently, her voice carrying a touch of sympathy. With great care, she cradled Blue in her hands, providing a sense of security and protection.
The cabin enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth and safety, shielding them from the world's uncertainties.
"Let's give you a bath before I return you to Ygor, is that okay?" Cornelia offered, her words laced with kindness and concern. Blue nodded, a silent agreement to the caring gesture that awaited her.
As Cornelia cradled Blue in her arms, Ygor's curious gaze wandered to the bookshelf, where a plush velvet tome caught his attention. With a gentle touch, he retrieved the book, feeling the smoothness of the fabric beneath his fingertips. Opening it, Ygor's eyes widened at the sight of a meticulously drawn map, its intricate details beckoning him into a world he’s never seen before.
His gaze shifted to the strange numbers inscribed alongside the map, written in elegant script that danced across the aged parchment. Ygor traced the lines and deciphered the enigmatic message contained within.
"Two... tw-twenty-six degrees, twelve minutes, and forty-four seconds, N—No- no- north," Ygor read aloud, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity.
Cornelia emerged from the bath, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor, carrying Blue wrapped in a clean towel. Drops of water glistened upon her skin like scattered diamonds, reflecting the warm glow of the cabin's hearth. She approached Ygor, her presence radiating a sense of wisdom and familiarity.
"It seems you've improved since the last time I met you," Cornelia remarked, her voice carrying a tone of admiration.
The scent of lavender lingered in the air, intermingling with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea.
“Ygor been reading lots lately, collected many books” Ygor proudly proclaimed. The room resonated with the gentle rustling of pages, as each one whispered a tale of knowledge and discovery.
Gently placing Blue on the floor, Cornelia watched with fondness as the little fluffy’s hooves create a delicate patter against the wooden surface as she scurried towards Ygor. She nuzzled against his massive leg, seeking solace and comfort. A warm smile graced Cornelia's lips.
"That's truly admirable," Cornelia remarked, her voice carrying a gentle cadence. The crackling fire painted flickering shadows upon the walls, enveloping the space in a comforting embrace. The scent of smoldering logs mingled with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, creating an enchanting symphony for the senses.
“Until the ‘metal people’ burnt them along with Ygor house” Ygor replied, his voice echoed with a touch of sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air, mingling with the flickering shadows cast by the crackling flames.
"The metal people," Cornelia mused, her thoughts drifting to the relentless knights of The King. The weight of their armored presence pressed upon her mind, like a looming storm cloud on the horizon. The memory of their arrival, their steel-clad boots treading upon the sacred grounds of the Old World, sent shivers down her spine. Their presence had brought upheaval, disrupting the delicate balance of harmony and magic that once thrived.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Cornelia said, her voice laced with sincerity. "You can stay here as long as you need," she assured, her words offering solace and a sense of belonging amidst the uncertainty of the outside world.
“Thank you, Ygor will find new home soon,” Ygor replied. “By the way, Ygor find black fluffy interesting, never seen one before,” he remarked, pointing towards Wendy.
Cornelia followed his gaze, her eyes tracing the ebony contours of Wendy's fur. The contrast of darkness against light evoked a sense of curiosity and wonder.
“I saw her in an alley a couple of months ago while I was gathering ingredients,” Cornelia recalled as she adjusted her favorite chair, drawing it closer to Ygor's seat. Blue and Wendy sat side by side, their eyes filled with anticipation as they listen to the story Cornelia is about to tell.
Clad in a worn cloak that concealed her features, Cornelia blended seamlessly into the bustling village crowd. The fabric whispered with every movement, a soft rustle against her skin as she navigated the narrow streets. The air was alive with the aroma of freshly baked bread, mingling with the scent of spices wafting from market stalls.
After procuring a bundle of garlic from the local market, the distinct scent of its earthy essence enveloped Cornelia's senses. Its pungency mingled with the vibrant tapestry of smells, drawing her further into the heart of the village. With purposeful steps, she made her way through the labyrinthine streets, seeking the hidden corners where the secrets of her craft could be uncovered.
The alleyway she ventured into concealed itself in shadow, an intimate sanctuary away from prying eyes. She brushed her finger against the rough brick walls as she walked deeper into the alley. Carefully, she extracted small glass jars from her satchel, their delicate clinks echoing in the stillness of the alley. Each jar captured the essence of a captured lizard, their gentle rustling and soft scales brushing against the glass as they adjusted to their temporary confines. Cornelia observed the ethereal dance of light on their vibrant scales, the sight creating a mesmerizing spectacle that seemed to hint at the creatures' otherworldly origins.
As her task neared completion, a hushed whimpering caught Cornelia's acute hearing, piercing through the ambient sounds of the alley. The muffled cries stirred her curiosity and compassion, grounding her in the present moment. The echoes of distress resonated with a palpable weight, urging her to investigate further. With a mixture of anticipation and concern, she followed the trail of whimpering, guided by an invisible thread that led her deeper into the shadows of the alleyway.
“Ugwy babbeh, momma gib’ fowebah sweepies!!!” scowled a fat, ugly fluffy with a distinct rhotacism, muted pink fur, and a stained green mane. Its harsh yet infant-like voice reverberated off the soot-covered walls, creating a dissonant symphony in the alley.
Cornelia's voice cut through the air like a whip cracking, her words carrying an authority that resonated with power and determination.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, street-rat!" she scowled back, her tone laced with both indignation and warning. An ethereal light, emanating from her cloak, bathed the alley in a soft, otherworldly glow, casting long, dancing shadows upon the cracked pavement.
"Smawty mommah beautiful! no gwiv biwth to ugwy babbeh!" the street-rat scowled again with its distinctive speech impediment. The creature turned to face Cornelia, its initial anger giving way to shock as its beady eyes widened in disbelief. The glow from Cornelia's cloak seemed to hold the street-rat captive, its mesmerizing radiance momentarily erasing the malice etched across its grotesque features.
“Hooman?” asked the street-rat, its voice trembling with a hint of hope amidst the chaos of its existence.
"Yes, a human," Cornelia affirmed, her tone firm yet laced with empathy.
The alley seemed to shrink around them, the dilapidated brick walls closing in as the tension mounted.
The street-rat's eyes widened with desperation, and in a flurry of movement, it scurried towards Cornelia, collapsing before her in a pitiful display of submission. Dust billowed around them, filling the air with a gritty haze, while the distant echo of passing footsteps underscored the urgency of their encounter.
“Nice wady, pweese take fwuffy wivh yu!” The street-rat's cries echoed through the desolate alley, its once-malicious tone transformed into a pitiful plea. Its snout nuzzled against Cornelia's leg, a feeble attempt at seeking solace and salvation.
“Fwuffy nu wan’ stay wivh ugwy babbehs!!!” the street-rat begged, its snout nuzzled against Cornelia's leg, a feeble attempt at seeking solace and salvation.
Cornelia, her heart heavy with the weight of the street-rat's anguish, carefully stepped over the pathetic creature, making her way toward the vulnerable baby lying at the end of the alley. Drawing closer, a chilling tableau of horror assaulted her senses. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, intermingling with the sickly stench of decay. Before her eyes lay a grim testament to the darkest depths of despair. Foals with muted and stained bloodstained fur, their dull hues tainted with their own intestines, bore the scars of a brutal struggle. Bite marks marred their tender flesh, evidence of cannibalistic desperation, while trampled bodies bore witness to the unforgiving nature of this forsaken place.
As Cornelia knelt down to retrieve the fluffy, the air hung heavy with anticipation. The scent of damp concrete and decaying refuse mingled with the disgusting tang of blood, creating an atmosphere of unease. The dim light of the alleyway cast long, haunting shadows that danced along the walls.
But as Cornelia's hand closed around the trembling infant fluffy, a sudden, searing pain shot through her senses. A sharp SNAP echoed through the air, accompanied by the sickening sound of teeth sinking into flesh. Cornelia's cry of agony reverberated off the surrounding buildings, its raw intensity tinged with shock and disbelief.
The pink-furred mother street rat's jaws remained stubbornly clenched, its grip unyielding. Cornelia's vision blurred with tears, her vision shortly distorted by the excruciating pain. With a swift, instinctive motion, fueled by a mix of agony and surprise, Cornelia swung her injured hand in a wild arc, flinging the fluffy across the alley.
“What the?” Cornelia cried out. She has never encountered a fluffy that bites. Let alone, one that bites this hard. She swings her hand and threw the fluffy across the alley.
“MEANIE WADY! WHY TAKE UGWY BABBEH?” the street-rat's shrill voice pierced the air, its cries echoing like the wails of a frustrated toddler. The sound reverberated through the narrow passage, carrying a mix of confusion, anger, and sorrow. It blended with the backdrop of distant traffic, creating a dissonant symphony of chaos and distress.
“TAKE MUMMAH! KIWW UGWY BABBEH!” The street-rat frantically stomped the ground in uncontrolled rage. “nu wan’ meanie wady to take vewy ugwy babbeh!!!” the street-rat charged towards the witch.
As Cornelia clasped the fragile baby in her trembling hand, determination coursed through her veins, lending a renewed strength to her stance. The musty odor of the alleyway saturated the air with a pungent reminder of the harsh realities of this grim world.
But before she could fully process the unfolding situation, a searing pain shot through her leg like a lightning bolt. The sensation was akin to the piercing bite of a thousand needles, laced with the unmistakable pressure of a sharp object. Cornelia's scream reverberated through the alley, carrying her anguish and shock to the distant corners of the forgotten cityscape.
The street-rat's unicorn horn, a menacing weapon honed by the merciless streets, impaled Cornelia's left leg. The relentless strength behind the attack sent a blur of conflicting sensations—a symphony of pain, desperation, and disbelief —piercing through her body like shattered glass.
In the midst of her suffering, Cornelia became acutely aware of the grim reality that governed this alleyway. The countless deaths and constant struggle for survival had forged these street-rats into formidable adversaries. Their resilience and innate strength were evident in their very existence. It was a harsh lesson learned in an instant—the living street-rats were much stronger than one could ever anticipate.
As she fought to maintain her footing, Cornelia's vision swayed with a mixture of pain-induced dizziness and the swirling chaos of the alley. The scent of blood intermingled with the dank aroma of decay, enveloping her senses in a suffocating haze. The gritty texture of the alley's uneven pavement seemed to press against her fingertips, grounding her amidst the tumultuous storm of emotions.
Despite the excruciating torment and the formidable foe embedded in her leg, Cornelia clung to her resolve. With unwavering determination, she focused on protecting the fragile life in her arms, steeling herself for the challenges that lay ahead. The relentless struggle for survival in this unforgiving world had etched itself into her very being, and she was prepared to face its darkest truths head-on.
“Fwuffy stuck!!!” cried the street-rat, her voice trembling with desperation as she attempted to dislodge herself from Cornelia's lower leg. The sharp pain intensified, searing through Cornelia's flesh, eliciting a guttural cry of agony that reverberated through the alley.
In that moment, Cornelia's instincts kicked in, and with a surge of raw magical power, she conjured a blast wave of energy that pulsed through the air. The crackling energy engulfed the street-rat, propelling her forcefully into a nearby brick wall. The impact shattered the ancient masonry, and the street-rat lay there, her body bloodied and broken, her ability to move forever stolen.
“Fwuffy can’t move, hewp!” the street-rat whimpered, her words garbled and distorted by her injuries. The alleyway seemed to echo with her pain and despair.
Cornelia turned to leave the scene, a mix of relief and sorrow weighing upon her heart. But before she could vanish into the shadows, her eyes met the wide-eyed gaze of a villager who had witnessed her extraordinary display of magic. The villager's features contorted with shock, and his trembling voice pierced the air like a thunderclap, “Witch!”
“Witch!” The word reverberated through the alley, igniting a cacophony of shouts and gasps from the onlookers who had rushed to the scene. Their voices swirled with a mix of fear, awe, and accusation, intertwining with the faint scent of damp stone and the distant hum of city life.
Sensing the mounting danger, Cornelia slipped away, melding into the shadows like a ghost. All that remained was the street-rat, now broken and vulnerable, desperately calling out, her voice strained and pleading, “Nu take baby, nu take baby, pwease…”
“Fwuffy not know stweet-wats can make hoomans go ouchies” said Blue, her voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Her tiny hooves tapped softly on the wooden floor as he shifted in place, The air hung heavy with the scent of burning candles, casting a warm glow upon the room and bathing the scene in a gentle, flickering light..
“The alleyways are so full of death and destruction, only the strongest and most psychotic survive. I feel bad for them” replied Cornelia.
“Is like ogre life too, ogre warriors no longer live in peaceful lands, ogre fight to survive to ‘nother day” said Ygor, his voice, deep and resonant, bore the weight of sorrow.
The crackling fire in the hearth popped and hissed, casting shadows upon the walls, their movements mirroring the flickering emotions of the conversation.
“Well, we don’t have to face that depression anymore… Anyways, let’s eat!” Cornelia offered reassurance, her voice filled with conviction and a sense of determination.
The room seemed to come alive with the aroma of freshly prepared food; as if the very essence of the cast spell carried a tantalizing scent that made the Wendy and Blue’s mouths water. The tables gracefully glided towards them, their wooden legs creaking softly, while the dishes floated gently through the air, releasing a symphony of inviting aromas.
“I cooked meals using a spell the moment you and your fluffy arrived,” said Cornelia, her voice carrying a hint of pride. The room was filled with the tantalizing aromas of the freshly cooked meal. The scents of herbs, spices, and cooked ingredients mingled together in a mouth-watering symphony, infusing the air with the essence of culinary delight.
Ygor's gaze shifted to Cornelia, a newfound admiration gleaming in his eyes. Candlelight filled the room with a warm glow, casting a soft illumination on the scene, while the crackling fire in the hearth provided a comforting backdrop of pops and crackles paired with dancing shadows.
Cornelia's ability to cast multiple spells simultaneously was a testament to her skill and proficiency. Ygor could not help but be impressed by her effortless command over magic. There was a grace and elegance in her gestures, as if the very air around her responded to her every command. Despite the intricacy and complexity of the spells she had cast, there was no trace of fatigue or weariness on Cornelia's face. Her energy remained vibrant and radiant, her eyes sparkling with a sense of fulfilment and contentment. It was as if the act of magic itself invigorated her, filling her with a renewed sense of purpose.
Ygor's massive hand gripped the turkey leg, the savory aroma of roasted meat wafting up to his nose, mingling with the tantalizing scent of herbs and spices.
Amidst the anticipation, Cornelia, Wendy, and Blue bowed their heads in prayer, their hushed voices forming a gentle harmony that resonated through the room. The flickering candlelight cast an ethereal ambiance. The fragrant scent of burning candles intertwined with the aroma of the freshly cooked meal, infusing the air with a sense of reverence and gratitude.
Ygor paused, a deep respect shining in his eyes, as he respectfully placed the turkey leg back onto the plate. The flickering flames illuminated the scene, their golden glow casting a warm and comforting light. The air seemed to hum with a sacred energy, as if the very essence of their gratitude and prayers permeated every corner of the room.
“We pray before meals, we can now eat!” said Cornelia told Ygor when she finished praying.
“For ogres, pray and eating is same thing” replied Ygor.
“I remember,” Cornelia replied.
A touch of nostalgia as memories flooded Cornelia’s mind. She recalled the time spent among the ogres, their solemn devotion to the act of eating. Contrary to human myths, they were meticulous and mindful, making no mess as they communed with their god, Grunferth.
Cornelia delicately lifted a morsel from her plate, savoring the anticipation of the first bite. As she brought the food to her lips, a symphony of sensory delights unfolded within her. The succulent meat yielded to her teeth, releasing a burst of flavors that danced upon her palate. The crisp sound of Ygor's powerful jaws joining the feast resonated alongside the collective enjoyment, harmonizing with the heightened aroma of the meal that enveloped the space in a tantalizing embrace.
As Ygor took the final bite of his turkey leg, his ears pricked up, attuned to the faint but distinct sounds that drifted through the air. The cacophony of rolling wood, stone, and metal reached his senses, causing him to instinctively turn his gaze towards the window, his curiosity piqued.
"What did you hear?" Wendy inquired, her innocent eyes reflecting a touch of confusion.
But before Ygor could respond… KABOOM!!!
An earth-shattering explosion tore through the air, violently rending the walls asunder. The debris-filled chaos revealed a seething mass of enraged villagers, their figures cloaked in heavy rain and darkness. Riding at the forefront were armored knights, their steeds thundering beneath them. Amidst their ranks stood an ominous contraption, an immense rifle-cannon affixed to a sturdy bipod, wisps of smoke curling from its barrel.
The air crackled with a blend of fear and anticipation. The scent of burning gunpowder mingled with the acrid tang of destruction, permeating the atmosphere. Shadows loomed and flickered upon the shattered walls, cast by the flickering torches held by the angry mob.
"Load the slug!" bellowed the commanding voice of the knight leader, his words reverberating through the air like a thunderous declaration of imminent danger. Ygor's heart skipped a beat as the weight of the knight's authority bore down on him, sending a shiver down his spine.
With a sense of urgency, two knights swiftly inserted a sharp metal slag, gleaming like a wicked fang, into the massive barrel of the punt-gun. The weighty clink of metal meeting metal reverberated through the air, accompanied by the subtle hiss of their breaths as they worked diligently. Meanwhile, another knight meticulously poured an entire jar of gunpowder into the giant gun-cannon’s bulky breech, the grains cascading with a soft rustle that hinted imminent danger.
As the thick smoke cleared, the cracked force field revealed Cornelia standing tall, her arm aglow with a radiant aura as she valiantly upheld the shield. The scent of tainted ozone intermingled with the acrid aroma of spent gunpowder, lingering as a testament to the clash of magical forces and weaponry.
"Step out, monster!" the commander's voice boomed, cutting through the tense silence like a thunderclap. "Or you and your friends will taste the fury of two pounds of pure lead, forged stronger than your vile witchcraft!"
Cornelia's brows furrowed in bewilderment. "How did they find us?" she whispered, her voice laced with concern.
"Big, stupid ogres leave big, stupid footsteps!" the knight spat out a response filled with contempt and disdain. His words rang out, a venomous taunt that intensified the looming threat. "That buckshot was only a warning! Now step out, or face the consequences!"
Blue and Wendy, their tiny frames quivering with fear, sought solace behind Cornelia and Ygor, their small hooves instinctively covering their fragile, fluffy heads. Whimpers of trepidation escaped their trembling lips, mingling with the heavy air, adding an undercurrent of vulnerability.
Ygor, his massive form radiating determination, stepped forward, his footsteps reverberating like an earthquake that sent waves of terror rippling through the hearts of the villagers. The ground seemed to tremble beneath him, spreading whispers of fear and uncertainty among those who watched.
“What are you doing?” Cornelia asked, her voice laced with concern and near-panic, questioned Ygor's decision, desperately seeking to understand his intentions in the face of such imminent danger.
“Go find safety! Ygor fight them alone” Ygor proclaimed, his words laced with unwavering bravery.
“Ygow… Bwoo nu wike scawy guns… don’t go” Blue's voice trembled with fear, her eyes pleading for him to reconsider.
Ygor voice softened as he knelt down to her level, his words filled with reassurance. “Ygor had to… must stand up for the little ones… Ygor be strong fo’ Blue” he whispered, his voice a gentle balm amid the chaos.
With a final glance at Cornelia and the trembling foals, Ygor stepped forward, his determination carving a path through the looming danger. The weight of his responsibility settled upon his broad shoulders as he braced himself to confront the impending threat.
Cornelia's eyes locked with Wendy's, a silent understanding passing between them. In that moment, a flicker of determination ignited in Cornelia's gaze, mirroring the resolute nod of the black-fluffed creature. The air crackled with a mix of tension and anticipation, as if the very atmosphere held its breath.
"Bwoo, come wivh Wendy!" Wendy's voice carried a sense of urgency, beckoning Blue to seek refuge deeper within the safety of the cabin. The faint sound of hurried hoof-taps echoed through the wooden floor as the foals scurried away, seeking solace from the impending confrontation.
Cornelia's voice rang out with unwavering conviction, cutting through the charged air. "You don't have to fight alone," she declared, her words infused with a steadfast resolve.
Ygor's eyes stared into Cornelia's, seeking reassurance amidst the mounting peril. His broad shoulders squared with determination as he posed his question, concern etched in his voice. "Are the widdle ones safe?"
A fleeting moment of relief passed over Cornelia's features as she met Ygor's gaze. "Yes," she replied, her voice a steadying anchor in the midst of chaos.
“Last chance monster! My patience has ended!!!” The commander’s final warning reverberated through the air, a surge of adrenaline coursed through Ygor's veins. With each heavy footfall, the commander's armor resonated, the clinking sound echoing the weight of the impending clash. The ground itself seemed to tremble, mirroring the intensity that hung heavy in the air.
With one last determined glance back at Cornelia, Ygor stepped forward, his footsteps leaving an indelible impression upon the soil, each stride a testament to his bravery and the impending struggle that awaited.
"You've made a grave mistake, knight..." Cornelia's voice reverberated with seething rage, her words slicing through the tense air like a sharpened blade.
“We’re not leaving without your corpses, monsters!!!” bellowed the commander, his voice laced with venomous determination.
“I’m a forest witch, and you have entered my domain… LEAVE. MY. HOME!!!” Cornelia demanded as her eyes glowed with magic rage. The air crackled with an electric energy, a palpable tension that hung heavy amidst the looming clash of opposing forces.
The commander's signal sliced through the charged stormy atmosphere, setting the massive punt-gun's sights squarely on Ygor, while the villagers tightened their grips on their spears, preparing for the impending clash., while the villagers tightened their grips on their spears, ready for the impending assault.
SWISH!!!
A floating bubble of shimmering green liquid burst forth from the depths of the cabin, hurtling towards the commander with astonishing speed. The commander's reflexes kicked in, evading the peculiar water just moments before it could make contact.
SPLASH!!!
The strange substance that once healed Blue drenched the gunner’s hapless body. Anguished screams tore through the air, echoing with torment and despair, as the gunner’s flesh withered and decayed, leaving behind a grotesque skeletal figure that sent shivers of terror coursing through the hearts of the villagers. The unsettling transformation gripped them. The sight of this macabre spectacle fueled their fear and deepened their animosity, fanning the flames of their hatred towards the forest witch and her allies.
A momentary hush settled upon the battleground, shattered by the commander's malevolent grin. From the depths of the forest, more guns emerged, revealing a hidden arsenal of lethal force.
“Did you seriously think we only brought one gun?” The commander sneered, his words laced with derision and arrogance.
Yet, Ygor and Cornelia stood firm, their resolve unyielding amidst the encroaching danger. With a single swift gesture, the commander's hand unleashed a swift resounding gesture that sliced through misty powder-laced air.
“FIRE!!!”

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The maw of the moss-wolf chomped down on the treat, its partner patiently waiting its turn, an eye trained on the Human providing the sustenance. Joseph reached into the pouch, counting out what he had left and mentally setting a few aside for the raven-like birds that Scarlet had trained to bother him.
Well, ‘bother’ might be a strong word. They would whistle at him and wait for food. Upon getting their hard sought quarry, they would return to share it with the rest. Surprisingly cooperative, all things considered. Scarlet had apparently been getting them to associate certain short melodies with members of the pack, allowing her to send the avians after whoever she wanted for more snacks.
If they didn’t get any, then they would yell something not dissimilar to a caw until either food was procured, or they grew bored. Given that they had taken to humouring Violet in her attempts to be a mobile perch, that usually took a while.
It drove Nalah nuts, which seemed to be part of the reason the blond-furred female was included in the ritual at all. Harrow was apparently the favourite target of the nuisance when she was outside the base, but he couldn’t say why.
The tell-tale scratching had been somewhat muted since the shift in medium, but Violet’s writing was always something he kept an ear out for, his daughter presenting her tablet excitedly. [It blinked!]
He turned his head to the cow-looking thing, the unwavering stare held until he gave up. “I swear you guys are just messing with me.”
“Or we merely enjoy your suffering,” Sahari suggested with a smirk, the black-furred female standing taller than him for a moment as she stretched her legs out. Settling into a height that was level with him, she attempted to offer the wolves food. Receiving a fearful retreat instead, the black-furred female frowned, the two canines shifting in their enclosure to be closer to Joseph and Violet. “They still seem to distrust any but yourselves.”
He shrugged, taking the scrap from her and giving it to the young Atmo to pass along, her chittering laugh when the wolves accepted the morsel breaking the soft sound of trickling rain outside the barn. “Faye was the one who started this. I guess they treat her like an alpha of sorts, and seeing her bow to the two of us so often told them that she’s lower on the pole. That’s my guess, anyway.”
“That is….rather intelligent of them, if so,” Sahari commented pensively.
The Grand Hunter tipped his head in agreement. If anything, it was an understatement. The six-legged canines were remarkably receptive to taming, though he couldn’t say how much of that was due to Faye taking to his suggestion so seriously. He had only offered it as a passing thought, but she had set to it like their god had mandated it.
He fought back a sigh at the reminder of his placement in the whole thing, his foot kicking the ground to adjust the new sandals he was wearing until Pan finished proper shoes.
One day, he was a divorcee flirting with random women on a cruise ship so that the rejection validated his own self-esteem issues. The next, he was a guy in charge of a settlement nearing one hundred people and had become a manifestation of religion condensed into the form of some random moron.
He snorted at a morbid thought. How would Emma react to his ‘rise to fame?’ His acquisition of more than they had ever thought for themselves back on Earth?
Owning a territory? They could only manage a nice apartment that could fit several times over inside the base. Friends? Hell, he had a group of people who have helped him through some of the worst the planet had to offer. Kids...well, nothing could replace Violet. He doubted Emma would see it the same way, though.
A paw enclosed his shoulder, dragging his mind from more sombre thoughts. It had been quite a while since everything fell through and he had moved on, but it still stung every now and again.
“What ails your mind, Joseph?” Sahari asked with a concerned inflection. He looked over at her, a smile becoming easier after a moment.
“Just wondering how my ex-wife would react to seeing what I’ve turned into. What she’d say to all of this,” he admitted honestly with a wide gesture to everything. She patted his back, a small pride in her gaze.
“You continue to heal, Grand Hunter, but you are still scarred. Your previous mate would curse her decisions were she to see what you have accomplished.”
He snorted, a wide dry grin breaking out. “I’d love to see her face going back with two alien wives and this sweetheart as a daughter,” he teased, giving Violet a thorough rub on the head. She purred, chittering between breaths as she fought off the rough affection playfully while keeping her blades tucked for safety.
The black-furred female tilted her head and shifted her weight to her other foot. “You’ve mentioned that there is a specific procedure for binding the lives of your people, no?”
He blinked, his mind flickering to the two rings he had prepared, yet held some modicum of expectation around before he whipped them out. Not least of all was the foreign sensation of doing it again twice, nor finding an appropriate time to do it. It was hard to pick a picturesque moment when each day was paperwork, punching people in the face during spars, and orchestrating the well-being of such a large group. Given that the closest thing he could get to a romantic occasion was laying down on the grass while Nalah barked orders at the construction crews in the distance, he didn’t feel like it was ever a good time to ask. It was even harder picturing himself doing it to the two of them, as if it cheapened the gesture in some way.
Then there was the part of himself that feared rejection—as stupid as it sounded. They could deny the alien practice, not share the same sentiment, or any number of disagreements that would render him kneeling like an idiot. As unlikely as it was, it could even be too great a commitment for them, the implication of their entire lives being pledged solely to him being a crushing weight, rather than a promise of mutual loving dedication.
Sure, now they were speaking as if it was the case, but the circumstances as they were lent themselves to it being a product of necessity. Who was to say that it would remain the same once they got off this rock and—hopefully—in touch with their own people again. Would they still feel the same way with an entire species back on the table as possible romantic partners? Would he still be enough?
“Joseph,” Sahari called out with worry and irritation in equal parts. “You are making me anxious.”
“Hm? Oh, sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he was reminded that more than one person could be afflicted by his emotional state. She placed a paw to her hip.
“Are the proceedings really such a means for strife?”
“Ah, no, it’s just…” He averted his eyes, offering Violet a token smile when she seemed to be concerned about him. He inhaled deeply. “It’s just…I have reservations about it.”
She raised a brow. “I need not a bond to know you care for them deeply enough to toss your life to the Void for them.”
His weak smile faltered further. “Well, yeah. They mean everything to me, but I cant help but remember how things went last time, I guess. There’s a million and one ways it could go up in smoke, and I…” He fell quiet for a moment, Violet pressing herself into his side in an attempt to cheer him up. He rested a hand against her back, the texture comforting in a way. “I want it to be an important moment in our lives, rather than some disposable token that they accept without thinking much. It’s not like they’re swimming in potential romantic partners here, so it feels like they’d be agreeing for lack of options.”
She stared at him with a hesitant expression, her cheek pinched between her teeth and eyes narrowed in thought. “Pan would sooner end her own life than be separated from you, and Tel would end any who so much as suggested such,” she stated finally. “To you, the mark upon your flesh is but a sting that fades. To them, it is their declaration that they have found their reason to live. A declaration that is shown to all others of our people the moment they draw near. Though Pan lacks the means to impart her own, she is rather pleased that another is able to in her stead and treats it as her own for all intents.”
She grabbed him roughly by the arm, pulling him into her breast as she stood to her full height, a surprised yelp stifled by soft clothing and fur.
“Unfortunately for you, openly voiced or not, we all feel as such. Though you bear not the mark of everyone in the den, I assure you that to be removed from you would leave us lesser, regardless of bond.”
He shut his mouth at the last addition. There was a weight behind knowing that people were likely to simply give up on living if you were away for too long. It put the relationship in front of a loaded gun for both parties. They couldn’t afford to break it off from him because existing would become a living hell, and he couldn’t change his mind for any reason because it would be the same as killing them.
What kind of marriage was one built upon such fragile pillars? How could they be happy when every fight was tempered by the threat of the end of everything? What about Sahari? Could she ever pursue her own life with Nalah when she had the bond shackling her to him? How long until that became a stinging poison, rotting away the veins and arteries of her psyche? How long until death became preferable to being around him?
A strong impact to his stomach winded him, though the unnoticed hyperventilating left him little to eject as he fell to his knees. Violet clicked in surprise, the wolves backing away at the unexpected violence.
He coughed, sputtering spittle as he fought the urge to evacuate his breakfast. A pained glance up revealed Sahari still clutching a fist, her expression just as hurt.
“You hear my words and twist them, Joseph,” she chastised softly, crouching to look at him better. “We pledged our lives to you. Not because we had no choice, but because we believed you to be our future. From that moment on, our desire was to remain with you.” Her voice grew weak, almost pleading. She placed her forehead to his, the contact an intimate touch. “Your experiences may suggest our bond a prison, but for us, it is an ambrosia for our soul. It completes us like no equal. Jax and Harrow care for you immensely, Nalah and myself owe you everything that we are, and your mates will fight the Hunt Mother herself if it would mean even one more sun with you.”
He found himself speechless, wading through the emotions behind her words a syllable at a time. The feeling of Violet pressing into his back in an embrace stung as much as soothed, his mind rejecting the idea, yet so desperate to accept it.
“Do not desecrate our affections because you had been scorned by one who did not see within you that which we covet,” she implored sombrely, raw emotion oozing through the confines of speech. “Though you doubt it, none would know how much value you place in the ‘mark’ of your people more than your mates. If merely thinking about the unlikely event that they refuse tortures you so deeply, than the elation they would share with you when they agree would likely see Pan unable to contain herself for many suns after.”
He stayed on his knees, the warmth surrounding him from both sides seeping within and thawing the frozen excuses he held onto to prevent exposing himself to potential rejection. Every step of the way since he had met them, it had made him fearful of losing their company. At first, the thought of being left alone to brave the planet was too much to bear, but he would try. Now? Now he felt like he understood where the minds of those bonded Lilhuns had been. Even considering being away from his new loved ones pulled at a primal part of himself, each tug stronger than the last, each suggestion fanning the flames barricaded behind morals—the depths he would trudge to see it never come to pass.
Sahari nuzzled into his neck for a moment before parting, a somewhat satisfied smile given towards the emotionally fragile Human they had taken to depending on. He returned his own, though it was tinted with a bit of embarrassment.
Violet stepped back to allow him room to stand, the extended joint of her blade asking to be held like he did with her adoptive mother. His expression softening, he did as requested, lightly rubbing the smooth surface with his thumb. It soothed a part of him to be holding his daughter’s ‘hand’ while they watched the wolves slowly approach the front of their enclosure again, now that the momentary intensity had faded.
With a self-deprecating roll of his eyes, he nodded, promising himself to follow through with his small wish the next time the chance revealed itself. It didn’t need to be perfect, but it would be nice if it was at least private. The dull ache in his stomach would be a reminder not to second guess himself anyway.
The wolves yipped, ignoring Sahari as they moved towards the other corner. Joseph glanced at where they were focused, his curious gaze replaced by surprise, then shock.
Raine supported Faye over her shoulder, the deep gold-furred female’s breath short as she rested her weight over her brown-furred counterpart, their black leather coats dripping water onto the floor as it wrapped tightly around them, concealing their armour. A steady trickle of blood flowed from a long gash on Faye’s leg, her free arm clutching across her breast to keep her coat closed.
Without waiting for either to speak, he ran to pick up the Wraith, slinging her across his shoulders and tearing off to the base. He could barely hear Sahari over the rain and his own blood pounding through his ears, his heart hammering in his chest. Though they had established something of a clinic for minor injuries that were sustained constantly, his singular focus was getting Faye into the medbay.
Pack members cleared the way, some jumping to the side as he barrelled through the sparely populated routes between home and workplace. More than one tripped over themselves in shock, the Human never having a reason to go at a full sprint before. He was slower than a Lilhun like this, but he could make it the full distance before them. He didn’t need to slow down.
Harrow pushed open the doors to the hub, her distant expression as she examined thin ironwood tablets perking, his rapid heavy footfalls telling of his arrival before she had the chance to see him. Her eyes lit up, her brows furrowed, and a hurried pull of the door kept it open for him, all in sequence. He didn’t have the spare breath to explain or thank her.
The orange-furred female bolted across the hub, slamming into the crash-bar installed into the facilities wing entrance to force it open, only barely outpacing the Grand Hunter in his rush. She staggered to her feet behind him, rushing to collect herself and assisting in tearing the pants off of the injured female when Joseph laid her on the bed.
Modesty being the least of his concerns, he braced an arm across her pelvis to stop her hips from bucking as Harrow wiped off any dried blood to see the extent of the damage on her thigh.
“What happened?”
He tightened his hold on Faye as his friend tentatively spread the wound to check for debris. “Don’t know. Didn’t ask. Saw her bleeding, rushed her here,” he answered through deep breaths, each strike of his adrenaline-fuelled heart pressing against his lung capacity.
Harrow frowned, grabbing some sterile water to pour over the wound and picking out a stray splinter of wood that looked to be from her missing leg armour. Faye let out a small whine, but didn’t have it in her to talk yet, signs of exhaustion and pain unfocusing her eyes.
The Head of Technology—and current medical expert in the room—pursed her lips against her muzzle. “We need to stitch it. It’s too big for just healroot.”
Joseph nodded, easing his weight off the Wraith and wiping his sweat from his brow. “Pan!”
Noticing the urgency in his voice, he could hear her throw the door to the sewing room wide open and jog to the medbay, her wide eyes steeling as she assessed the situation.
“Idee with you?”
She nodded, ears turned perfectly towards him.
“One of you boil off some palm string, the other sterilize the thinnest quill you can get away stitching a wound closed with. I don’t care who, but we need one of you to close this up.” He glanced at Harrow. “Grab some alcohol. I keep a bit in the closet in my room, next to the old crossbow prototypes. We need to flush this out and kill off anything that might have gotten in.”
The orange-furred female tipped an ear in confusion as Pan took off to do as he asked. “I thought you didn’t have medical-”
“I’ve been around enough workplace injuries, okay? Go!”
His shout jolted her into action, a few steps required to gain traction as she ran out the door. Applying solid pressure to the wound with one hand, he used the other to lightly tap Faye’s cheek.
“Faye? Faye, you with me?”
Her eyes languidly turned to him, slow blinks and meaningless mouthing ceased, a soft smile forming under her pained expression. “Hello, sir.”
He exhaled a relieved huff. “Welcome home, Faye. What happened?”
She seemed confused by his question, glancing down to her leg after a few seconds. With widened eyes, she struggled to sit up, Joseph forcibly pressing her to the bed.
“Stay.”
All resistance disappeared in an instant, her body complying despite the obvious urgency. He hardened his expression.
“What happened?”
She breathed deeper a few times before speaking. Each word was hesitant, as if the memory was hazy and diluted, though he couldn’t tell if it was due to blood loss or exhaustion. “A large grey beast…teeth, large mouth...attacked wolves...”
His brow knitted, Faye’s coat moving. A small whine came from her again…no. Not her.
A small yellow canine head freed itself from the confines of black leather, a weak keening produced from a tiny moss-wolf. Faye looked at him guiltily, a pleading look in her eyes given as she composed herself.
“It lost its parents…”
His protest died in his voice, a distant memory of a wolf being torn in two came to mind. The time before they had even moved to the pod, let alone met the Lilhuns, him and Violet checking snares shortly after his ankle had healed. A time so long ago, yet remained with him under the surface.
“You saved this little guy, huh?” he asked gently, wincing in tandem with her own when he leaned heavier on the massive gash in her thigh. She nodded, averting her eyes. “Did you get the ‘beast?’”
Faye shook her head. “Raine lured it away, but it still remains.”
“That’s fine. You’re back, that’s all that matters right now.”
Harrow bumped into the doorway, failing to shed all of her speed as she returned from fetching a smaller container that Joseph kept in case the rest of the pack burned through their stores of alcohol. Her eyes flicked to the wolf pup before disregarding it to hand him the ethanol. He lifted his hand, Harrow pouring some water to wash off the blood. Volta would be busy later, it seemed.
Gesturing for the orange-furred female to hold the leg down, he poured the alcohol into the wound, grimacing at Faye’s pained gasp. They didn’t have anything for her to bite into, but that would be a future consideration.
Pan and Idee entered the medbay, the former moving like a machine with purpose while the visiting seamstress took a moment to size up the situation. The Paw fetched a tray from the shelf, laying out several strings of softened palm and a few thin quills, threading one and passing it to Idee. The light brown-furred female accepted it, Harrow making room as she stood next to Joseph.
Pan handed him a tough leather strip as wide as his palm. Seems like she saw the problem before he did.
“Open up,” he prodded, placing the leather between Faye’s teeth. “This is going to fucking suck. We don’t have anything to numb you, so you need to stay as still as possible, okay? I’ll be here the whole time.”
The Wraith nodded, staring at him for a moment before closing her eyes in acceptance, her grip on the pup firming.
“Want me to take the wolf?”
She lightly shook her head, him exhaling hesitantly in response. Idee readied herself, looking to him for confirmation, Pan holding Faye’s ankle flat to the bed.
“You’re good,” he responded, pressing an arm to Faye’s chest and hips to hold her down.
The deep gold-furred female managed a quiet muffled groan of pain as the quill pierced her flesh.
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He entered the hub, dropping himself on the couch and ignoring the sweat on his brow. He had only just managed to get the blood off of his hands after Idee finished, but it was still staining his clothing. Pan was off to rinse it out of her fur while Faye slept off her exhaustion. As far as they could tell, she had avoided any infection thanks to Raine half-dragging the female back to them as quickly as she did. The wolf pup was staying with her for now, since—even in her sleep—she refused to let it go. The little guy didn’t seem to be complaining, so they just left it where it was comfortable. Ferra would be by later to check it out, apparently, and he didn’t see a reason to complain; she was their animal expert.
Scarlet offered him some tea, the warm liquid whetting his pallet that had since dried. Sahari had checked on them during the process, leaving to keep anyone who had questions in the loop. Given that half the damn pack either saw or heard about the Grand Hunter running like a bat out of hell, pretty much everyone was worried. Either about some urgent threat that might befall them, or about one of the quiet servants they had grown used to seeing around.
Looked like the Wraiths had taken to offering small services and assistance to people who needed it when they didn’t have anything better to do, so the pack was curious about what had happened. It was a small blessing that the usual armour they wore when ‘on duty’ was covered by the cloaks, otherwise he would have more questions coming that he didn’t want answered.
Raine stood a few paces in front of him, her bowed posture holding a hint of fear under his unwavering stare. He waited for whoever else was going to show up for the report, Tel and Pan insisting that they be involved. Harrow followed behind the two entering from the facilities wing, either because she had gotten wrapped up in the whole thing, or because she wanted to be included.
Pan sat to his left, Tel taking a place behind him to remain standing. Harrow surprised him, her recently elusive presence firmly displaced as she dropped onto the couch to his right, her tail curling around his calf—not that she seemed to notice.
Given that both Tel and Pan trapped a limb or two with their tails regularly, he didn’t stop to put thought into it, the encapsulating appendage crossing him as a common occurrence.
“I don’t know how accurate it was, since she’s still pretty out of it, but Faye said one of those grey bear-deathtraps attacked some wolves before she stepped in to save the pup,” he opened, glancing at Scarlet. The almost black red-furred female was maintaining a surprisingly commanding presence, her attention laser-focused on Raine. The brown-furred Wraith kept her gaze fixed to the floor, too ashamed or nervous to move it.
“I apologize for her error in her stead,” she announced, the slightest of grip in her folded paws digging her claws into her skin. “The fault is also mine for not preventing her misstep. I will accept any punishment for our mistake.”
He exhaled heavily. “I’m not mad that you guys had an original thought, Raine. I’m worried about those iron-maiden-looking fucks being around again, and I’m concerned about you getting hurt.”
“Of course, sir. Forgive me for the arrogance of assuming your priorities.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, Pan squeezing his thigh in support. Tel rested her head on his, the weight somehow comforting despite the grin at his annoyance. “We can talk about not getting yourselves killed later. Are you injured at all?”
Raine’s ear twitched. “No, sir. I am whole.”
“Good,” he sighed, nodding lightly. “That’s good. Faye’s patched up for now, but she’ll be under observation to keep on top of any possible infection. How did the ‘mission’ go?”
The Wraith perked up a bit, the conversation moving away from her perceived failure. She produced a satchel, pulling a rather thick stack of tablets from it and passing them to Scarlet, the latter ferrying them to Harrow. He thought it was an odd choice, but the orange-furred female started giving him an abbreviated translation of the text.
Line after line of transactions. What was offered and received, any debts and who owed them, as well as small notes about what should be brought next time. It was a comprehensive copy of the ledger that the trading caravan kept. His brows raised at the sheer density of information, and for them getting it from something he was only partially sure existed.
“You managed to get this much?” he asked in disbelief. “Jesus. Were you caught?”
Raine shook her head. “If we were to be seen by them, we would be nothing more than a stain against our Blademaster.”
Compliment or boasting, doing this much was damn impressive. Especially with just the two of them.
“Shit. Well, good fucking job, I guess,” he managed, still reeling a bit from the unintended scope of the task. Harrow continued to dig through the report, though stopped voicing it aloud. Joseph turned his attention back to the Wraith. “Anything else of note? Rumours?”
The Wraith grew pensive. “Though we returned partially through their return trip to Grand Hunter Pernel, we did overhear some conversations. There were discussions of other packs simply no longer occupying their settlements.”
He leaned forward in his seat, dislodging Tel as his elbows rested against his knees. “What do you mean?”
“Some of their usual trade locations were purportedly burned down, others merely abandoned. A few were apparently littered with corpses,” she explained more steadily. “From what we could gather, the reason they came to trade with our settlement at all is that the others along the way were in such states. It seems they intended to restock and head back out immediately to accommodate the loss in trading partners.”
He bit his lip as he thought about it, letting himself fall back against the couch.
“What do you guys think of it?” he asked with a glance to his mates. Pan seemed to be mirroring his own apprehension openly, while Tel kept a more serious expression.
“I believe there is something larger happening,” Tel concluded, taking a few seconds before returning to using him as a headrest. Pan nodded her agreement, but didn’t have much to add to it otherwise.
“It would explain how desperate they were for food,” he mused aloud, raising a brow when Harrow shifted to lean against him, one foot placed on the edge of the seat forcing the posture. “Any details of interest, Harrow?”
The orange-furred female jolted, only just stopping from moving her foot back to the floor before committing to using him as a backrest. She turned back-on fully, stretching her legs over the remainder of the seat and placing tablets she had finished with on her lap.
“It didn’t take very long for the methods you sold to propagate,” she responded, holding up a few of the tablets before laying them in their own pile. “Looks like Pernel has been spreading it around by buying some from places that have bows and snares to sell where they don’t.”
“Supply and demand, or arming people with the tools that would help them survive?”
“Hard to trade with the dead,” Harrow commented dryly, starting a new pile. He nodded in exaggerated fashion.
“What about the Atmo?”
She tapped the small stack she just started. “I’m trying to separate these by inventory type. Give me a bit.”
Deciding to trust the woman in charge of managing this kind of thing while she was on the ship, he glanced back to Raine, the female easily mistaken for a statue if not for the subtle sway of her breathing. “The grey-bear-thing. How far away is it?”
“Too close,” she responded firmly. “We did not get a chance to verify their numbers, but there was evidence of at least that singular beast making our territory its hunting ground.”
“Fuck,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “We’re going to need to hunt that thing down.”
Pan looked worried at the prospect, Harrow stiffened in her sorting. The Wraiths were the only ones who seemed completely at ease with the suggestion, Tel not so much as twitching. Harrow laid down the tablets she had yet to categorize, her gaze aimed at her lap.
“Joe, don’t think that taking one out is easy.”
“We have ranged weapons and more than a few people who can use them,” he pointed out with a breath. “Ideally, we go as a larger hunting party and take the damn thing down through sheer volume of fire.”
“Their skin is tough,” Harrow replied with a shake of her head, her ears pivoting back towards him. “I don’t know if our bows could pierce it as easily as we might like.”
He furrowed his brow. “So, what? Let it close in until it eats everything and starves us out? Until it thinks we look tasty?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying that this won’t be as simple as firing a few arrows and patting ourselves on the back for a job well done.”
Joseph felt the stiffness of his brow start to hurt from how tight they were knitted. A deep breath centred his thoughts. “We’ll arrange an armoured hunting party soon. Better to take it down before it becomes an issue.”
The orange-furred female nodded, quickly leafing through the remaining tablets and only pulling two more out for the pile she indicated earlier.
“Here,” she said, tapping the stack. “These are records for trading Atmo.”
He suppressed the sigh when he genuinely tried to read the mess they called a language. “How many? Who bought them?”
She hesitated, reforming the copy of the ledger—sans the relevant tablets—and placing it on the floor. The remainder in paw, she held them up over her shoulder, Tel accepting it and going over the contents with an interested tilt of her head.
“From what I can see here, Pernel traded two hundred.”
“Two…” he squeaked, his eyes wide. “Two hundred?”
She nodded, pacing around the couch to stop in front of Pan. “It seems others heard of his willingness to barter for them. He accepted quite a few deals before selling them off again.”
“To who?”
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The door to the ship closed with a hiss, Willin shaking his head at Nav’s questioning gaze. “Nothing.”
Tech removed her CARDs, storing them in the weapons locker before shrugging off her AMR to place in its own unit. “Nothing living, anyway.”
“That bad?” Nav asked, deflating after yet another failed attempt to contact a settlement. The dark green-furred male stored his rifle, seating it into its receptacle with a click.
“Tell Comms to add another eighty to the count.”
“Four hundred eighty-two,” the purple-furred female supplied as she walked past Nav to enter the ship proper. Willin followed after, hanging his pistol holster on the side of his chair as he dropped into it.
“Thirty were covered in wounds, twenty or so were executed, twenty-five looked to have died of accumulated trauma, and the rest were found with singular cuts to the throat.”
“Not quite,” Tech remarked, interfacing with the systems. “Only eight of the ‘executed’ seem to have been done up close.”
“Sniper?” Comms asked as he entered the room, nodding his greetings and taking a seat at his station. Nav crossed their arms and leaned against the doorway as Tech Ops ran some numbers on her screen.
“Wounds are consistent with Anti Material Rifles, and debris suggest they took the ‘material’ part into consideration with their shots. There were a few holes in the buildings that didn’t quite get removed by the fires.”
“Covering evidence?” Willin mused aloud, receiving a thoughtful shake of her head.
“No, I don’t think so. My guess is that the buildings were already on fire when they did it, based on the splinters around the exit holes.”
Comms’ eyes widened in surprise. “Shooting through a burning building? That is rather impressive.”
“Blades?” Nav suggested. “Avalon is required to act against those who break the treaty, no?”
“Maybe,” Tech allowed tentatively. “If it was them, then that would explain the lack of targets.”
Willin scratched at his ear, furrowing his brow as Comms ran another scan for any communications being made. Though a few suns had passed since they had unwittingly agreed to involve themselves in what was likely the first case of war that this planet had ever seen, nothing was being sent anywhere. Regardless, the male kept the scans regular, just in case.
Nav switched the foot they were resting on. “Why not just dispose of everyone breaking the treaty?”
“Maybe they did,” Comms commented, turning back to the conversation as the program ran in the background. “Blades typically function under strict conditions. If they removed anyone who was commanding the hostile action, then they did as required of them. The moment the attack stopped, they completed the terms of the treaty.”
“Or if the Grand Hunter here surrendered and allowed their pack to be subsumed,” Willin proposed, the others glancing at him in curiosity. He waved a paw dismissively. “If everyone in the conflict becomes a single pack, then any fighting from those who still disagree with it is now an internal dispute, thus outside of the purview of the Blades. Check the notes on Grand Hunter Toril and High Hunter Bratik.”
Tech’s eyes unfocused for a moment as she accessed the system. “Avalon is forbidden from interfering with internal politics. Toril was sheltered by Bratik. Since Bratik was from outside of Toril’s pack, it counted as acting against their right to manage their own affairs. Hasen was given a perfect reason to take over, and it forced Grand Hunter Trill to exile the both of them to adhere.” She looked around the room aimlessly as she thought, her eyes snapping to Willin when he spoke.
“And a perfect loop-hole to exploit. Toril loses his supporters, Trill loses a member of his command structure, and Hasen rises in power while leaving Avalon to grit their teeth.” He shook his head, both impressed and disgusted. “Once he attacks another pack, he just forces a vassalage and subsequently executes the new High Hunter for whatever reason he wants. The Blades can’t act on a technicality.”
“So Grand Hunter Pernel….”
Willin nodded at Comms' unfinished question. “In the count.”
“There was a bit of a weird holding area,” Tech added after a moment. “Seemed like somewhere to hold livestock, but even then, it was a bit big. I’m not sure what used to be there, but tracks suggest carts left with whatever it was not long before everything went down, so probably a trade caravan.”
“Well, at least someone made it out,” Nav sighed, pushing off the wall to resume their station. “Where are we going next?”
Willin toyed with the odd silver tablet in his paw, the two unrecognizable scripts curious and alien. “The only pack left before we see what all the fuss is about. Let’s pay a visit to Grand Huntress Sunundra. Hopefully she knows something we don’t.”
Next
A/N: Been a while since we’ve had a proper A/N, huh. Welp, here’s this one. Patreon is currently set to ‘per post’ because i made the account ages ago. Waiting on support to help me switch it to monthly, then I’ll post the Silva render i have. RR is at 30k views and 100 followers.
Figured I’d ask how you guys are liking this arc, hows Willin’s team coming across, etc.
Final note: I’m thinking about rewriting the first ‘book’ so i can get it edited and published! Problem: i have no fucking clue where to cut book 1, and editors are expensive. Where should book 1 end? All i know is that I’d prob end up adding extra chapters to it, as well as lengthening the OG chaps. RR is a ‘touch-up’, not a final product, so those don’t count!

When I was nine, I found the woods.
Now, I know that doesn’t seem too impressive at first.
The thing is, I think I was the only one who could see them.
I toddled over after church on Sunday, still wearing the pink bows in my hair and carefully skipping over any patch of earth that wasn’t covered in grass so I wouldn’t stain my Sunday shoes.
There was a large field near where I lived that my mother deemed safe enough for me to play in with all the other neighborhood kids. It wasn’t a playground by any means, just a vast stretch of land that never sprouted anything worth picking. I was alone that Sunday, walking around the dead field until I could barely make out the wavering smudge of my house in the afternoon heat.
I regret it now, but at the time, I decided to slip under the barbed wire fence and run off, hoping to find something pretty. I wanted a sunflower for my hair.
That’s when I found the woods. I didn’t even realize there was anything out there; I lived in the last house on the block, and from there it just stemmed out into that empty field. No one ever mentioned the woods, not even the adults as a warning not to go in.
Obviously, I went in.
The trees were black and gnarly, with thick knobs and protruding roots so overgrown, they reminded me of bony fingers with too many knuckles. Crisp leaves in all shades of brown littered the floor, and I loved the satisfying crackle underneath my Sunday shoes as I explored.
Looking back, I don’t know what it was about the woods, but I was captivated. I was running through the trees, making tremendous leaps over streams, and just playing like the child I was. It felt like I was in another world when I looked up at the canopy of leaves and branches, sunlight glittering through the green.
It felt like minutes, no more than an hour at most, before I noticed the sky was ripe and orange. The sun was setting already.
I sucked on my teeth before sighing. Sundown meant going home. I made my way toward the direction I came in when a wispy breeze fluttered over my body, lifting the lace ends of my dress and sending my hair flying off my shoulders.
I shuddered, but kept walking.
I made it home just as my mother stepped out on to the porch to yell for me.
“Oh, there you are, Faith. Come insi—where is your bow? Little girl, I told you to change before you went playing in the field in your Sunday clothes!”
I reached into my hair and realized she was right, I was missing one of the ribbons meant to be tied around my plaits.
“I wasn’t in the field, I—“
“Hush now, I don’t care for excuses. Go on inside and I’ll run your bath.” She tsked, shoving me inside with a rough hand on my back.
The next morning, I spoke to Jeremy at the bus stop. He was my neighbor.
“Jeremy, why haven’t you ever shown me the woods?” I asked.
“What woods?”
“The woods past the field. Don’t play stupid.”
“I ain’t playing stupid. I never seen no woods, and I lived here twice as long as you. You’re stupid.”
“I am not, Jeremy! The woods are over there,” I pointed past the field. “And I’ll prove it to you after school.”
“Fine, bighead, let’s see.”
The entire day I was antsy. Finally, we sat together on the bus ride home and I knew I would be proven right.
We dumped our backpacks and lunchboxes on my porch and marched through the field. When we got to the fence, he hesitated.
“My momma says not to go past the fence because then she can’t see me.”
“Oh, you chicken, then?”
“Shut up,” he said. He looked back towards the neighborhood before rolling under the fence. I followed, ducking beneath the wire.
I led the way, the same way as I had taken yesterday.
Only this time, I couldn’t find the woods. We must have walked for ten minutes before Jeremy spoke.
“I don’t know why I believed you. You’re just a liar. I knew there wasn’t no woods.”
“There is too! You don’t know nothing.”
“Wasting my time for this… Loony, you are. I’m going home before my momma starts whining.” He turned around and I watched him until he went under the barbed wire fence again.
Where were the woods? It didn’t make sense.
I felt a cold wind wash over me, prickling at my skin. I rubbed at my arms and looked up.
My bow!
It had become undone and was just a pink ribbon gliding through the air. I chased after it, but random bursts of wind kept it out of my reach. I spun in circles and scuffed my shoes and knees as I hurried, my eyes ignoring the ground.
It finally smacked against a tree, and I realized I was at the woods once again. I grabbed my ribbon and shoved it in my skirt pocket, distrustful eyes scanning my surroundings. I could still see the edge of the field, so I hadn’t gone far, but it didn’t make sense. Why weren’t the woods this easy to find with Jeremy?
I raced inside anyway, gleefully crushing hard leaves under my feet. This time, I started kicking together piles of them in a path, jumping from stack to stack and relishing in the experience.
As I peered past the black trunks of the trees, I realized it was sunset. But that couldn’t be true, school had just ended half an hour ago. I hadn’t even had supper yet.
I backed out of the woods and when I blinked, the sun was back up, shining down brightly on me. I went back inside, examining the stark difference in the sky. When I looked to the left, outside the woods and into the open, it was sunshine. When I looked to the right, into the depths of forest, the sun cascaded yellow and orange through the dark, black trunks, just like a sunset.
I went back every day that week, and every day it was the same. It was always sunset in the woods, no matter if I went in the morning or afternoon. It was strange waking up on Saturday mornings and spending hours watching the sun frozen halfway down the horizon.
After about a month of spending nearly every day in the woods, I heard a laugh.
I think it was a laugh.
The sound was a whisper in the air and I could feel it gusting around me.
“Hello?” I called out.
Silence, just for a beat.
A round of giggles came from behind a nearby tree, but I couldn’t identify which one. It sounded like it was surrounding me. It was a guess, but I assumed it was little girl laughter. I had always wanted girl friends, so a spark of excitement shook through me.
“Hey, come on out!”
She didn’t say anything, but I heard footsteps take off and I bolted after them.
There was no path of shoes in the dirt, no overturned leaves being kicked through, nothing but the faint ghost of a breathless laugh.
“This isn’t funny,” I announced with a deep frown, clutching at my aching side.
The laughter stopped immediately.
I sucked in a deep breath.
My shadow was dark, I noticed. Much darker than it had ever been in the woods. The usually orange sky was fading fast, cold navy overtaking warm citrus colors.
“I’m going home,” I said. I don’t know why I did, I just had to let her know. “Play with me tomorrow.”
“Wait,” a girl’s voice.
I spun in a circle, unceremoniously slipping on some of those crisp leaves. I couldn’t see her.
“What?”
“Wanna see something neat?”
“Who are you,” I asked.
“A girl offering you something one last time. Wanna see something neat or not?”
I stood up and patted my skirt, dusting the dirt off.
“Show me.”
A small hand waved from behind a particularly rotten tree. I grinned and chased after the figure, darkness enveloping any discernible features; she was only a shape running ahead of me. Her voice was youthful and she was no taller than me, and I was not a large child.
We giggled in those little girl laughs as we went further and further in the deep thicket. The sunlight was nearly gone, I could barely make out my own feet as I chased after the girl.
“Where we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I groaned.
“Hush, we’re nearly there.”
I rolled my eyes, but obeyed.
“What’s your name?”
“Nearly there now, Faith.”
I slowly stopped myself, fear ebbing its way into my chest for the first time.
As if she felt my pause, she stood as still as the trees, unwavering in the growing winds. Her dress didn’t even flutter with the breeze like my skirt did.
“Why did you stop,” she asked in a strained voice. “Don’tcha wanna see? See the surprise?”
I took a step back, nearly fumbling over a thick root.
“My mother must want me home by now.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“Oh,” she sighed, her head dipping forward, long hair covering her face. “I know a lot more than you, Faith.”
She started laughing as she turned to face me, the soft sound morphing into an unrecognizable cackle.
It was so dark now, I couldn’t see much else but her. Her skin almost glittered, but there wasn’t any moonlight.
“How do you know my name?”
“You told me. You don’t remember?”
I shook my head, and though she wasn’t looking at me, somehow she saw it.
“Faith Brown. You have a bad memory. I told you I know more than you.”
The whistle of sharp gusts of air pierced my ears, her voice barely floating through the sound. My hands were sticky, cold and sticky.
“What’s your name? You know mine.” I asked again.
“You should go on home. Your mommy is really scared right now.” She said it so matter-of-factly, faint but sure.
I hated her voice, I wanted to hit her. I wanted to reach my fists into her long, ugly hair and pull it out of her face so I could spit in it. Never in my life had I ever felt so much vile, abysmal hatred for someone. It frightened me. Most of my thoughts were on my mother, though, so I didn’t pause to reflect on these realizations for too long.
I took off running in the opposite direction, praying I was heading the right way. I was sprinting like the fastest horse on the track, but somehow her laughter was right on my shoulder, cawing loudly inside my brain.
“Bye bye, Faith! Let’s play tomorrow.”
Again, I felt that prickling feeling of disdain. I nearly turned around and chased after her again, just to pummel her.
Instead, I focused on how the clearing was approaching. I ducked my head and let out a shaky breath of relief when I found myself out in the open.
Slowly, tentatively, I peered back at the woods, fully expecting to see her standing there.
It was so dark, I couldn’t see past the first couple of trees. They guarded the entrance, standing like ghouls with long, grotesque branches like bony fingers outstretched to me.
The walk back to the field was brisk; I was on edge, a growing knot weighing in my stomach that I wouldn’t make it home.
I had never been out so late. There wasn’t a cloud above to block moonlight, but even then, the moon was absent. I had no guide home, so I continued to trek in blackness, hoping I would see the streetlights soon.
I wondered if I would see her again—
A crushing grip yanked my shoulder, spinning me around and sending dirt flying as my shoes scraped the ground.
Large, strong hands shook me, and a white light blinded me. I was gone, I was dying in that moment, my soul fled my body.
“Calm down! I need you to stop screaming, honey. Stop, tell me your name.”
I heard a click and the light was much dimmer. I hadn’t realized I screamed at all.
My eyes adjusted, and I noticed the golden glitter of a badge.
“Faith Brown.”
He sighed, genuine relief in the motion.
“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”
The night passed in a blur. I was holding his hand as we walked through the field. He said several things into the machine on his chest. My street was flashing with red and blue. My mom was smoking a cigarette on the porch. She shouted at me, but I didn’t hear a word until her icy fingers were digging into my arms, clutching me tight against her.
I slept in her bed that night, I think. I didn’t go to school that next Monday. I don’t think I went at all that week.
The next time I felt conscious, grounded back in reality, was when I accidentally pushed the glass of lemonade off the table. Shards went skittering across the kitchen floor, bouncing until they hit the walls.
“Faith!”
“Sorry, mother!” I bent down to start picking up the pieces when my mother grabbed my wrist.
“You dense little girl, don’t touch glass!” She hissed at me before her eyes softened. “Baby girl, it’s dangerous. I’ll clean it up, you — carefully — throw the bag outside. Can you do that?”
I nodded absently.
When my mother wrapped the glass in a towel and secured it in a waste bag, she sent me to the trash cans outside. They were in the backyard.
I hopped down the steps, the feeling of being out of the house already foreign. A breeze nearly made me jump.
Despite the wind being negligible, one of the bins tipped over.
A single brown leaf fell out, gliding through the air and landing right before my feet.
I don’t know how I knew, but it was obvious to me that this lead was from the woods. It fluttered at the ground a bit, the crisp corners pointing past the field, wanting me to follow. It was enticing me, urging me to just obey. I felt a strange pull in my chest, a physical tug that made my shoes scrape against the dirt and inch towards those cursed woods.
I stomped on the leaf, my teeth grinding together as I used my heel to shred it to pieces.
For a while, things seemed to be getting better. The wind didn’t call to me and I stopped having nightmares featuring a black and white figure. The girl. Jeremy even told the older boys to stop teasing me about it all.
I thought it was over.
A month had passed, maybe two. Church had finished and all us neighborhood kids were playing tag in the field. Maybe it was all the others there that made me feel safe enough to go with them.
An older girl from the middle school was it, and I scurried away from her, but I tripped on a long, pointed stick. I skidded to the dirt without an ounce of grace, dust and pebbles digging into my clothes and skin. I picked up the wooden branch and waved it around.
It was like a magnet, zeroing in on one specific direction: directly to the woods. Again, I felt that tug in my bones, my mind blank as I was almost roped in. It felt like my feet weren’t even leaving the ground, just that some unexplainable force was luring me in.
None of the other kids saw me. Or they did and didn’t care. I would rather believe the former.
I blinked.
I was back. I was in there, alone, and the sun was setting fast behind me. Dread coursed through me and I spun around, my grip taut on the stick in my hands. I clutched it to my chest, my heartbeat rising rapidly.
It was getting so dark so fast. It felt as if the blacker it got, the harder it was to breathe. Everything was so, so loud; my ears pounded, my shaky exhales were crashing waves, the rustling trees were windstorms.
The song was excruciating.
I strained my body to focus. The song—this ominous chanting that suddenly began, a crooning chorus of voices was somehow the faintest trace of sound and the most excruciatingly powerful racket possible.
I couldn’t describe it accurately if I tried. The most I could say was that it reminded me of the choir at church, but the emotions it evoked were polar opposites. There was no unified comfort, but an unrelenting hymn, slow and mournful.
With nimble steps, I inched away from the anthem, fearful of the voices stopping at hearing my footsteps.
Bright red lights exploded like fireworks.
I saw them all.
Vaguely, but undeniable. A hoard of people, all just as ghastly white as the first girl, their sinful song louder and closer. Their faces were hidden being long strands of hideous black hair. They all looked the same, a crowd of the same kin.
She stood at the front, closer than all the rest.
The burning in my throat was agonizing, bile threatening to spill out as she lifted her head. Her face, the blankest white I had ever seen, was empty save for two black holes where her eyes should have been, and a carnivorous mouth lined with rows and rows of almost-humanlike teeth.
Her face was flat, no curves or features anywhere but those haunting eyes. They were like craters, dark and empty. Still, I knew they were boring into my soul.
I was petrified. I wanted to run off as fast as I could. I couldn’t do it backwards, but I simply couldn’t look away from the swaying mass of people in front of me. I couldn’t imagine what they would do if I turned around.
I didn’t have time to make a choice on what to do next because she launched into action. She moved like a newborn animal, gangly yet purposeful, and she was heading straight for me.
She couldn’t catch me. That was all I knew.
I bolted, adrenaline carrying me with a strength I’d never have again. I was practically flying through the trees.
They were alive, leaning in and closing the gaps, making it harder for me to dart between them. Their branches scratched and nipped at my face and arms, but I could barely feel it.
“Faith, we need you at the communion!” She screeched behind me, dangerously close.
Her voice was loud, but the song from the crowd was fading. I was getting close to freedom and she knew it.
I heard her pounce and then I was slammed to the ground. Her body was light, but cold enough that where her hands touched me, the skin felt like I was soaking in an ice bath.
I couldn’t breathe, my lungs throbbing inside me. I was beyond afraid, my body acting in autopilot because my mind was mush.
I screamed, a deep, guttural shriek that surprised her. With a swift movement, I stabbed the wooden branch I still held into one of the black craters on her face and she fell back, hissing and howling like a feral creature.
I used the brief moment of distraction to shove the stake in deeper and run. I ran with all my might, the steady pounding in my ears protecting me from whatever curses she screamed after me.
My vision was going dark at the edges, my chest aflame with pricking pain building inside me. I was going down and I knew it, but I could see it then: the edge. With a final burst of speed, I catapulted myself out of the woods and as far as I could get.
I collapsed in the field.
Sometime later, my mother was shaking me to consciousness. I couldn’t move, but I bawled in her arms, scrapes and scratches riddling my body. When they changed me at the hospital, there were deep claw marks on my back.
Within two weeks, we moved. I lost a lot of my childhood. Outside of this period, I can only remember bits and pieces of what should have been joyful times. It took a long time for me to feel safe.
And I did. For a good while, I felt safe. I didn’t think of her or anything that happened for many years, the only reminder my scars on my back and the occasional flash of nightmares.
I was okay.
Until this morning.
My daughter, my darling little girl who gave me hope and a warm feeling of peace just by being near her, was coloring beside me as I finished something on my laptop.
I glanced down to her page and was nine years old again, looking right into the black abyss of two soul-sucking eyes above a sharp, dripping mouth.
“Baby,” I croaked, “baby, who is that?”
“Oh,” my daughter hummed. So blissfully unaware. “She’s a girl I met in the forest yesterday.”
I could feel every painstakingly difficult year of therapy slipping away from me. With a trembling hand, I ripped the page out of her notebook and crumbled it, ignoring her cries of protest.
We live nowhere near a forest. I can hear that song again.

I love Bejeweled but hate candy crush. Are there any games that use Bejeweled mechanics of time/speed to do well in it? Puzzles and Dragons and Puzzle Quest are all turn based. There was once a StarCraft custom map where the faster you played a Bejeweled game the more units you would spawn in a tug of war against an opponent. I loved this.

I got a little bored and drunk. Then this happened. Just a bit of dumb action. I could try and spin this as me improving my ability to write more action oriented scenes, but well. Yeah, drunk and bored. Enjoy and tell me what you think.
CW: Sweet sweet excessive violence
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The little skiff drifted lazily along the asteroid belt. In a backwater system, free from prying eyes, the crew had ample time and space to test their newest toy. The ursdain in the pilot’s seat adjusted a couple controls before settling back in his chair. His avian co-pilot was observing the rest of the crew on the security feed.
“What is he doing?”
The ursdain leaned over, “Practicing?”
The avian’s half lidded stare was the only response.
In the cargo bay were the skiff’s other three occupants. A rather burly male human with brown skin and a mostly shaved head was yanking his tomahawk back out of the wooden board he had hung up on the wall. He walked back a few paces before turning and hurling it back at the target.
“Do you have to do that right now?” asked the exacerbated vulptan.
“Nope.” He responded while lining up his next throw.
“Just let him. If he doesn’t keep busy, he’ll keep trying to add ‘modifications.” The red-headed human female interjected while elbow deep in their prototype.
“You’re just jealous of my brilliance.”
“Sure. We’ll call it that.”
Meanwhile as the ursdain began to ponder his next meal a red blip flashed on his display followed by a sharp claxon. He slammed the red alert, “Thakt, we got company!”
The avian was already attempting to jam the enemy sensors, but they’d been made. “They’re on their way! Pirates looking to board!” She keyed the intercom, “Prepare for boarders!”
As soon as the lights went red the man in the jury-rigged shop ran to the new machine. “This thing ready?”
“The targeting computer hasn’t been installed and there’s still the issue of-“
“Can it move!?”
“Yes, but-“
“Strap me in!” He snached up the helmet and mask then climbed in the suit. The women began closing and sealing panels as he donned the helmet, flipped down the visor, and sealed the mask to his face.
“Gonzo! Listen to me. You don’t have a lot of time in that thing, so you gotta be in and out. Alright?”
“Lil, this is what I’m good at. Let me work.” She rolled her eyes as she closed the front up.
He opened then closed his mechanical fingers and rolled his shoulders. The suit seemed to be responding well. He stood to its full height and slammed the dome helmet down over his head. The other two already snatched a couple weapons and ran for the bridge to secure it. He stalked over to the armory bench to pick up some toys and party favors when the com cracked to life in his ear.
“Gonzo? You receiving?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Our only shot at getting out of here is you disabling their engines and breaking whatever they use to mate with us.”
He giggled slightly as he strapped the weapon harness over his mid-section. “Copy. Break shit. Can do.”
The ship shuddered and jolted. “They’re broadcasting for surrender.”
“Sure, I’ll accept their surrender.”
“Funny. They’re about to breach the stern airlock. Get ready.”
Gonzo drew a breath and put his game face on. Their MO is to breach loud and fast. A little shock and awe. He planted a couple surprises by the hatch then took cover around the bulkhead.
“They’re about to breach.” He popped a couple smoke grenades and tossed them down the corridor. Then an idea struck him, and he popped a couple more and thrust them in his harness for a bit of Blackbeard flair. He readied his weapon and checked the other two. All he could do was wait.
A few seconds later the hatch blasted in and two canids rushed into the haze. Gonzo didn’t know how armored they were, but he figured being covered in burning napalm was a bad thing. He leaned the nozzle around the corner and lit up the entrance. The blinding light pierced the smoke and judging from the screams, they weren’t ready for assaulting a weapons manufacturing ship. Now came the fun part of the suit. While the auto-aim and friend/foe feature weren’t installed, it did have a suite of sensors such as sonar, lidar, and infrared.
Gonzo could see the outlines of the thrashing pirates and held his fire. A couple more pirates entered the hall to drag their comrades out. That’s when he hit the clacker. The anti-personnel mines went off, filling the confined space with hundreds of ball-bearings in an instant.
“Hey! We gotta clean all that up when you’re done you know!”
“Relax. I’m advancing now. Give me a map.”
Sure enough, a holo layout of the pirate ship sprung to life in the corner of his vision, complete with the highlighted sections of engineering and security. He advanced through the smoke onto the pirate ship. As he emerged through the smoke, more billowing off him like a demon fresh from Hell, he saw more pirates readying to storm his little craft. They were lightly armored. Shame. With another squeeze and lazy turn, he coated the would-be intruders.
Realizing they bit off more than they could chew, the lights on the pirate vessel began flashing red, and a call to repel boarders went out. Gonzo hustled down the passages headed toward engineering. He rounded the corner and dove back behind the corner as the ursdain with a gatling laser opened up from the other end of the hall. He wasn’t sure the flamethrower would make it to the other side, so he swapped to his baby. He tossed his last smoke grenade around the corner and counted to ten.
When he felt the passage was good and obscured, he held his replica China Lake around the corner and fired. Fwoomp…BOOM! Something wet and red hit the wall beside Gonzo. I think I got ‘em. He pumped another round into the chamber and continued.
He found Engineering easily enough and stormed inside. It was a large room dominated by…Well, the engine he supposed. Gonzo wasn’t an engineer, but he was a 2300. He was about to jog up to the biggest most important looking bit when his legs were taken out from under him. He was quickly bound up in ssypno coils and could hear the suit groaning under the pressure.
“There’ll be no more of that. Now let’s get you out of that can.”
Gonzo struggled to no avail, but he’d be damned before he gave up. He took a breath and forced his arms out away from his body. The suit groaned and struggled to give him the breathing room he needed. When he thought he had the space to work with, his hand shot to his knife strapped to his belt. He drew it and twisted his hand just as the coils snapped shut around him. The pirate stabbed herself in the soft scales of her underbelly just as Gonzo drew his arm around his torso slicing long and deep.
She shrieked as he carved, and quickly tried to slither away, but he snatched a piece of her armor and rode her, continuing to stab and slash at the joints in her suit. She tried to curl in on herself and grab the man with her upper arms. He wrestled with her for a while before he drew his offhand behind her opposing arm then using her own death grip on his main hand bent her arm around his. Her elbow snapped and she shrieked. With brief freedom of movement, Gonzo drew his knife up and plunged it into her sub armored neck. Her tail thrashed and writhed before the life seeped from her.
Gasping and sweating profusely, he drew himself up and stumbled to the drive core. Or what he thought was the drive core. He wasn’t an astrophysicist, but he was sure this thing didn’t like heavy explosives. He quickly rigged up an IED around the biggest glowiest part and set it to go off on his clacker.
He jogged from engineering to security but was stopped in the passages by a couple canids ambushing him. One opened fire with a laser-rifle, striking him in the upper torso, but the armor kept his chest from being cauterized. The blast streaked off the chest piece leaving a red-hot mark. It burned.
“Keep out of fire, Gonzo! I was trying to tell you that the heat-sinks aren’t finished yet!”
There may not have been a new hole in him, but it burned like Hell. He closed the distance to his attackers, too close to use his rifle, and they met him with claw and teeth drawn. The first canid threw themselves at him, knocking him down, and clamping their jaws around where his neck would be. He heard a hiss as something gave way on his shoulder. He fought and rolled to buck them off, but they held fast.
Gonzo decided it was time to draw his sidearm and clamped his hand down on the head of the assaulting canid to keep them in place. The other one tried to claw at his legs, but only found solid titanium alloy. He reached down to his holster and drew the comically oversized revolver, now appropriately sized in the power-armor’s fist. He thrust the barrel under the canid’s chin and fired. Their friends’ helmet rocketing off their head gave Gonzo the brief shock needed to roll the first pirate off him, raise his pistol, and fire point blank at his second attacker. As their head snapped back, he hauled himself back onto his feet and limped into security.
He needed to find a way to release his ship but drew short at the two canids and taurian blocking the consoles. The two canids threw themselves at Gonzo, biting and clawing for all they were worth. The heat in the suit was becoming unbearable. It was starting to sear bits of exposed flesh. Gonzo regretted jumping in in a tank top.
One canid clamped their jaws on his neck while the other went for his legs trying to drop him to the deck. Something snapped to his left and he lost all control of his left arm. It was just a hundred pounds of dead weight. He fell back swinging his pistol around trying to pistol-whip his attackers.
“That’s enough! Just give up and we’ll sell you somewhere nice.” The taurian called out.
Gonzo bucked his hips and fired at the canid by his legs but missed. Repeating what he did before he point-blank lobotomized the canid by his shoulder. With a roll, he popped himself back up readying his next shot when the second canid fell on him. He held his ground as they slashed and leapt to bite.
He caught them in the air and slammed them into the bulkhead beside him. It was nice to be eye level with them for once. He used this to his advantage by slamming his titanium fist into their face and gut repeatedly, feeling each subtle bone crack and snap. The taurian grabbed him under the arms and hurled him to the other side of the room as the last canid slumped down the wall.
The pirate drew some kind of bladed weapon. Big mistake. Gonzo drew his tomahawk, and sprinted forward with his head down. Using all the power in the suit he had, he slammed into her stomach and drove her forward into the wall.
She recovered her breath quickly and began raining blows down on his back and shoulders. The strain was beginning to get to him. Sweat was streaming down his body, stinging his eyes. The suit burned. He bent his knees then shot upright, driving his helmet into her chin. She rocked back in shock and Gonzo took a couple steps back. His left arm was dead. He could only grasp with the fingers. The pirate rubbed her chin.
“Oh, you’ll pay for that.”
Gonzo quickly tossed his tomahawk up and grabbed it by the end, before hurling it at his enemy. It buried in her shoulder, and she screamed. He sprinted at her full tilt with his head down shoulder out and pinned her to the wall. She kept fighting and pushed him back. Gonzo used his hips to swing his dead arm around to the pirate and clamped down with his hand. His hand locked in place as the taurian began to try and ineffectually push him away. Panting, he decided to give her a bit of backward-knee syndrome. He hauled back and put his and his suits’ full weight into a stomp kick right on her knee.
It folded back and she shrieked. Now at chest height he began slamming his fist into her helmet until it warped and broke. He stopped when he saw the stream of blood pour out the bottom.
He tried to make his way to the console, but realized his hand was stuck gripping the dead-weight of the corpse. He planted one boot on its back and pulled for all he was worth. With a fresh souvenir of taurian hide trapped in his grasp, he quickly worked the security console and disengaged the clams holding his ship in place. Once freed, he pulled out his clacker and slammed it. The whole ship rocked and shuddered. Catching his que he limp-jogged back to his ship. The remaining pirates were too busy with damage control as the ship quickly began filling with vacuum. Gonzo found his airlock with minimal resistance and threw himself in it.
“Blast!” he cried as he clutched the safety bar inside the lock. Grokna punched the skiff for all it was worth headed for the nearest jump point.
When the airlock cycled Gonzo limped back into the scorched cargo hold with hydro leaking down his left side. Lil and Korsk sprinted in to check on the man as he clumsily clutched at the emergency releases. The dome helmet fired clean off the top while the chest piece fired out revealing the sweat drenched and burned pilot. The suit dropped to its knees as Gonzo flopped out ripping his mask and helmet off. He gulped at the fresh air and luxuriated in the coolness of the metal floor when he gasped, “I…I have…Some notes…Need…Better cooling…”

Something happened tonight. Something always seems to be happening these days, but this time, it was particularly confusing.
Some days don't even feel real anymore.
After my last post, I did as my savior human had advised me. I called Mary Markov and relayed to her what Jewel had told me. She promised to send agents to the warehouse right away, and late that same night, she reached out to me once again with news of an arrest having been made. Despite this small success, we both knew that this meant outright war. The Collective would know who had given them away, and the possibility of me joining their ranks peacefully would be off the table. The question remaining was when they would make good on their threat. Nettie Peterson's house is being guarded by covert Agency personnel, and mine and Eli's apartments are under watch, too. I'm glad Mary Markov is doing what she can to protect them, but I never doubted that complications would arise eventually.
Just not quite so soon.
The day started off fine. My best friend, still being relatively used to having agents around, doesn't seem to mind the aforementioned changes. The van inconspicuously parked outside her house didn't bother her in the least as she went about her morning routine. I helped her throw together something nourishing for breakfast, then watched her doing her makeup. She likes to keep her lips glossy and often applies lime green eyeshadow paired with a pear-colored line and, on special days, the occasional rhinestone. She looks like a garden fairy. When I told her that today, she treated me to a bright smile and a pat on the cheek.
She went off to look after her larvae, leaving me to roam her house alone. I spent some time inspecting the many drawings she keeps framed on the high wall in the living room. She always brings new ones home from work—gifts from the kindergarteners. They're not very artistically skilled, but they do produce interesting work. Nettie hangs them all up on the special wall, even the really bad ones. I watched TV for a couple hours, then read until Nettie came home.
It was getting dark out when she realized she needed tampons. She said she could get by on what she had until the morning, but no longer. I told her to stay put and that I'd run and get some for her, which is why I went on that fateful evening walk. I gave a quick nod to the agent leaning against the van outside as I started heading down the street, backpack slung over my shoulder. I made it to the convenience store five minutes before closing time, giving the annoyed cashier an apologetic look as she rang me up. Outside, the nightly blackness had settled over the rooftops, and I took in a deep breath, letting the fresh air flood my body.
All was well as I began to march back in the direction of Nettie's home. Until I heard a motorcycle revving.
…Jewel?
I instantly froze up. There was no one immediately in sight. I tried to soothe my fevered mind. There was no reason to be so on edge. A lot of town residents owned motorcycles, or at least I assumed they did. This reaction was a testament to my own waning sanity, no doubt. I shuddered, making an effort to shake the thought. There was a nervous tension in my step as I continued on my way. The engine noises faded off into the distance after a while, and I concluded that I was indeed becoming a bit paranoid.
Step by step, I carried myself towards my goal. Nettie Peterson's street wasn't anywhere in sight yet, but I would probably be at her door in around ten minutes tops. I had walked the distance between her house and the store often enough to estimate. I considered putting my earbuds in and listening to some music as a distraction, but I was afraid of what I might end up missing if I took away my sense of hearing. I began to chew on the inside of my cheek.
There was not a soul out except for me. This wasn't uncommon considering the size of our town, but given the circumstances, it still served to elevate my heart rate. I repeatedly tried and failed to calm myself. Eventually, I couldn't help it anymore. I took off running. And then it happened—someone stepped out from a sidestreet right ahead of me and we collided. Large hands flew to my shoulders, long fingers harshly digging into them. I didn't need to look up at the other person to recognize them. I sensed the same musky smell that had lingered around my room for hours after their last visit; warm, sweet and impossible to ignore. I could suddenly hear every single beat of my heart reverberating between my ears. Dread seemed to dribble down my bone-dry throat, pooling in my stomach like cold water.
I slowly lifted my head, knowing exactly who was about to stare back at me.
Jewel's eyes were incredibly wide. Their brows were trembling in manic, barely restrained fury, their lower lip quivered and, to my complete bewilderment, tears were freely rolling down their cheeks. They solidified the moment the skin contact was lost, turning into shimmering stones of green, blue and violet. I reached out and caught one before it could hit the ground. It was bright pink, and I found myself captivated by its beauty.
"So, can I… keep this?" I asked, tilting my head at the cultist.
Their chest was rising and falling heavily, and I shrank back a little when I took note of their nostrils flaring. "You are so dead," they uttered in a low, husky growl.
"I take it you got news of the Agency's involvement?"
Jewel once more closed the distance between us. They leaned down, their gemstone tears bouncing off my chest as they fell. "You spiteful little bitch. You'd rather try to ruin a good cause than forgive me and work together?"
"You can't be this delusional."
"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do!" they snapped, their voice rising to an eerily high pitch. They paused, looking briefly confused by what they'd said before the wrathful expression twisted their features again.
"What now? Are you seriously going to attack me out in the open like this?"
"Oh." Jewel drew themself up, squaring their muscled shoulders. "Oh, I'll manage."
Their outline before me started to blur, becoming fuzzy and indistinct. I blinked, then reached up to rub my eyes. They weren't becoming any clearer, though. Frowning, I took several steps back, squinting at the spot where the cultist had just been standing. The cultist was quickly turning into a faint, paling swirl of colors, losing shape before at last disappearing completely.
I was speechless, my pulse racing as beads of sweat ran down the side of my face. I couldn't believe it. Had all of this been some sort of hallucination? I raised a hand to my feverishly hot forehead. I was losing my mind. That had to be it. My gaze dropped to the gray asphalt and my breath caught in my throat when I spotted the colorful stones lying at my feet. Fuck.
A soft laugh rang out beside my ear, a draft of moist, warm air grazing my cheek.
I instinctively swung at the emptiness beside me, my clenched fist connecting with nothing. No.
"Come back here," I whined, flinching at the unmasked fear in my own voice. A sharp pain flared up in my ankle as my feet were swiped out from under me. I let out a squeak as I fell onto my open palms, managing to shield my head from the impact just in time. The rough ground scraped my hands and knees as I hurriedly pushed myself up, a few stray pebbles drawing blood. Despite my panic, my mind was clear enough to understand that I was in a precarious position. I couldn't just whip out my tentacles—not here where anyone could see me. It would for sure result in hysteria. People could start straight-up shooting at me. I'd end up looking like a monstrosity on a rampage, especially with Jewel having gone invisible. As it were, I only had one option, and that was to run.
I didn't waste another second. There was no way I was leading this murder cultist back to Nettie, but I had to find somewhere with other people, anywhere…
Aimlessly charging ahead, I tried to bring more distance between myself and the disembodied footsteps ringing out from behind me. Before long however, it was becoming hard to tell how far away they truly were. The sound seemed to flit from side to side, reaching my ears from constantly changing directions. The asshole was messing with my head.
Soon enough, my lungs were on fire. My sides were stinging; breathing became harder. I inwardly cursed my useless short legs. Still, I didn't slow down; I didn't dare to. I was growing increasingly desperate. Where was I supposed to go? I couldn't think of any places still open. And then, cutting through the darkness, a flickering neon sign offered the answer to all of my questions. Tom's Diner. With hope renewing my spirits, I picked up my pace once more. Rhonda was just in the process of moving the big menu sign inside for the night. I came to a skittering halt mere inches in front of her, helplessly grabbing onto her apron before she could close the door behind her.
She spun around to face me with knotted brows. "Evangeline?"
"Help me," I wheezed. "Let me in, quick!"
Rhonda, though still visibly perplexed, sprang into action, dragging me inside along with her. I slammed the door shut, throwing my entire weight against it. An unseen force clashed against it from outside, making the entire storefront shudder. The waitress nearly dropped her sign. "What in the—"
"They're after me," I choked out. "You can't see them, but they're right outside!"
"Oh." Her expression cleared up. "Say no more, say no more." She reached into her apron pocket, rummaging around while mumbling to herself. "I'm picking up what you're putting down…" She produced a bright red marker. "Allow me." Swiftly stepping up to me, she raised the felt tip to my forehead, proceeding to draw something onto my skin with smooth, efficient accuracy. An incoherent whisper slipped from her lips, words in a language I had never heard before. Finally, she pulled back. "Turn around, try if you can see them now. The door locks automatically, by the way."
I hesitantly shifted my weight back onto my feet, releasing the door and turning to look out into the night. I let out a gasp, staggering back when I found the contorted visage of the cultist pressed up against the glass. Jewel's eyes were still rimmed with shimmering tears, their mouth twisted in a grimace of murderous rage. They frowned in confusion when they realized that my gaze was once more trained on them. It didn't take long until they started pounding on the windowpane again.
"Hey! You stop that," Rhonda shouted, stabbing a finger in their direction. "I just cleaned that today! Oh hell… Hailey!" she called over her shoulder. "We have a problem; come help."
Another waitress came rushing out of the back room. Glancing between us and the pacing cultist outside had her huff out a sigh. "I see," she said icily. Determinedly striding towards the door, she lifted her voice, beginning to recite a verse or rhyme of some sort. It all sounded like gibberish to me. My head was spinning, my mind running wild, unable to keep track of what was happening around me. My skull suddenly felt prickly from the inside, my whole body seemingly turning weightless. My vision fell away as my eyes rolled back and my knees gave out from beneath me. I had lost consciousness before I hit the floor.
I don't believe I was out for very long, despite my exhausted body embracing the cold slumber. A voice tugged on the edge of my hearing, gently guiding me towards wakefulness. I had been moved onto a slightly softer, more comfortable surface. I arduously craned my neck up to overlook my surroundings. I was lying on one of the padded benches next to the stationary tables. Crouching beneath it in order to sit close to me was a very familiar figure.
"Hey, Sunshine." Frankie Preston straightened up as far as he could without hitting his head. "Sorry I wasn't there to catch you when you fainted. Too bad. It could have been our movie-moment."
I smiled at him. Then I jolted upright, nearly kicking Frankie under the table as I planted my feet on the floor to train my eyes on Rhonda. She was leaning against the partition wall of the booth, typing away on her phone. "You," I uttered. "You and that other lady did some kind of… witchcraft-thing."
She glanced up briefly. "Oh. That was nothing, really. Forget about it."
Fran poked his head out from between my legs. "What's this about witchcraft?"
Rhonda shrugged. "Hailey and I just performed some basic spells to get rid of your little wife's stalker."
"Could you please not—nevermind that; what are you even talking about?" Fran's voice was dripping with bewilderment.
The older woman raised a brow at him. "Honey, we're… we're witches. You did know that, right?"
Silence.
"Right?" Rhonda repeated, once again not receiving a response.
"I don't think he did," I supplied helpfully.
"You're kidding me." Rhonda stared at the blonde with her mouth agape. "How could you not have known? You lived with us for almost two years!"
He still gave no answer.
"Honey, you saw everything! You saw my herbs…" Her voice faltered in disbelief. "And the ceremonial daggers… The charms around the doors!"
He shrugged.
"You played with Mae-Lynn's casting crystals for a whole afternoon? You were in the room when Paloma made her sacrifice for Loki's favor? You literally watched all six of us at our bonfire dance during the blood moon!"
"I thought that was just another crunchy mom thing."
"Crunchy mom thing?" she echoed, her chest rising at the affront. Jabbing a finger at my forehead, she added, "And how would you have accounted for that?"
"That little drawing? I thought Eva had gotten herself tattooed." Frankie glanced between Rhonda and me in confusion.
"It's a magic symbol, for crying out loud; it's a protection against forces messing with her perception!" the waitress explained in audible exasperation. "And who would get their forehead inked?"
"Eva might. You gotta admit she has peculiar fashion tastes," Frankie argued.
I couldn't help but chime in. "Why do people keep saying that?"
Rhonda threw her hands up in defeat.
I cleared my throat. "You're saying that all the ladies working here have supernatural abilities?"
"Like I just told you." She rubbed her temples with both hands. "And I'm sorry you fainted. It had to do with Hailey—her magic is great for defending against dark influences. The spell she cast was to scare off your attacker, but it seems to have affected you, too."
"I don't consider myself a dark influence."
"Well, you are an interdimensional being," Rhonda replied. "Not normally mankind's best friend. But I know you're a good kid. Don't worry."
"Thank you very much for helping me," I said softly, staring at my hands as I folded them in my lap. "I apologize for the inconvenience."
"It's cool."
"So, the six of you all together are probably really powerful?" I inquired, an idea faintly taking shape in my mind.
"You could say that," Rhonda answered, not without a hint of pride.
"Is there any way I could get your input on a problem I've been having?"
"I suppose," she said slowly. "We'll hear you out, sure, but that's about all the promises I'll make for now, okay?"
"Yes, perfect."
"Alright. I'll talk to the girls and we'll be in touch." She zipped up her jacket, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Goodnight, you two."
With that, she left us sitting in the empty diner. Frankie still looked rather puzzled. Shaking his head, he turned to give me a droll smile. "How embarrassing. I normally pride myself on being perceptive. People are strange though, aren't they?" He sat down beside me on the bench, shuffling closer. "You ran into trouble again? With the cultist?"
I didn't really want to relay the entirety of what I'd learned from Jewel to him—somehow, I didn't think Frankie would be opposed to someone bringing by the end of the world. It would be best to keep that particular piece of information stored away for a while longer. Instead, I asked a completely different, if not wholly unrelated question. "The other day, you told me about feeling destructive and grimy. Where is that coming from?"
"Sunshine, I know I've danced around this for long enough. I can tell you, but you look miserable right now. I'd much rather have you in better spirits first." He placed a tentative hand on my back. "Anything I can do to cheer you up?"
I started chewing on my lower lip, not meeting his gaze.
"You're thinking about kissing me again, aren't you?" Frankie asked, having apparently learned how to read minds.
"We don't have to. I do not care."
"That nearly crossed the line between accommodating and insulting. Look, I want to. You just caught me off guard the last time." He pulled a wet string from his chewing gum. I waited in silence for him to continue. "I'm honestly surprised you're still up to it. I know I'm a piece of shit."
"You're not—"
"I am. And what's more, you should know that kissing is as far as things are gonna get between us. I don't do the sex-thing. That's nothing to do with how much I like you or anything. I just don't do that." He had removed his gum from his mouth completely, instead fumbling around with it like play doh. "If that cancels out the whole liking-me-extravaganza, then it's best we cleared that up beforehand." He turned to face me. "What's that look for?"
I was beaming at him with more conviction that I had found the most perfect being than ever. "This works out beautifully," I told him.
"Are you sure? You're not just saying this?"
"If you don't take my word for it, I wouldn't know how else to prove it."
"I believe you! I'm glad, I really am, I'm just kinda stunned." He straightened up. "I want to kiss you even more now."
A quiet squeak came from somewhere in my throat. "I can hear my pulse," I remarked.
"Yeah, me too." He grinned, propping his chin in his palm. "Excited?"
"You know that." Feeling I had to share more, I added, "This is the first time for me. That doesn't change anything, does it?"
Fran's brows rose a great deal. "Huh."
"Is that bad?"
"No! But seriously, is this gonna be your first kiss?" He gestured at our surroundings. "A dingy little diner after hours? Not very romantic, is it?"
"That's fine," I assured him.
"Nope. We can do better." He got off the bench, drawing himself up to his full height (which wasn't very impressive either). "It doesn't have to be a big deal, but it should be nice. You're getting a good first kiss. I'll think of something. Don't worry, I won't go over the top."
I couldn't help but smile at that. Letting him pull me to my feet, I briefly went in for a hug. I nearly jumped when he turned his head and pressed his lips to my cheek. "That doesn't count." He held onto my hand as he let go. "So… how would you feel about hypothetically burning a building together?"
X
1
2: deadbeat roommate
3: creepy crush
4: relocation
5: beach concert
6: First date
7: Temp work
8: roommate talk
9: a dismal worldview
10: warehouse
11: staircase
12: explanation
13: hurt
14: hospital
15: ocean
16: diner
17: government work
18: something in the caves
19: shopping cart
20: olms and Jewels
21: long hair
22: recruitment

Question: If April flowers bring May showers, what do May flowers bring?
Answer: Puritans and misery.
Part 1 - May Flower Moon
I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure this is a ghost story. It all started in early May under the, "Flower Moon".
In the still of the night, I awoke from a deep sleep to witness a moonlight so spectacular it hurt my eyes.
Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
Willow weep for me
Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me
-Ann Ronell as sung by Billie Holiday
The birds were chirping loudly. I shuffled to the window. I looked up wide-eyed at the sky. There was the moon; big, round and golden like it didn't mind a big electricity bill. As I used the bathroom, I remember thinking that I didn't ever remember a full moon so bright it could light up my apartment.
I washed my hands then splashed warm water on my face. I cracked my neck. I dried my hands and face with a towel. I remember thinking if I didn't get back to sleep the day was going to suck.
Shuffling back into my bedroom I thought to look for my ski hat. I figured I could pull it over my eyes and escape the light under the blanket. Flower Moon was beautiful but so too is sleep. If I could just hide under the blanket perhaps it wasn't too late for sleep to creep up on me.
I have been renting the same sunny shoebox in old Brooklyn for more than 20 years. It's a corner apartment on the second floor of a 19th century walkup. Across the street, diagonally resides a community garden fronted by a very tall and expansive weeping willow tree that won't let me move away. I didn't know it's age until recently. But it's younger than me. Most things are these days.
I shuffled to the corner window to squeeze the blinds tight and that's when I felt grateful, grateful I had decided to use the bathroom first.
There, at the base of the hundred-foot-tall willow, behind the wrought iron fence, illuminated beneath the moon's glow, I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder. Standing beneath the moonlight, I saw, clear as day, a little boy in footed pajamas with a trap door. The little boy was holding a blue stuffed Grover Muppet in one hand and crying.
Trying to get a good look at the boy was like trying to look at something from behind a campfire. There was a shimmering distortion. What I could clearly see was that he was pointing down at the ground in front of his feet with the non-Grover hand. Suddenly, the little boy spun his head up and around looking directly at me. Eye contact occurred and then too, something I can't explain.
First, a truck transporting fuel broke loudly for the red light at the corner. Through the open windows I smelled what seemed like diesel. I grew light-headed. The room spun around. I remember thinking this feeling smelled both nauseating as well as timeless.
I reached down to try and pick up the floor and that's when it hit me in the face. A sharp pain across my cheek like I had been slapped in a 3 Stooges short. I felt icy fingers grab the hair I had not had in over 30 years and jerk my head back. I smelled more diesel. I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from losing my balance.
Holding on to the desk, I noticed my mind's eye was playing the little boy's face like a movie. The camera panned in. His little boy face filled my consciousness like I was watching from the front row. He was about four or five years old with long dirty blonde hair. His face looked familiar from a dream.
Then, another slapping pain turned my last good cheek. Losing my balance, I fell ass first to the floor.
Out the window, from on my ass, I watched the traffic light turn green. I heard the truck lurch into gear, rev it's engine then drive away. As it rumbled off into the distance my equilibrium returned.
Muttering my life sucked I gently shook my head and felt for damage. Just my non-existent pride. I got myself vertical, yet once again; feeling a distinct twinge of anxiety.
I looked out the window but the little boy was gone. An FDNY ambulance took his place, it's siren jarring me back to reality. I closed the blinds and got under the blanket. I never did really get back to sleep that night. Or ever since.
Part II - Unhappily Ever Since
Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me... -Billie I keep seeing a little boy under the tree... - me ...
The first thing I want to say is that I keep waking up for decades at exactly 3:33 am.
It's the exact time my decrepit birth certificate claims I was introduced to this world. Can't say why, but ever since digital clocks became a thing, I'm up more often than not to witness 3:33 am transpire. Never remember it happening before digital.
One of my friends recently told me it was an angel number. I don't know anything about angels. Never met one. But I for sure have met some demons in my day. In fact. you might say I was born of demon mother, and I might not be offended. Back to my birth certificate. I was born and yes, still live in Brooklyn, New York. There were gaps but it's my home.
I moved to this particular apartment building a few months after 9/11. I had moved in with a woman at the tail end of doing a romantic nickel, but that fell apart like Madoff, Abramoff or Fuckoff, and she married another dude a year later. So, there in 2002, I and my faithful golden retriever, Spenser, found ourselves, for the very first time, on our own. And, we liked it.
Like I mentioned, Spenser and I lived diagonal to a community garden that fronts a big and beautiful weeping willow tree. I felt an immediate kinship as my favorite book as a child had been, "The Giving Tree" and that's what she reminded me of; only more beautiful.
There will be more about the tree. Anyway, the tree and I dwell in an old part of south Brooklyn called Park Slope, infamous for being the stomping grounds of a young Al Capone, and, believe it or not, young me.
That was a long time ago. Things have changed a lot since Al and I, were separately roaming the streets of Park Slope, looking for adventure and whatever came our way. I came up in the day when if you cried your mother would give you something to cry about. And, not going to lie, I cried a lot. I don't remember my dad that much.
I remember he was a hippie. I remember he had a big beard and moustache and long hair. I remember his denim jacket was always cold, smelling like weed and cigarettes. I remember he gave me, "The Giving Tree" and taught me how to read it. And then, I remember he was; gone. Just. Gone.
I also remember my mother. I remember her never talking much. I remember her just smelling like hair spray, cigarettes and instant coffee with sour milk. I never was able to drink milk, not even as a child, and to this very day just the sight of a milk carton turns my stomach to acid.
I lived alone with the old lady about half a mile from where I live now. Yeah, in over thirty years I made it a whole thirteen blocks. Like I said, my pride was non-existent these days unless I was sitting on it. Another, weird thing besides waking up at 3:33 am is I have a lot of memory lapses. It has been getting worse the last few years. Especially, since old Spenser had a seizure in my arms back on the 9/11 of '09. He was fifteen and my best friend. I'd always loved dogs. But after losing Spenser, I couldn't quite remember things right all the time.
Sometimes, it was little things. Like did I turn off the stove or lock the front door. Other times, it was deep things, like did the telephone repair man try to do something to me when I was five and left home alone. Like did I pull a kitchen knife on him before he scampered out like a thief in the night; scared he'd be caught by my screams for Batman? Did I remember my mother having strange guests over late at night? Did I remember being locked in my room? I just couldn't remember anymore.
I had taken to obsessively keeping lists. But you can't put ghost-busting on a list, can you? And that was my real problem. Ever since, the May Flower Moon the haunting just kept rinsing and repeating. Eat edibles, Nyquil, and Advil PM and still wake up at 3:33am. Smell diesel. Wave of nausea. Little boy in garden. Little boy crying. Little boy pointing at something. Little boy looking up at me. Little boy. Little boy. Little boy.
By last Friday, I was a mess.
My work is suffering. I am too embarrassed to tell my aunt or besties I see a little boy. They already think I am weird enough and last thing I need is a wellness check.
To remain scientific, I have continued my daytime visits to the garden whenever it is open. Everything seems so lovely in the day. I even brought the new woman I am seeing. She fell in love with the tree at first sight. The flowers are gorgeous. And the roses; so mesmerizing. Even the fish in the koi pond are happy.
But at night. Something isn't right.
...Weeping willow tree Weeping sympathy Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me Listen to me plead Hear me willow and weep for me...
My new friend at work I mentioned, who told me about angel numbers, asked me recently if something was bothering me. She told me when we met, she is in the midst of a spiritual awakening.
Part of it includes awakening every morning to read the Tarot cards and commune with who, or what, she calls, "spirit".
I cracked and told her about the little boy under the tree. She didn't bat an eye. She told me spirit wants something from me. I didn't know what to say to that so I just left it alone. I guess I'm afraid what if she's right. And what if I don't like what, "spirit" wants?
Last night was Saturday. I had a dream.
That night I dreamed about a collie I had when I was a very young boy right after my dad split. Her name was Pearl. I had found her on the street on my block and for some inexplicable reason had been allowed to keep her.
Not long after, one hot summer day in Prospect Park, when my mother was going to give me something to cry about, Pearl suddenly ran down the hill she was frolicking on, making a wide sweeping arc that screamed, "ride or die, full throttle, and damn the fucking torpedoes," it's trajectory directly between my mother's legs. Fur overcame flesh just in the nick before I was given something to cry about.
Instead, I laughed.
I laughed so fucking hysterically at the sight of her on the grass, on her ass; smug look gone with the wind; replaced by an expression seething red menace that would have been McCarthy's wet dream.
And, like the little boy at 3:33 am, Pearl's eyes met mine. She seemed to nod her collie head, as if she were acknowledging that, yes, she was the best dog and don't you forget it. I didn't cry much for a while after that till I came home from school and Pearl was gone. Just gone. To some farm I was told. Where she could be happier. So, I guess I did get something to cry about after all.
And then last night I had a dream.
Part III - It weeps for me?
I dreamed of Peter Pan and buried treasure. I dreamed of Stove Stop stuffing and commercials loud enough to drown out a breech birth. I dreamed of Spider-Man letting Uncle Ben's killer go free. I dreamed of being American. I dreamed of Watergate, the fall of the Berlin wall, 9/11 and watching people jump out windows to avoid burning to death out the window of my office.
I dreamed of Iraq and Afghanistan and George Floyd and Covid and never-ending cycles of boom and bust. I dreamed of a golden carrot on what started out as a stick but soon morphed into what I realized was a branch. A long flowing beautiful branch covered in red. A branch that hung low. It swayed along the ground, swayed above my head and there I was.
I was in the garden. Under the tree. I felt drops of warm dew caressing my face. I was about to reach up to caress the tree. My tree. I noticed I was wearing pajamas. Not the black satin jammies I had been wearing for decades but old footie pajamas. They were Star Trek pajamas. With three golden rings on the cuffs and a trap door.
A drop of dew fell in my eye. I wiped it away and looked at my hand. It was red. Red with blood. My Mickey Mouse watch involuntarily color-coordinated with the blood. It appeared to be just after 3:30 am.
Suddenly, a dog appeared. It was Pearl. Then another, it was Spenser. They jammed their snouts into my flannel covered crotch. I pet them both and noticed my tears mixing with the dewy blood drops turning them a soft pink under the moonlight.
"Good boy. Good girl." I said.
"Hi," a voice I recognized but couldn't place said.
I looked around. And there, was, the little boy. And, in his hand was Grover.
"Hi," I heard myself say.
"Who's the dog?" he said.
"That's Pearl. And this is Spenser." I answered.
"I know Pearl, silly. She's my dog," then, "Hi, Spenser."
Spenser left my crotch for the little boy's. They went together like peanut butter and sandwiches.
"Where are your parents?" I heard myself ask.
"Dad left. Mom told me to stay here until she comes back."
"When was that?" I asked.
The little boy shrugged then, "Been a while I guess," and he started to cry. Spenser got agitated and started to whine. I approached. I went to put my hand on the boy's shoulder and he jumped.
"Hey, it's okay." I took my hand back.
He looked up at me. Then he said, "You want to see something?
I said, "Yes."
The little boy fished around in his pajamas and pulled out something, it looked like a piece of rolled up construction paper secured with a red ribbon that matched the bloody dew drops.
He un-scrolled it then solemnly showed it to me.
It appeared to be a child's treasure map. That ended in the garden. Only it wasn't a garden. It said, "JUNK YARD" and there was a big X next to the corner of the rectangle the words were written in. I looked down at him.
"There's no junk yard here, son," I said.
The little boy looked away from Spenser and up at me. Pearl ran to his side. I felt six eyes on me.
"That's what you think," he said
A moment later there was the loud cracking of fireworks being detonated. I awoke in my bed. Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
I ran to the window to look out. But, unlike every other time for the past month, the boy was not in residence. He was gone. Just. Gone.
Part IV - The is The End
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
...
This was fucking ridiculous. I am sane. I am not mad. I'd been reading, "The Giving Tree," too much. Spending too much time alone working from home. Maybe I just needed to get away. Take a trip somewhere.
I realized getting back to sleep was going to be impossible. So, I went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. No milk.
Back at my desk, my "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." glass mug of tea firmly in hand, I took a deep breath. There was no point in giving myself a heart attack. Maybe it was just anxiety. Maybe panic attacks. I had dated lots of neurotic women. That could be it. Maybe some Lexapro and I'd be good as new. I decided to check my email.
A woman I used to date from Queens and stayed friends with had sent me a link entitled, "Birth of a community garden." It was video to my garden. Before it was a garden. Over forty years ago. It was a decrepit vacant lot filled with dead cars and refuse and apparently had been a neighborhood drug bazaar. Like I said, things have changed a lot since Al and I were young as springtime.
By the time I moved back you would have never known what things had used to look like. Spray painted signs that read, "NO DRUGS SOLD HERE!" and the like. Just like the Batman, Dark Knight, the 80s were a time when Urban Renewal was striking back. And before you could say, "corruption at City Hall," there was fecund soil where once had stood God knows what.
It gave me hope that humanity wasn't so bad. Maybe I had just been going through a tough time. Maybe I should quit while I am ahead and get a good night's rest. So, I closed the blinds and went to bed.
Why I am never sleeping again
That night I dreamed I was part of the junk yard's saviors. Hauling out decades of festering trash and replacing it with good old Mother Earth. A whole community coming together to commune with nature. I felt myself smile.
All day we hoed the rows. The fecundity of the soil filling my nostrils. There was food and laughter and soon day turned to night. One by one all the gardeners left into the dusk. Soon I stood alone next to a young woman. She held a green army duffle bag. And two shovels.
"You look like a big, strong man. They're going to be planting a weeping willow tree here soon. But first, I wanted to leave the earth a special gift to grow up with the tree. This time I think we should give to the tree. Won't you help me?"
I felt a passing twinge of disgust. I rubbed my upper lip with the back of my hand and thought I smelled the faint smell of diesel. I heard myself say, "Hand me a shovel."
An hour later I had fulfilled the lady's request to deposit the duffel bag deep within the new garden's soil. She lit a cigarette I recognized. She blew some smoke in my face and it smelled like sour milk.
"Ever read a boy and his dog?" she asked.
I nodded.
"This is the opposite," she said. I smelled the diesel again and then remembered no more.
This morning I awoke feeling none too swell. I got my glasses on without dropping them for a change then sort of hobbled to the kitchen area to make some tea. I opened the blinds and there was my weeping willow tree. Swaying gently in the Sunday early June overcast chill.
Implacable. Inscrutable. True to it's nature. The day was gray as a widow's anniversary.
Well, there's always tea, I thought, ever the optimist. And then I dropped my, "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." mug on my foot, simultaneously battering and scalding it. I let out a yelp.
Then, mouth agape, I smelled the diesel waft in the window by the fire escape. The window, where, leaning against the fire escape's stairs I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder.
I spied two shovels and an empty duffle bag.
I wonder what spirit will have to say about that?
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
Willow Weep For Me?

This is part of my little series about the adventures of Vr'ocria and Human Aldrick. If you'd like to read previous parts, they're linked below, along with brief summaries in case you prefer to just jump right into the new part:
Part One: Alien learns what "sleep" is and how humans prefer to do it in a comfy bed with blankets and pillows. And they find it utterly adorable.
Vr'ocria and Human Aldrick are sent on a survey mission together. Things go south, Aldrick makes sure they're safe, and then Vr'ocria learns what human sleep is and how vulnerable humans are when they sleep. Vr'ocria's people don't sleep, but enter stasis, a form of rest in which they typically stand, and they are still slightly aware of their surroundings. Vr'ocria finds human sleep utterly adorable, and also decides she will protect Aldrick while he sleeps. And she also develops a massive crush on him. (Her scales turning purple is her version of blushing)
Part Two: An alien + human adventure with such shenanigans as poison drinking, befriending dangerous wildlife, and fighting a space pirate. Oh, and they have a huge crush on each other.
Part Three: When a cold-blooded alien has to cuddle a warm-blooded human for warmth
Part Four: A human leaves a hickey on his alien lover. Her nestmate doesn't understand what a hickey is, and thinks the human injured her
Vr'ocria and Human Aldrick end up assigned to be partners. Vr'ocria is a witness to both human shenanigans as well as human durability, but she also begins to learn about the limits of the human body--they are not invincible.
She and Aldrick begin to fall in love, and they finally confess their feelings for one another when Vr'ocria admits to accidentally forming a mate bond with him. Vr'ocria's nestmate, Galek, is not very happy about her being involved with a human, but begrudgingly respects her decision.
Part Five: Space pirates make the grave mistake of attacking a human's loved one. They very quickly learn what happens when a human is angry and full of adrenaline
Pirates come for Vr'ocria in revenge for her killing one of their own. Aldrick goes beast mode. 'Nuff said.
Now for the new story! If you're just here for the nightmare sequence, it's about two thirds down.
(Some of y'all are already picking up what I put down taps nose...)
"'Bumps and bruises' he says," Vr'ocria muttered. "Bumps and bruises!" She crossed her arms. "Bumps and bruises don't bleed, Aldrick."
They were back on the ship, in the med bay. Aldrick was lying on an examination table, naked except for a blanket pulled up to his hips. He was sedated, so he couldn't hear her anyway, but that didn't stop her from grouching.
As soon as they'd boarded the shop, Aldrick began fading fast. He was suddenly slumped and stumbling, eyes tight with pain, and they had to be beamed directly to the med bay. He'd been covered in so much pirate blood that the blood of his own injuries had gotten lost in the mess. Once the med team got to work cleaning him up, all of the cuts, claw marks, and stab wounds began appearing, and as soon as the orderlies let her, Vr'ocria was rushing back to his side. By now, most of his wounds had been closed up, but she still vividly remembered the bloody, black and blue skin that emerged when they peeled his shirt off.
Dr. Fen continued fussing over Aldrick. She was Lymeran, a species similar to humans, made distinctive by their flat noses and bone ridges that curved around the outer corner of their eyes. She swept her dark ponytail over her shoulder as she reached for a new tool. "He also has several hairline fractures in both arms and three cracked ribs," she reported briskly. "Honestly, these humans are going to be the death of me."
Vr'ocria's spine tightened with worry, her scales flushing red. "How could he go so long without collapsing?" She asked.
"Adrenaline," Dr. Fen explained. "It's a hormone that releases into a human's bloodstream during times of great stress. It makes them faster, stronger, more alert." She placed a small and round boneknit device on one of Aldrick's affected ribs. "But it also makes them immune to pain for a short time. That helps them keep going in a life or death situation, but pain exists for a reason. It alerts the body to injuries, it tells you when something is wrong and where. When you don't feel pain, you don't know when you're hurt, and you don't know when to stop if you're pushing yourself beyond your body's physical limits."
"Moons above," Vr'ocria murmured. She moved closer to the table, reaching out to stroke Aldrick's hair. Under sedation, his face was relaxed and free of lines, and she tried to take some comfort in that. "Will he be alright?"
"Oh, he'll be fine," Dr. Fen chuckled. "I'm good at my job, and humans are sturdy. He just needs to follow my orders for bed rest, so don't let him be an idiot and go running off."
That drew a smile from Vr'ocria.
As Dr. Fen continued bustling around Aldrick, she shot a sideways glance at Vr'ocria, a mischievous look in her eye. "So it's true that you guys are like…a thing? I noticed your scales have pink tips."
Vr'ocria blushed purple.
"Ha!" Dr. Fen smirked. "I knew it!"
"Shut up," Vr'ocria muttered.
"What? It's cute! And totally obvious. The whole ship knows at this point."
"The whole ship?"
Dr. Fen laughed. "Oh come on, it's not like you two are any good at hiding it. Anyone who knows anything about Ethyrian physiology knows what pink scales mean–full pink means you're experiencing strong feelings of love, right? And even when you're not particularly emotional, your neutral green with pink tips indicates you're within proximity of your mate. And the way he looks at you–"
Vr'ocria blushed harder and covered her face. "Oh planets, why are so many people invested in our relationship?"
Dr. Fen shrugged. "Well, historically, Ethyrians don't tend to mate outside of their species. It's not every day you see one mate another species, much less a human."
Vr'ocria couldn't help smiling. "Well, it's his fault for being so cute."
"He sure is," Dr. Fen winked.
"Hey," Vr'ocria jabbed a finger at her, "professionalism."
Dr. Fen raised her hands. "I'm very professional! I also have eyes and can acknowledge that you're a lucky girl, and I hope the two of you will be very happy together."
Vr'ocria kept stroking Aldrick's hair, her scales easing into a strong pink. "Me too."
—
By the next day, Dr. Fen had skillfully mended both skin and bone. She discharged Aldrick and let him return to his living quarters, with the caveat that he rest for at least a week.
He and Vr'ocria walked through the corridors arm in arm as she escorted him back to his quarters. They weren't even pretending anymore, and they drew plenty of stares and whispers as they passed by crew members milling about. There weren't many humans onboard to begin with, so Aldrick already stood out. Walking arm in arm with an Ethyrian must've looked even more bizarre.
Despite all the attention, Vr'ocria decided that she wouldn't be embarrassed anymore. She pulled Aldrick a little closer and held her head high as they passed a group of giggling ensigns. My human. My mate.
Aldrick's quarters, like hers, were small but comfortable. The door opened into the living space. Aldrick had decorated it with various Earth flowers and plants that sat in pots scattered about the room, some hanging from the ceiling. The lush greens, pinks, reds, purples, and yellows, made the place feel warm and inviting. The back wall was almost entirely windows with a plush couch pushed underneath them, so that one could recline and watch the stars fly by.
Vr'ocria ushered Aldrick straight into the bedroom, which was similar to the living area, just smaller and furnished with a bed, a nightstand, and a small armchair. "You're going to bed," she ordered.
"Aw, come on," he whined as she shoved him onto the mattress, bending down to pull his boots off.
"Doctor's orders." She put his boots aside and stood, placing her hands on his shoulders to push him down onto the pillow.
"I'm not tired!"
"Liar." She could see the bags under his eyes that she'd come to learn was a sign of exhaustion, and despite his protests, he didn't try to fight her off as she settled him in and pulled the blankets up to his chin.
He couldn't help chuckling. "I haven't been tucked into bed since I was a kid."
She sat on the edge of the bed with a smile. "Well, that's what I'm here for."
He rolled over onto his side and took her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles. She squeezed back, and then made to stand to turn the lights off.
"Wait."
She turned back. Aldrick had pushed himself back into a sitting position. "Something's been bothering me."
She frowned. "What is it?"
"How did the Norvidians know you were the one who killed that guy?"
She blinked. "What?"
Aldrick twisted the sheets in his hands. "How did they know it was you? They knew exactly who you were and where to find you. The only people who knew what happened on Theta-7 is our superiors and people in our department."
Vr'ocria sank back down onto the bed. "What are you getting at?" She thought she knew the answer, but she didn't want to say it out loud.
Aldrick met her eye. "What if someone sold you out?"
Her spine grew tight, yellow rippling across her scales. "...No," she whispered. "No, that can't…who would do that?"
He chewed his lip. "I don't know. I hope I'm wrong, I really do…but…" he blew out a frustrated sigh. "I could blame a leak for them knowing you were the one to kill the guy. Someone could've carelessly mentioned something somewhere, I don't know. But there's no way they would've known exactly where to find you unless they were told. That was a brand new mission, no one knew where we were except for Command."
Vr'ocria felt sick. She didn't want to think he was right…but it made too much sense. "What do we do?"
"I don't know," he said with a pained look. "There's no telling who it could be, and if it's one of our superiors, we'd only tip them off if we approached them with this."
It was a conundrum Vr'ocria could hardly believe was real. Sure, she and Aldrick had some basic combat training, but soldiers they were not. They were survey agents, their job was to explore and study, not fight. And she certainly wasn't supposed be the subject of conspiracies and espionage or whatever was happening here.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Let's worry about this later. You need to get some rest."
Aldrick reluctantly laid back down, but blushed when she bent down to press a kiss to his cheek. It was the first time she'd kissed him since Gamma-5. "I could get used to that," he murmured as he snuggled into the pillow.
"You should," Vr'ocria giggled as she rose to her feet. "I'm not going to stop anytime soon." She switched the lights off, then returned to settle into the chair next to the bed, pulling her file pad out of her pocket. The screen's soft glow was the only light in the room. "Now, go to sleep."
"Yes ma'am."
—
Vr'ocria worked quietly on her file pad for the next few hours. Data entry was tedious, but somehow, she found a comfort in doing it while listening to Aldrick's slow, deep breaths.
So she was quick to notice when his breathing pattern changed.
Aldrick groaned and shifted in his sleep, rolling over onto his back. His breath began to quicken, and Vr'ocria lowered her pad to look over at him. By the low light of the pad's screen, she could only see the silhouette of his chest rising and falling, faster and faster.
"Aldrick?" She whispered.
"Nuuh," he moaned, beginning to thrash.
Alarmed, Vr'ocria stood and flicked his nightstand lamp on, dropping the pad on the table. "Aldrick," she said a bit louder.
His eyes were still squeezed shut. He was tossing and turning now, gasping through parted lips. He cried out again, and Vr'ocria felt her blood rushing fast and hard through her veins, her scales rippling between red and yellow. What was going on? Was he still asleep? She'd never seen him like this before, and it frightened her.
Tears were beginning to seep out from under his tightly shut eyelids. "No…no…" His voice rose in volume as he clutched and clawed at the sheets. "Vr'ocria!"
Whatever held Vr'ocria frozen to the spot snapped the second she heard him scream her name like that. She bent forward and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "Aldrick!" She cried desperately. "Wake up!"
"VR'OCRIA!"
"ALDRICK!"
With a strangled cry, his eyes snapped open. His pupils were blown wide and the whites were bloodshot as he stared at her in shock, still gasping for breath, his hands grasping her arms in an iron grip.
She took his face in her hands. "What's wrong? What's going on?"
He only continued to stare at her, the fog slowly clearing from his eyes.
"Say something!" Vr'ocria demanded, resisting the urge to shake him again. "You're scaring me, what's the matter? Does something hurt?"
Aldrick surged up, throwing his arms around her neck and pulling her down to him. She fell forward with an "oof" as her weight landed on top of him. "Hey," she protested with the side of her face pressed into the pillow, "I can't be laying on you, your ribs–"
"You're alive," he rasped into her ear.
She stopped struggling to get up. "What?"
He was shaking, and it took her a moment to realize he was crying. "You were dead, they killed you–I watched them–God, I watched you die–you weren't moving, your eyes–"
He was babbling almost incoherently, and Vr'ocria was terrified.
She finally managed to push herself off of him, and tugged him up into a sitting position. She pulled him forward into a hug, taking care not to squeeze his ribs. "Calm down," she tried to soothe as he clutched her tight, still shaking. "Just breathe." She didn't know if she was even helping, but she didn't know what else to do.
But it seemed to work. After a few minutes, Aldrick managed to slow his breathing down to a more reasonable pace, and she felt his muscles sag in her arms as the tension drained away.
"I'm sorry," he finally croaked. He pulled away and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" he struggled to find words. "I'm sorry for making a scene," he finished at last.
Vr'ocria placed one hand on his hip and the other on his knee. "What happened?"
Aldrick wrapped his arms around his middle. "I had a nightmare."
She furrowed her brow. "A night…mare?"
"A nightmare is a bad dream," he explained.
"...I don't understand."
"Sorry, I guess you wouldn't, since you don't sleep…uh…fuck, how do I explain this…" he ran a hand through his tangled hair. "When humans are asleep, even though we're unconscious, our subconscious brain is still pretty active. One thing it does is create dreams. During dreams you can see, hear, feel, smell and taste things that aren't there. Sometimes dreams are pure nonsense, just a mess of sounds and images. Sometimes you might have good dreams–maybe you fly, or go on crazy adventures. But sometimes, you have bad dreams. We call them nightmares."
Nightmare. What an awful word. It sent shivers over Vr'ocria's scales. "So just now, you…"
"I had a bad dream. A very, very bad dream." He dug his fingers into his temples. "When you're dreaming, in most cases, you don't know that you're dreaming. It feels completely real. And bad dreams are usually brought on by stress or fears you have. And my fear–" he broke off.
She squeezed his knee. "It's me dying?" She supplied quietly.
He shut his eyes as if he was in pain. "When I saw what those fucking pirates did to you–I've never felt so much fear in my life. I was so scared they would kill you before I got there, or that I would fail to save you, or–" he covered his face with his hands. "And I dreamed that I did fail. I watched him stab you. I watched you bleed. I held you and you were–your eyes were so blank–"
Vr'ocria didn't want to hear anymore. She yanked him forward, hugging as tight as she dared. "It wasn't real," she whispered. "I'm here. I'm right here."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." His arms still trembled and his voice was thick against her neck.
"Stop apologizing," she said firmly. "You have nothing to apologize for. None of it is your fault, not the attack, not the dream, none of it."
She felt him take a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. "Thank you, my love."
Her spine tingled.
"Come on, lay back down. I'll lay with you." She pulled back the covers and crawled underneath next to him. They settled down into a familiar position–him clutching her to his chest, her arms around his waist, their legs tangled together. His heart was still pounding, but she listened as it gradually quieted to a gentler pace. Soon enough, Aldrick was asleep. This time, he slept peacefully through the night.
Nightmares can fuck up your whole night, man. I've had nightmares that were so vivid they stuck with me for days afterwards. Shit sucks, and I wish I had someone to cuddle with afterwards lolol
Thank you for reading! Until next time ;)

Toxic Rats: Geoff, Scott, Leshawna, Sammy, Trent
Mutant Maggots: Anne Maria, Katie, Molly, Scarlett, Dave, DJ
Episode 04: Finders Creepers
"Last time, on Total Drama Revenge of the Island!" Chris opened over a stock shot of the camp, the recap montage starting off with a clip of the contestants racing off towards the side of Mt. Looming Tragedy. "Twelve bumbling buffoons battled it out in a brutal buffet of bombastica," Chef was shown gleefully dropping ice blocks on the climbing campers, catching Geoff and Scott but narrowly missing Molly and almost catching Anne Maria.
"Why all the 'B' words?" B was shown demonstrating his couch invention created from junk, "Because, B proved he was a brave and brilliant improviser who scored big time for his team!" B used an ice pick to poke holes onto a shard of ice and placed it on top of the castle, directing the sun beam towards the Maggots' base and melting it effectively. "Until his bitter teammate Scott allowed brainy Molly to botch it on purpose and B got the boot," Molly threw a snowball onto the shard, melting the castle and B was shown being flung into the night.
"And now," Chris said, popping up in front of a shot of the full moon in a cloudy sky with a lit candle in his hand, marking the end of the recap montage, "tonight's challenge is about fear." He made a devilish look. "And everyone knows fear is a dish best served, in the dark!" he said in an exaggeratedly spooky manner, an eerie sound playing as he laughed evilly. "Huh?" he stopped suddenly, the camera pulling back to reveal Chef standing next to him...dressed like a showgirl with lots of peacock feathers. "Chef!" the host said in annoyance.
"Wardrobe was all out of vampire costumes," Chef explained as the series's capstone then began to play.
"It's all scary!" Chris said, walking off to the left. "Other than that," he scowled and gestured back toward his off-screen assistant. "Right here! Right now!" he resumed his usual demeanor. "On Total! Drama! Revenge, of the Island!" He adopted his spooky tone as he finished the title, and ended with another evil laugh.
XXXXX
Frogs and crickets chirped and croaked, joined by an owl's hoots as the episode opened on a shot of the full moon. The camera panned down to the cabins as the sound of snoring was added to the nighttime mix, and the scene cut inside to the girls' side of the Maggots' cabin where Anne Maria and Katie were sleeping peacefully in the bunk they shared. Dave and DJ were also shown sound asleep on the boys' side, and the scene cut to the Rat boys to show Geoff also sound asleep.
The camera cut next to show Sammy waking up with a yawn. She stretched her arms out for a few good seconds and fell right back to sleep...until the sudden shrill wail of a blow horn pierced the air.
"RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" Chris hollered from off-screen as the scene cut back outside, the blowhorn continuing even over the panicked shouts of the campers.
The camera briefly cut to a close-up of the blowhorn still blowing, then over to the Maggots' cabin as they ran outside fully dressed – first Katie screaming "What's happening?!"; then DJ just screaming; then Scarlett yelling out "This is unethical!"; then Anne Maria just hollering; and then finally Dave coming out, calling out "I'm wide awake!"
The Rats were shown next, Scott grunting "Me first!" as he shoved Geoff down the stairs and slid down the railing; Leshawna quickly running after him; Sammy screaming at the top of her lungs; and Trent coming out last at around the same time while screaming.
They assembled nervously in the common area between cabins, where Chris – wearing a pair of heavy earmuffs – finally eased up on the blowhorn. "Glad you all could make it," he grinned as he took off his headgear.
Molly soon arrived later. "Is there an attack or what?" she asked her teammates.
Katie shot her a quick glare. "Of course not, but why would you care about anything but yourself?"
Confessional: Molly
"Olay, yes," Molly moaned. "I left my teammates behind, but that was because I wanted to win the challenge first. I was always taught to focus on one thing before moving on to the next, and that's what I did." She grew concerned. "I don't see any problems with that."
Confessional Ends
"I hope you're all ready," Chris continued, "'cause it's challenge time!" He stepped to the side as Chef rolled up a large widescreen television on a wheeled cart. It was currently displaying an aerial map of the island with several additional colored icons – six bright green skulls scattered around the island; three yellowish envelopes over the campfire pit, the western edge of the campgrounds, and deeper into the forest; and a large purple spider in the middle of it all.
"We're gonna do a challenge?" Anne Maria wondered. "In the middle of the woods? At night?"
Confessional: Anne Maria
"Doesn't Chris know that we need our hours of sleep?" Anne Maria criticized. "I haven't even done my hair."
Confessional Ends
"Your challenge," Chris continued as though there'd been no interruption, "a scavenger hunt for three creepy souvenirs. Your locations? A haunted forest," he walked across to the other side of the television, "a scaaary pet cemetery, and an extra spooktastic cave. First team to each location gets a special clue," he said, the camera zooming in as he pointed towards the westernmost letter icon on the screen. "But watch out for booby traps," he added jovially as he moved his finger to one of the skulls, "I really went to town with them, heheh." The campers were shown watching warily.
"So move fast," the host added, "and stick together. You'll be penalized for each player you lose!"
"Umm, what's with the giant spider?" Sammy asked.
"Oh yeah," Chris answered as the shot zoomed in on the icon in question, "there's some kinda gigantic mutated spider sorta running around loose on the island."
The cast immediately started to voice their fears and protests.
"A huge, humongous spider is on the loose?!" DJ hugged Katie out of fear.
"I guess so," Katie said frightfully, but was secretly enjoying DJ hugging her.
The shot zoomed in on Dave in particular as he looked around, moaning "Oh no..." in annoyance.
Confessional: Dave
"Ever since I was a kid, I've never been a huge fan of spiders," Dave admitted. "They leave messy webs everywhere they go, and it takes me a long time to clean them up in places like my uncle's attic or my aunt's basement." A spider soon crawled down on a string. "This is gonna be unpopular, but I'm not a huge fan of Spider-Man because of my dislike of spiders." The spider hissed after hearing the criticism, making Dave flinch.
Confessional: Leshawna
"I may seem fearless on the outside, but spiders are one of the few things I'm terrified of," Leshawna said nervously. "Anything with eight legs is frightening enough."
Confessional Ends
"And since I want to keep things fair for both teams," Chris continued, "I decided to bring back an eliminated contestant for the Rats."
"It's so good to be back here!" the familiar voice of Sierra was heard, becoming more recognizable when she ran next to Chris.
"Sierra! I haven't introduced you yet!" Chris snapped at her.
"If I waited any longer, the episode would've been past the usual 22-minute runtime," Sierra explained. "I'll just go join the Toxic Rats and save you the trouble of doing so since I've rejoined."
Chris watched the fangirl run up to the contestants in annoyance. "Long story short, Sierra is the returnee." Chris regained his smile, and the dramatic and almost heroic tune started playing again. "There's nothing to fear but mortal terror itself! Talk soon," he added impishly, sounding his blowhorn once again.
The twelve campers ran off towards the woods.
\
The footage flashed ahead to another shot of the full moon over the forested hills of Wawanakwa, an owl hooting as the scene cut down to ground level. The logo of the Toxic Rats appeared in the corner of the screen just before the team itself did, running up and stopping in front of a tree with a loudspeaker set up in its branches.
"We're in first place! Sweet!" Geoff cheered just before the loudspeaker whined into activity.
"Welcome to the Haunted Forest!" Chris announced over it, the shot panning downward to show the six Rats gathering around a small crack in the ground. "Your clue can be found at the base of this tree!" Sierra reached into the hole...and screamed in pain as something metallic snapped inside the hole.
"Inside a bear trap," Chris finished his announcement with a laugh.
Sierra withdrew her hand from the hole, the trap clamped down firmly on her arm – though she was at least clutching a note in her hand. "Here! Read the clue," she said, passing it to a mildly shocked Sammy. Just as she was about to read it, the sound of approaching footsteps distracted her and her teammates.
"Bad news guys," Anne Maria commented from the six Maggots. "They have the clue."
"Even with a team advantage they still managed to beat us," Katie reminded them.
"We can let the opposing team have their clue," Scarlett said, looking back towards her teammates. "I have another plan," she said, running ahead with her teammates in tow.
\
The shot cut to the Maggots as they stopped at a clearing further along the trail. "So what's the plan?" Katie asked the girl in front.
"Find a place to hide so we can follow the Rats and their clue to our first souvenir," Scarlett answered. "Into that bush!"
The Maggots dived and painfully tried to hide in a thorn bush.
"Be quiet," Dave hissed, "They're coming."
"Inside a knot is a nest," Sammy read as the scene cut to the Rats. "Your souvenir lives with a pest. Find Polaris to travel northwest? Polaris is the North Star."
"The North Star is right there, so this way's northwest! There's a path!" Trent declared. He ran off, the rest of his teammates following suit.
"Now we follow!" Scarlett declared as the rest of her teammates came out of the bush.
\
The Rats' logo reappeared as the footage skipped ahead again to them running along through the woods.
"Inside a knot is a nest," Geoff muttered to himself as the shot zoomed in on him. "Hey Sammy, what was the rest of that poem again?" he called back without taking his eyes off the path ahead.
When he didn't get an answer he immediately skidded to a stop. "Sammy?!" he yelled in rising panic, and looked back to see nobody behind him.
The shot cut back to show that the rest of the Rats had stopped in their tracks. "What? Did we lose the mouse?" Scott asked.
Geoff gulped. "We get a penalty for each player we lose, right?" he asked nervously.
"And there's a spider crawling around, right?!" Leshawna said in panic. The shot cut outward as he did so, showing a large purple spider crawling down through the shadows of the forest trees.
"We're looking for a knot with a nest, right?" Scott looked off to the right; the camera quick-panned over to a large tree with a noticeable hollow knot in the trunk with the hints of a nest inside; a few green and red marks had been spray-painted on the bark under it.
"There it is!" Leshawna said, immediately rushing towards it.
"But what about Sammy?" Trent asked his team.
"We'll look for her after we get the souvenir," Sierra assured him.
Leshawna started climbing up the trunk as the rest of her team ran up to join her, and soon began to root through the tree hollow with one arm.
Suddenly, a large eye opened up inside the hollow and stared directly at Leshawna. She screamed, and several squid-like tentacles reached out of the tree's other hollows. One quickly grabbed her around the neck and held her up, while another gave her a few wet slaps then poked her in the eye.
"My eye!" Leshawna yelped in pain and terror. In response the tentacle tightened its grip, and Leshawna began to choke.
"What do we do!?" Sierra yelled in panic.
Geoff looked around, then bent down and picked up a handful of small rocks. "We can throw these stones at the octo guy!"
"Good idea!" Scott said as he and his team picked up rocks of their own and began throwing them at the creature, but they seemed to be hitting Leshawna more than the mutant squid-tree monster. Eventually, the thing just raised its captive up even higher, then slammed her down onto the ground and hissed at the others.
"RUN!" Geoff shouted, turning to flee as a tentacle shot towards them, forcing them to scatter.
Unfortunately, Trent was unable to get away in time and was lifted up by the leg. Trent cried in pain as the mutant began to punch him in the stomach with a curled-up tentacle.
The sounds of pain and wet punches caused Leshawna to get frustrated. "No way am I gonna get pushed around or let a squid attack my teammates!" she declared, getting back on her feet and climbing up the tree-squid's trunk while it was distracted. "Quit buggin' us!" she cried as she punched the mutant in the eye.
The beast bellowed in pain, dropping Trent and retracting into its tree. As soon as he got back up, a strand of spider's webbing shot down from above, sticking on to his head and pulling him away from the floor.
Leshawna reached into the knot once again, quickly and triumphantly pulling out a brass key. "And that's how I roll!" she called down to her teammates.
She dropped down to the forest floor, and landed in front of Geoff, who grinned when he saw it. "We got the key, Trent." Geoff received no response as Scott rejoined.
"Trent?!" Leshawna yelled out in concern. "Where are you?!"
As she panicked, the shot changed to a perspective further away, and the footage switched to an infrared shot of the four Rats.
"Guess he's gone," Sierra sighed sadly. "On the plus side, we found the key."
"We lost two players!" Leshawna said. "Shouldn't we go and look for them?"
"Knowing Chris, he probably has them trapped someplace else, so I'm not too worried right now," Scott brushed it off.
"You've got a point there," Geoff agreed.
Just then, the six Maggots arrived on the scene.
Scott was the first to notice them. "No luck here," he quickly said with faux disappointment, "Do you want to see if Sammy and Trent saw anything better over there?" he looked back and asked Sierra, Leshawna, and Geoff.
"Absolutely. It's not just the three of us," Sierra caught on before they turned and ran off.
"I see something!" Katie pointed off to the camera's right – the direction of the squid-tree. "Team colors!" The camera briefly cut over to the knot in question, with a focus on the marks below it in the two teams' colors.
"Excellent eye, Katie," Scarlett complimented while DJ ran to the tree.
"I'm not just a phone addict, y'know," Katie laughed a bit.
"I got the key, everyone," the camera cut to DJ who was in the tree's hollow and holding out a key. He threw the key in front of Dave and Molly.
"Way to go, DJ!" Molly said.
"Now you want to support us," Dave snarked at her. "Where was that when I was frozen?"
"Are you still mad about that?" Molly groaned.
"Of course we are," Katie snorted.
"You don't just leave your teammates behind," Dave lectured.
"Whatever happened happened," Anne Maria got in between them. "Let's focus more on the challenge and less on squabbling right now."
Confessional: Anne Maria
"I'm here to start no fights," Anne Maria confessed. "What Molly did was messed up, but they can scold her after the challenge."
Confessional: Molly
"Thank you, Anne Maria," Molly let out a sigh of relief. "Finally, someone who won't ride on me for my choices!"
Confessionals End
"You're right, Anne Maria," Dave sighed. "We shouldn't waste anymore time fighting."
As Dave bent down to pick up the key, however, a line of spider silk shot down from the treetops, wrapped around Molly, and pulled her up out of sight.
DJ regrouped with his team. "They said they saw something far away, so maybe-" he paused and looked behind his teammates. "Wait, where's Molly?"
The other four looked behind them and gasped. "Oh no, Molly's got taken by the spider!" Dave cried out.
"What do we do now?" Anne Maria griped.
Scarlett sighed. "Not to sound apathetic, but I think we're gonna have to continue on without her."
"Are you sure about that?" Katie questioned.
"I'm sure we can catch up to wherever she's being taken to," Scarlett waved off her concern.
"Well, I hope so," Katie said as she and the team exchanged nervous looks.
Confessional: Dave
"I don't see Molly in the best light right now, but that doesn't mean that I want her to be taken away," Dave began to shudder. "Especially by a spider."
Confessional Ends
"Why are we running so slow when we're in a challenge?" Geoff said as the scene moved back to him, Sierra, Scott, and Leshawna running through the forest. "We won't beat the other team at this rate."
"Relax, I know what I'm doing," Scott conversed with him.
Confessional: Scott
Scott was whittling another piece of wood with his shark tooth. "I'm heading us back into last place where we belong. Another elimination ceremony for the Rats and it's bye-bye Geoff! Or Sierra. I can't decide."
Confessional Ends
"C'mon, let's rock this! With years of exercise and partying, I've got energy to burn!" Geoff said, snatching the key from Leshawna and jogging ahead. The three followed him, but the camera kept its focus on Geoff as he passed a tree stump, then a rock; then stepped on a mysterious clump of dirt… which exploded and sent him flying.
Leshawna, Sierra, and Scott stopped immediately, the shot showing Sierra and Leshawna being shocked and Scott showing delight as Geoff got launched from one land mine to the next off-screen.
During this, however, a line of spider webbing was shot onto Sierra's leg. It quickly wrapped around it and tugged Sierra away from her team.
The camera finally cut back to Geoff, singed and groaning on the ground in an awkward but still holding the Rats' key. The Maggots approached him moments later. "Sorry that had to happen, doll!" Anne Maria comforted as she ran past Geoff.
Scott and Leshawna came to Geoff's need. "You gonna be alright?" Leshawna helped him up.
"I'll walk it off," Geoff tried to remain cool headed.
"Thanks, focus boy," Scott said.
"I don't want to strain my calves," Geoff added.
"We should leave in a few minutes just to make sure we catch up to the other team," Leshawna said. "Sierra just got captured, and I don't want us sticking around here."
\
The scene cut to the lantern-lit cemetery. The camera panned left across its headstones and crosses, several of which were pet-themed, to the entrance as the five remaining Mutant Maggots arrived, huffing and puffing from their run.
"Welcome to the Wawanakwa Pet Cemetery!" Chris greeted them over the loudspeaker.
"We're first. Nice!" Dave said.
"What's the clue?" Anne Maria asked Scarlett.
The camera cut in close as she opened the lid to a small coffin in an open grave, revealing a ragged piece of paper within bearing a list of numbers: 5 in the first row; 5 in the second; 5 in the third. Notably, while most of the numbers were plain black there were three 6s and the 18 were all an eye-catching red. "Three 6's is normally not a good indication of luck," Scarlett said with a nervous look.
"Let's fan out and look for numbers!" DJ said as the perspective cut back to its usual sideview.
"By ourselves?" Anne Maria asked.
\
"I'm in a creepy cemetery in the middle of the woods looking for three 6s. It's no big deal," Anne Maria said warily as she backed through the graveyard. "Good news is, there aren't any owls hooting around. I think I'm safe," she told herself, pausing to smile. "Now, let's see if I can find any numbers..."
She turned around and started examining the nearest headstone, and the shot cut to a view from afar, the footage switching back to infrared. The monster serving as the camera's viewpoint blinked, and when it opened its eyes it had gotten much closer to the jersey girl, and had extended four sharp limbs with tiny claws on the end towards her...
Anne Maria's scream echoed through the cemetery, quickly catching the attention of Katie, DJ, Scarlett, and Dave as they looked up in shock. "Anne Maria?" Dave asked out in concern, the footage quickly skipping ahead to show all four arriving at the location the tanned young lady had been snatched from.
"I could've sworn she was just here," Dave said in confusion.
They all gasped. "Where'd she go?" Katie asked in mild terror.
"I'm just as concerned as you all are," Scarlett started, "but like what happened with Molly, we should move along and hope to catch up with them."
"I know you're trying to be reasonable," DJ said, "but you're rubbing me off the wrong way."
"Yeah, it's like you don't care about what could happen to our teammates," Dave told her.
"I'm just used to not expressing my emotions on occasion," Scarlett told her team members. "Thank you very much."
\
The scene flashed to the Rats, where Scott and Leshawna were next to grimy coffins propped upright against a couple statues.
"Find the souvenir, hide the souvenir, lose the game…" Scott went in to unlock the coffin, but was interrupted by Fang bursting out of the coffin with a menacing grin.
"AAAAHHHHH!" The devious ran away screaming when Fang moved to chase after him.
Geoff was looking at a grave that was open. "This grave smells like french fries. Weird, but I'm not complaining." He got shoved in thanks to Scott running away from Fang.
The camera followed Scott as he ran past two open graves, one of which with a mound of dirt in front of it.
The mutant shark followed his quarry, but when Scott leapt over the mound of dirt, Fang tripped over it. The shark fell into the open grave and growled.
"Why does this graveyard smell like fries?" Katie wondered aloud, following a scent as she walked through the cemetery. She soon came to the pit Geoff was in. "Maybe it's coming from there."
"Hello? Anybody? I need someone to help me down here!" Geoff called out.
Katie backed away a bit. "Did that hole just talk?"
"It's me. Geoff!" Geoff tried to denounce her belief.
"Oh right," Katie sighed in relief. "You're the guy with the cowboy hat."
"That's right," Geoff confirmed her statement. "I fell down this hole, and I'm covered in grease right now."
"So that explains the smell," Katie realized.
"Can you get me out of here?" Geoff begged her. "Grease doesn't mesh well with my shirt."
"I would, but I have to help my team right now," Katie declined. "One of your teammates could get you out. Bye," she left the scene.
"This sucks," Geoff whined, unaware of four maggots coming by the grave. As soon as they saw the grease and Geoff, they jumped in and attacked him, making him howl in agony.
\
The scene cut to Chris, who was watching feeds of both teams on a trio of monitors and laughing hysterically. "Will anyone make it to the spooky cave?" he turned and asked the camera, holding a covered cup with a straw in it. "And if so, how can they possibly make it all the way to the finish line? Less brain, more pain, when we return!" he said, finishing with a sip of his drink.
\
(Commercial Break)
\

• ---[Chapter 1]---
• ---[Chapter 2: Part I, Part II, Part III]---

As darkened clouds loomed overhead, lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the dark forest with a brilliant burst of light. The crackling energy split the heavens, casting jagged veins of illumination across the landscape. The resounding BOOM that followed reverberated through the air, shaking the very foundation of Cornelia's cozy cabin. Inside, she reclined in her plush chair, enveloped in its welcoming embrace. A soft, crackling warmth emanated from the fireplace, casting a gentle glow that bathed the room in a comforting radiance. She sighed contentedly, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls, as if they were performers in a mesmerizing show.
"A good sign, isn't that right, Wendy?" Cornelia whispered, her voice a delicate murmur filled with reassurance and affection.
“Wendy wike wain,” said Wendy, with her lustrous ebony-colored fluff, nestled against Cornelia's stomach, her presence a velvety touch against her skin. The room filled with a soft, contented humming as Wendy expressed her happiness.
Cornelia smiled as her pale fingers traced gentle paths along Wendy's back, their movements a tender caress. Her gaze drifted to the window, where nature orchestrated a symphony of raindrops cascading against the glass. Each droplet carried its own rhythm, harmonizing with the crackling fire to create a symphony of soothing melodies.
As Cornelia admired Wendy, a sense of curiosity began to blossom within her. Were there other fluffies out there with the same unique hue? Elves and wealthy humans often boasted vibrant and diverse-colored fluffies in their care, while the "street-rat" fluffies that roamed alleyways possessed more muted variations. Yet, Wendy's fur was a rarity—pure black that held an air of mystique.
Whispers had spread among the villages, snaking through ears and fuelling imaginations. Tales, distorted and embellished, spoke of a sinister pact between Cornelia and the Demon Vlae. In their twisted narratives, the villagers claimed that the evil spirit-lord resided within Wendy, bestowing upon her the cloak of inky blackness.
Cornelia knew these rumours to be falsehoods, mere figments of overactive imaginations, but that did little to quell the villagers' misguided intentions. Not wanting the villagers to burn her at the stake, Cornelia made a deliberate choice to slip away into the embrace of the ancient woods. There, among the towering sentinels of bark and the rustling tapestry of fallen leaves, she sought solace and a life of peace with Wendy.
Just as Cornelia and Wendy began to settle into a tranquil nap, an insistent knocking on the cabin door shattered the serene atmosphere. The abrupt interruption stirred them from their drowsy state, pulling them back into the realm of uncertainty and peril.
Ygor knocked on the door with the force of a strong but controlled thunder. The heavy wooden door swung open by itself, revealing a flaming shadow with crimson eyes that glare into his very soul.
“You do not disturb a witch’s nap you...” scowled Cornelia but she paused upon seeing a sad yet familiar ogre standing before her.
In the ogre's hands, cradled gently like a fragile treasure, was an injured blue fluffy curled up into a ball. The fluffy's delicate hooves pressed against her belly as she whimpered in pain, her soft cries filling the air with a heart-wrenching melody. The scent of fear and desperation clung to her, mingling with the damp earthiness that permeated the cabin.
Cornelia's piercing gaze softened, her eyes lingering on the wounded blue fluffy nestled in Ygor's hands. The dancing flames of the crackling fireplace painted shifting shadows on her face, accentuating the genuine concern etched across her soft features.
“Ygor?” asked Cornelia, her voice a gentle murmur that wrapped around the room.
“Ygor need help, widdle fluffy hurt” replied Ygor, his voice filled with a mix of deep worry and desperation.
"Bring her inside," Cornelia replied, stepping aside and waited for the giant ogre to enter her home. "Don't worry, the cabin is bigger on the inside," she reassured him, her words imbued with a touch of enchantment.
Ygor carefully stepped into the cabin, his massive form casting long shadows against the sturdy wooden walls. Inside, he found himself awestruck by the magic in the cabin. The air is alive with ethereal energy, a tangible testament to Cornelia's formidable abilities.
With deliberate grace, Ygor approached Cornelia, his every movement infused with cautious tenderness. The crackling flames of the fireplace cast a soft, golden glow that danced and flickered, creating a mesmerizing play of light and shadows across the room.
Cornelia placed a soft, crimson blanket on the smooth surface of the wooden table, its vibrant hue contrasting against the rustic backdrop of the cabin. Cornelia's voice resonated with warmth and reassurance as she spoke; her words carrying the echoes of countless months spent mastering witchcraft.
"It's one of the first spells I had to learn as a witch, so don't worry about trying to fit in," Cornelia assured Ygor, her tone comforting like a soft caress.
"Now, tell me what happened," Cornelia gently prompted, her voice a melodic invitation to share their burdens.
Her empathetic eyes fixed upon Ygor and the poor fluffy, eagerly awaiting their tale of woe. The fire crackled and the raindrops tapped against the window, forming a soothing symphony that seemed to draw the elements closer, eager to listen and offer solace.
“Ygor fed fwuffy raw meat, now fwuffy tummy hurts,” Ygor explained.
“wed’ meat? Fwuffies nu’ eat wed’ meat” Wendy exclaimed, her eyes widened with fear and confusion.
“Put her on the table!” Cornelia's command sliced through the air, her voice resonating with authority as she directed Ygor to carefully place the injured fluffy on the plush red blanket that adorned the sturdy wooden table.
With eager determination, Wendy scurried towards Cornelia. The little fluffy snatched a flask from a nearby shelf. The green liquid concocted from the nearby river and the roots of an ancient tree glowed inside the flask. The aromatic scent of the potion wafted through the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of burning wood. Ygor's sensitive nose caught a hint of bones in the fragrance, causing him to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Ygor smell bones” said Ygor upon picking up a strange scent coming from the flask.
"It's just the potion, Ygor. You can sit near the bookshelf; I'll handle this," reassured Cornelia as she guided Ygor to a seat beside the collection of well-worn tomes. His heavy footsteps resonated against the wooden floor, creating a gentle vibration that shook the nearby furniture.
Meanwhile, Wendy, her ebony-colored fluff rustling with each hurried step, made her way to the kitchen. The soft tapping of her little legs echoed through the cabin, the sound blending with the crackling fire and the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the window. Guided by Cornelia's request, Wendy retrieved a bowl of ash and garlic, their distinct scents mingling in the air, creating a heady mixture of earthiness and protection.
Cornelia's hands moved with practiced precision, like a knife gliding through the cloves of garlic as if guided by an invisible force. With each expert stroke, the pungent aroma of freshly cut garlic permeated the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the wooden table.
Once the garlic lay in neat, small pieces, Cornelia turned her attention to the bowl. She poured the green liquid into its depths, a shimmering cascade that glimmered like emerald flames. As the liquid settled, Cornelia's voice hummed with an incantation, her words carrying the weight of ancient knowledge and power.
In an instant, a flicker of green fire sprang to life, dancing atop the surface of the liquid. Its ethereal glow cast a surreal illumination, transforming the ordinary bowl into a vessel of enchantment. Shadows flickered and played upon the cabin walls, as if the very room had become a stage for magic itself.
Ygor's gaze locked onto Blue, his eyes filled with concern as he witnessed her unconscious. Despite her silent state, his sensitive ears detected faint, almost imperceptible whimpering that tugged at his heartstrings.
In a mesmerizing display of magic, a radiant golden light took the form of Cornelia's hand, delicately reaching towards the green flame. As her hand made contact, a breathtaking transformation ensued. The liquid within the bowl seemed to defy gravity, soaring out of its confines with graceful fluidity. It floated in the air, suspended like a glistening bubble, casting an iridescent glow that bathed the cabin in a surreal radiance.
The floating liquid became a canvas for the dancing and shimmering golden light, which traced intricate patterns written in the runes of magic. With every subtle movement and shift, the elixir responded, guided by Cornelia's hand, as if it were alive. The soft, ethereal hum resonated through the cabin, its gentle vibrations filling the air and contributing to the enchanting atmosphere that enveloped the space.
Ygor's eyes widened in awe as he witnessed this captivating spectacle, his senses fully immersed in the enchantment unfolding before him. The delicate scent of the potion wafted through the air, an intoxicating blend of natural ingredients and mystical energies. It mingled with the comforting aroma of burning firewood, creating an olfactory tapestry that enveloped the room.
“Wemembeh’ jus’ one dwop o’ fwuffy fwend goes fowebah sweepies” Wendy reminded, her voice filled with caution and trepidation. The anticipation was palpable, causing her little legs to tremble with a mixture of anxiety and hope.
“I know, Wendy” Cornelia replied with concern. Slowly, with delicate precision, she reached out and began removing the intricately carved magic runes that encircled the floating bubble. Each rune dislodged weakened the magic, and the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.
As the runes dissipated one by one, a single drop from the shimmering green bubble fell into Blue's mouth, like a droplet of life itself. In that fleeting moment, the magic took hold, invigorating her senses and drawing her back from the abyss of unconsciousness. Blue's eyes fluttered open, her vision initially blurry as she adjusted to the renewed world around her. Gradually, the fog lifted, revealing the figure of another fluffy sitting in front of her, a woman with a mysterious allure, half of her face veiled by a cascade of hair, and Ygor, the gentle ogre.
Blue wakes up, her vision blurry at first. When they cleared, she saw another fluffy sitting in front of her, a strange woman with half her face covered by her hair, and Ygor.
"Mommeh?" Blue's voice trembled with a mixture of longing and confusion, seeking comfort in the familiarity of a mother's embrace.
"No, sorry," Cornelia replied gently, her voice carrying a touch of sympathy. With great care, she cradled Blue in her hands, providing a sense of security and protection.
The cabin enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth and safety, shielding them from the world's uncertainties.
"Let's give you a bath before I return you to Ygor, is that okay?" Cornelia offered, her words laced with kindness and concern. Blue nodded, a silent agreement to the caring gesture that awaited her.
As Cornelia cradled Blue in her arms, Ygor's curious gaze wandered to the bookshelf, where a plush velvet tome caught his attention. With a gentle touch, he retrieved the book, feeling the smoothness of the fabric beneath his fingertips. Opening it, Ygor's eyes widened at the sight of a meticulously drawn map, its intricate details beckoning him into a world he's never seen before.
His gaze shifted to the strange numbers inscribed alongside the map, written in elegant script that danced across the aged parchment. Ygor traced the lines and deciphered the enigmatic message contained within.
"Two... tw-twenty-six degrees, twelve minutes, and forty-four seconds, N—No- no- north," Ygor read aloud, his voice filled with curiosity.
Cornelia emerged from the bath, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor, carrying Blue wrapped in a clean towel. Drops of water glistened upon her skin like scattered diamonds, reflecting the warm glow of the cabin's hearth. She approached Ygor, her presence radiating a sense of wisdom and familiarity.
"It seems you've improved since the last time I met you," Cornelia remarked, her voice carrying a tone of admiration.
The scent of lavender lingered in the air, intermingling with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea.
“Ygor been reading lots lately, collected many books” Ygor proudly proclaimed. The room resonated with the gentle rustling of pages, as each one whispered a tale of knowledge and discovery.
Gently placing Blue on the floor, Cornelia watched with fondness as the little fluffy’s hooves create a delicate patter against the wooden surface as she scurried towards Ygor. She then nuzzled against his massive leg, seeking solace and comfort. A warm smile graced Cornelia's lips.
"That's truly admirable," Cornelia remarked, her voice carrying a gentle cadence. The crackling fire painted flickering shadows upon the walls, enveloping the space in a comforting embrace. The scent of smoldering logs mingled with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, creating an enchanting symphony for the senses.
“Until the ‘metal people’ burnt them along with Ygor house” Ygor replied, his voice echoed with a touch of sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air, mingling with the flickering shadows cast by the crackling flames.
"The metal people," Cornelia mused, her thoughts drifting to the relentless knights of The King. The weight of their armored presence pressed upon her mind, like a looming storm cloud on the horizon. The memory of their arrival, their steel-clad boots treading upon the sacred grounds of the Old World, sent shivers down her spine. Their presence had brought upheaval, disrupting the delicate balance of harmony and magic that once thrived.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Cornelia said, her voice laced with sincerity. "You can stay here as long as you need," she assured, her words offering solace and a sense of belonging amidst the uncertainty of the outside world.
“Thank you, Ygor will find new home soon,” Ygor replied. “By the way, Ygor find black fluffy interesting, never seen one before,” he remarked, pointing towards Wendy.
Cornelia followed his gaze, her eyes tracing the ebony contours of Wendy's fur. The contrast of darkness against light evoked a sense of curiosity and wonder.
“I saw her in an alley a couple of months ago while I was gathering ingredients,” Cornelia recalled as she adjusted her favorite chair, drawing it closer to Ygor's seat. Blue and Wendy sat side by side, their eyes filled with anticipation as they listen to the story Cornelia is about to tell.

• --NOTE--
• A drawing of Wendy

TWBS Previous Next First
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---Esme’s perspective---
---Saturday, 11th of November, 2682 Terran Calendar---
---Southern England---
Fucking Sussex!
‘Can you send me to the Forth Valley?’
‘Oh, we can try… On an unrelated note, how’s your standard English? No problems in communicating?’
I should’ve just said ‘No, I have great difficulty in communicating in anything but Lallans Scots!’ instead of putting on my poshest English speech register to say ‘Marjorie dearest, would you be a lamb and pass another buttered scone… hold the raspberry jam, it’s far too spicy for me!’ which she told me she’d take as a ‘Yes.’
“This is an English language barracks. If you have been directed here in error, please make yourself known to barracks staff for reassignment.” plays a loud, prerecorded Welsh language announcement, over speakers.
They’re fucking rubbing it in!
“This is an English language barracks. If you have been directed here in error, please make yourself known to barracks staff for reassignment.” it repeats in Scots Gaelic.
“Ceci est une caserne Anglophone. Si vous avez été assigné ici par erreur, veuillez vous faire connaître auprès du personnel de la caserne pour une réaffectation.” it says in what I’m 90% sure is a French version of the same announcement (I can’t be certain, though, as that’s not one of my languages).
Looking at the crowds queuing to get in makes me regret asserting that I didn’t need transport here.
‘You shouldn’t be sending someone to War that you don’t trust to navigate themself from Galloway to Sussex!’ were my exact words.
I brushed off the recruitment officer saying that I’d be processed faster if I arrived on Military organised transport.
Well, standing here’s not gonna get me to the front of the queue now, is it!
I walk forward to join the massive throng of people, almost all of which look to be about my age.
It’s astonishing how short you feel, being an average height girl in a crowd of people!
178cm really isn’t all that much when you’ve got a not insignificant number of +2m guys here!
Even guys who are the average 188cm can make a girl feel short when their packed too close…
I see a few Neanderthal hunks… perhaps conscription won’t be all bad(!)
When I make it to the front of the line, the guy just stares expectantly at me like I’m supposed to already know what to do.
“Y’awright?… Err… mah nam’s Esme Reid…?” I say, hesitantly, in perfectly comprehensible speech.
“I’m sorry, would you repeat that?” he answers, looking at me like I just spoke to him in fucking Chinese!
“Greetings, gracious sir! You may kindly refer to me by the name ‘Esme Reid’!” I say, affecting my supercilious Southern English gentlewoman accent.
“Alright, Ms Reid. Please present your draft papers and identification.”
The balls they have to ask me to prove who I am when they’re the ones asking me to go off and fucking die for them!
I think about quipping that I should ask him to show me some proof that this is a legitimate Military installation sanctioned by the government of Sol… but think better of it…
Instead, I pull out my draft papers and my holopad, quickly getting up my identification app.
The man scans the code with his own holo and spends a few seconds glancing from his screen to my face and back.
Seeming satisfied that I’m not attempting to enlist under a false identity (for whatever strange reason a person might want to do that) he glances at my papers, says “Everything seems to be in order.” and waves a hand in front of a machine which whirs for half a second before spitting out a simple chain necklace with two little metal rectangles hanging off of it.
He hands it to me and says “This is your identification tag. Please check that the information on it is correct and, if it is, put it on and never take it off.”
I check the tag.
“You’ve got my name and birthday right…” I say, making a conscious effort to keep my speech register in that that a standard English speaker would consider acceptable “…don’t know about the regiment and serial number.”
“Those will be correct.” he says with a ‘move along’ tone.
I shrug, raise the dogtag over my head and drop it around my neck.
I walk on and he’s serving the girl behind me before I’ve even rounded the counter.
I’m ushered through the barracks, herded by the staff, until I reach a building labelled ‘Billet House 279’.
It doesn’t really look like I expected soldiers’ digs to look.
Definitely prefabbed but sort of has more the look of a uni hall than anything else… though I think it’s probably a bit much to expect that I’ll get a room to myself(!)
I follow the throng of draftees through to a wide open room, on the ground floor, that looks like it’s normally a cafeteria.
The camp attendants (who I’m guessing were in the same boat as us, not too long ago) direct us to stand along the left, right and nearside walls, keeping the back wall and centre of the room clear.
Everyone in place, there follows a few minutes of silence broken only by people whispering to one another.
Then, she enters the room.
Dark skinned and clad in green camo clothing, her scalp is easily visible between her cornrows with nary a hair out of place.
Her expression looks absolutely indifferent with just the slightest hint of a curled lip.
From the broadness and flatness of her facial features as well as her single mauve eye, she is clearly half Tshwane… though, you’d never guess that from her stature!
Female Tshwane average nearly 2m… the men are more like 2.2m!
She’s shorter than me!
She’s also built like a Sapiens, not the willowy thinness typical of Tshwane
I guess genetics interact in funny ways sometimes…
Based on her age, her Tshwane parent would probably have to have been one of the very first to be cloned back!
The other eye seems to have been ripped out at some point because in its place is a bionic and there’s a patch of hypopigmented scar tissue, forming a tear shape, at the right corner.
“Recruits… Welcome to the United Terran Coalition Infantry Trainin’ Camp, Graffham… My name is Warrant Officer Simone Sands… and I’ll be your drill instructor…” says the woman, cooly, speaking in a rough sounding, London accent.
The surname ‘Sands’ probably means her dad was the Tshwane (though not necessarily… she might have been given her mum’s surname… or it might be a coincidental English surname).
“…You all know why you’re here… Most of you’ve prob’ly already lost loved ones to this War… You are here to defend our right to exist… and I can’t think of a more worthy reason to fight than that…”
I’ve decided I like this woman… She may be English but I’ll try not to hold that against her(!)
“The first thing I need to tell all of you is that, by the end of your trainin’, you will NOT like me…” she says, as if reading my mind “…that’s OK. My job ain’t to be liked, my job ain’t to make friends… my job is to make soldiers!”
She casts her biological and bionic eyes around the room, letting her words hang in the air.
“Note… that I said ‘soldiers’… This ain’t Full Metal Jacket. This ain’t the 20th Century. There’ll be no Pvt Piles here!… I ain’t aimin’ to destroy your minds or your individuality. I ain’t goin’ to physic’ly and psychologic’ly abuse you into becomin’ robots or killers… I am makin’ you into soldiers… Regardless… this process will not be easy! In fact, it may well be the hardest thing you ever do!… As the face of this process, you will come to hate and resent me for it!… I hope for it! The more you hate me the more-DO YOU HAVE SOMETHIN’ TO SAY, PRIVATE?!”
Everyone in the room is startled by the authoritative woman breaking herself off to shout angrily at someone on the other side of the room.
“STEP FORWARD AND SPEAK SO EVERYONE CAN HEAR YOU!”
The boy that steps forward is tall, bulky and muscular with a handsome, half Neanderthal face… just my type!
Then he has to go and ruin it by opening his mouth.
“I was just saying… that I find it somewhat difficult to take you seriously as a commanding officer… You just seem a little bit… little.” says the boy in the poshest, smarmiest English drawl I’ve ever heard!
The woman does not shout, she does not scream, she doesn’t snarl or even purse her lips!
She just nods, as if considering his words, then asks “What’s your name, Soldier?”
“Rupert Forest.” responds the boy, proudly.
“And, how tall are you, Pvt Forest?” responds the woman, unimpressed
“195cm.” he answers.
“And, what’s your mass?” she asks.
“110kg.”
“I see, I see… So, by your logic… you’d make a better drill sergeant than me, would you? You’re 25cm taller and 35kg heavier, afterall!”
He smirks “I wouldn’t presume to say so, Ma’am…” in a way that definitely suggests that he thinks he would.
She seems to consider that for some moments before answering “Alright then, fight me for it!”
“I’m sorry…?” responds the poshboy.
“You heard me… Clearly, you got no respect for skill and experience but it seems like you must respect power… so fight me for it! You win, you get to train this lot, I win, you never question my authority again!”
Is this woman mad!?
She may be a soldier but this boy she just challenged is a half Neanderthal giant!
She’s gonna lose!
I do not want to be drilled by some snotty, privileged English brat who got here at the same time as I did and just couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut!
Then again, I don’t really want to be drilled by a woman so delusional that she felt the best way to squash insubordination was to challenge a man she has no hope of beating, either!
The guy is clearly salivating over the power that’s just been slapped on the table in front of him as he answers “I accept your terms, Ms Sands…” with faux magnanimity.
There’s no way they’d let a Private run drills, is there? When he wins, someone just needs to go and complain and they’ll give us another (less stupid) drill sergeant… right?
He strips off his jacket to reveal a pair of thick, muscular arms that (in spite of his repulsive personality) are a thrilling sight.
He has to go and ruin it by flexing and posing, clearly revelling in the room’s worth of gasps he got when he revealed his arms… He obviously likes being the centre of attention.
“Done?” asks Sands, drily.
“If you still want to do this…” he says, smugly “…you could just concede defeat and I’m sure no one would hold it against you!”
Her lip curls as she answers “But… if I did that, no one would learn nothin’, now would they…”
He shrugs before launching himself at her without waiting for her to give the word to begin.
She whirls out of the way and he snatches at her, unsuccessfully, as his momentum carries him past.
“Lesson 1:…” she shouts while snapping into the space behind him and kicking out his knee “…size does not determine victory, strength does not determine victory…” levelling another powerful kick between his shoulderblades to bring him to the ground.
She backs off, allowing him to scramble to his feet and turn to face her, hunched in readiness and scowling.
“…Pvt Forest here looked at me with contempt on account of my small size and, though he didn’t say so, I’d guess that my rough accent, my lack of a graduate epithet and my lack of a penis also played a roll in his judgin’ me as less than!… He thought he could beat me, he probably still DOES, and, ’causa that, he didn’t respect my ability to lead…!”
Forest makes another lunge for the smaller woman, misses and is punished for it by being knocked back to the floor.
I’m agog as I watch this little woman… there’s no other word but toy with the giant man!
“…but victory does not care how big you are, how strong you are, how classy or educated you are or what**’**s in your pants or panties…!”
She dodges around his arm and pins his chest to the floor with her knee.
“Discipline and trainin’ determine victory!… Things that I have and Pvt Forest LACKS!… Things that ALL of you will acquire, over the next 8 months!!!” she turns her head down to the mountain of man she’s pinning to the floor “Concede, Private!”
The man shakes his head, trying in vain to leverage himself up.
“Alright then… Lesson 2: When faced with a resistant individual, compliance can be effectively enforced by the expedient of lockin’ their joints to induce PAIN!!!”
She grabs his thick arms by the wrists and pulls them backwards in a way they are not meant to bend!
He screams in agony!
“CONCEDE!!!… Don’t make me send you to the Medical Officer! It’d be inconvenient for BOTH of us if your pride makes you miss your first week of trainin’ while your arms heal!!!”
He holds out for two more seconds before screaming “I concede! I CONCEDE!!!”
She releases him and stands back up.
“On your feet, Soldier…” she growls down at him.
He stands back up, his face beet red.
“Are you ever goin’ to question my fitness to instruct again, Private?” she glares up at the humiliated giant.
“No.” he answers, gracelessly.
“No…?” she says as if waiting for something else.
Forest looks as confused as I am about what she’s expecting.
“No, Ma’am!” she snarls.
“No, Ma’am.”
“Good, we’ll work on your attitude, movin’ forward. Now, get back in line!”
The humiliated man picks up his civvy jacket and returns to the place he was called out from.
“Now, I don’t think I need to prattle on anymore about how you’re gonna hate me by the end of our time together, do I?… I think Pvt Forest helped me prove that point quite well, so I’ll move on… You will sleep in this buildin’, six to a room. Your rooms will be gender segregated. If you wish for a place to be… intimate with people of the opposite gender, you may request use of one of the conjugal rooms… I suggest you do the same if you want to be intimate with a same gender partner but that’s between you and your roommates! You will eat in this room at 0700hrs, 1200hrs and 1800hrs. Diet’ry requirements will be accommodated but, bare in mind, this ain’t your mummies’ and daddies’ kitchen! ‘This food is forbidden by my religion/personal ethics’ is a diet’ry requirement. ‘I am allergic to this food’ is a diet’ry requirement! ‘I don’t like how this food tastes’ is not(!)… In the mornin’s, you will be receivin’ lessons in lecture theatres, workshops and the like…”
“Oh great… just what I wanted after leaving school(!) More classrooms(!)” I mutter to myself.
Her head instantly wheels to me with unnerving precision.
“Someone else with somethin’ they’d like to say!?” she says, locking eyes with me, terrifyingly.
“No, Ms Sands!” I answer, instantly.
“Miss?! I’m not your bloody schoolteacher girl!!!”
Everyone laughs. Even Pvt Forest, like he wasn’t just humiliated himself, 2 minutes ago!
“Ma’am… err… Ma’am, no, Ma’am!!!” I say, doing my best to emulate the tone I’ve seen soldiers use in films.
She rolls her eye (it’s difficult to tell if the bionic rolls too) and says “Better… What’s your name, Private?”
“Ma’am, the Private’s name is Esme Reid, Ma’am!!!”
“Do you remember me tellin’ you this ain’t Full Metal Jacket?… You don’t need to scream when you talk to me, you don’t need to refer to yourself in third person and one ‘Ma’am’, when you’re done speakin’, is enough, Reid!”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She points to her single, mauve eye, then to me and says “I’ll have my eye on you, Reid!”
Somehow, her tone sends a chill up my spine but I do my best not to show it.
She turns away and I release a silent sigh of relief.
“As I was sayin’… In your lectures you will learn the ins and outs of military theory; tactics, strategies, logistics etc. You will learn as much as we can tell you about the nature of the species we are fightin’; their capabilities, tendencies, political organisations and known weaknesses… bear in mind that First Contact weren’t much more than 4 years ago and we’ve been at War for almost all the intervenin’ time, so a lot of what we teach you will be little more than guesswork and hearsay from prisoners we’ve interrogated… The mornin’s’ll also be where you learn the particulars of the equipment you’ll be expected to be proficient with in the field. This includes firearms, plasmaweaponry and durasteel armour, as well as the tech you’ll likely encounter from the opposite side; kinetic pulse weapons, laser weapons, field emitters etc… I strongly suggest that no one allows word to get back to me that they’re not takin’ these classes seriously!… A stupid soldier is a dead soldier!”
She glares around the room, her eyes resting on me four a quarter of a second.
“…In the afternoons and evenin’s, you’ll be doing PT… that’s ‘Physical Trainin’’… soon to be every one of your two least favourite words in the English Language(!) “
I notice a wry smirk twist the mouths of a few of the camp attendants.
“In PT you will be drilled in agility, endurance, close quarters combat and coordinated marching… Five times over the comin’ 8 months, you and your trainin’ partner will be dropped into a remote bit of wilderness, somewhere on Earth, for five day practical survival experience. You will be given a beacon, to summon retrieval, but these are only to be used in cases of actual threat to life or bodily integrity… not because you’re feelin’ miserable!”
She takes a second to pause for breath.
“You get an allowance of 12 days off, over your time here… that’s two a month… These are subject to my approval and I may deny them for any reason, including no reason… so don’t piss me off!… You may not take more than 2 consecutive days leave at a time! Certain classes are mandatory and leave will not be approved on days they occur. If your allowance is spent, no more leave will be approved, barring a real emergency!… Now, for today, you are going to line up to have your maps and room keys downloaded onto your holos when your name is called, then you are going to have your bodies scanned for your armour measurements… at that point everyone with no uterus has the rest of the day free to settle in… If you have a uterus, you’ll need to report to medical to get your cycle paused! This is, I’m afraid, nonoptional… You are not prohibited from engaging in relations with your fellow recruits but you cannot be a soldier while you’re able to get pregnant. Attempts to circumvent this requirement in any way will land you in the Stockade!… After your cycle pause has been given, you’ll also have the rest of the day to settle in… Enjoy it! It’ll be the most downtime you get for a while!… Finally… I believe we have a 17 year old with us here… Pvt Taylor?”
A few people put their hands up, most looking confused.
“Pvt Oskar Taylor! The 17 year old?” she says, exasperated.
All but one of those with their hands up put them down.
The one remaining Pvt Taylor with his hand in the air has pale skin, black hair, brown eyes and a sharp featured face wearing a dour expression.
He stands even taller than Forest… Nearly 2m tall!
Though he’s not quite as heavily built, he’s certainly a good looking piece of boycandy!
“Pvt Taylor…” says Sands, her mouth breaking into a smile for the first time I’ve seen “…couldn’t wait to go off to War, could you(?)”
He mutters something but, while I can hear the power and deepness of his voice, I can’t make out a word he says.
“You’ll have to speak up, Taylor! Nobody’ll be able to hear you if you mumble.” points out Sands.
“I said I had some personal circumstances that made this the most sensible course of action for me, Ma’am.” says the tall, dark haired man, looking over her head rather than down at her and speaking in a grim monotone. He definitely loses boycandy points for the poshness of his accent, unfortunately…
“I see… I won’t pry into that but… you didn’t think of Officer Training? That’s the route that most people take when volunteering ahead of their conscription.”
He shakes his head “I thought of it and decided against it, Ma’am.”
“Oh? Why’s that, Pvt Taylor?”
“I didn’t believe I would make a good officer, Ma’am.” he answers simply.
She laughs “I wish every soldier could be as introspective, Taylor! I like you!… Unfortunately, bein’ a minor does mean that you can’t be put in a room with others… Sooo, that means you get a room to yourself… for the moment. Might sound cushy but before anyone else gets too jealous, bare in mind that privacy is the only advantage! His room will be a sixth the size of yours so its basic’ly a broomcupboard… the disadvantage will be severely reduced opportunity to socialise!… If that doesn’t sound doable, you can leave and come back when you turn 18, Taylor.”
“It’s acceptable, Ma’am.” he says without hesitating.
Yeah… it’s official… I don’t like him…
---later---
I rub the spot on my arm where the serum was thunked into me about 15 minutes ago.
Like with everything else about conscription, I get it… I understand the point…
But seeing the sense doesn’t mean I have to like it!
It’s not like I want to get pregnant (getting a nine month reprieve from service would be a fairly shitty reason for me to bring a child into the world) but it does feel like one last slap in the face to my personal autonomy that I’ve just had a cycle pause fucking mandated upon my body by the government!
As I draw near, door 1512 detects the key downloaded on my holo and unlocks
I open it and am greeted by a blonde girl, smiling broadly and instantly identifiable as brimming with ADHD energy.
“Hey there! My name’s Charlotte, it’s lovely to meet you!” says the girl, wrapping me in a hug without asking if I’m OK with that.
Her accent makes me wonder if everyone I meet here is going to be a posh toff!
She makes three of three of my fellow draftees!
“A pleasure, Charlotte… the name’s Esme…” I say, speaking Scottish accented standard English and gingerly patting her back.
“Oh, you’re Scottish…?” she says pulling herself off me with an expression that suggests meeting a Scottish person is just the most wonderful thing she could have imagined “…My great grandmother was from Edinburgh, where are you from?”
“Stranraer.” I answer.
She frowns “I don’t know it, I’m sorry!”
“I won’t hold it against you… Southwestern tip of Scotland? Where it nearly touches Ireland and the Man Peninsula?… ’Bout two and a half million people?”
“Oh, wooow! I don’t think I’ve ever met someone from a village before!” she says, seeming entirely oblivious to how that might be taken as an insult.
“Yeah… I guess it’s not that big.”
“Well…” she wraps me back in the hug and continues “…we’re the first ones to the room and that has to mean we’re going to be best friends!”
“I’m afraid my best friend’s name is Tamsin… the position is not open.” I say, firmly setting a boundary.
“I meant best bootcamp friends, silly!” she says, as if that should have gone without saying.
“Alright… I guess that positions open… but you’ve not got the job yet(!)” I quip, warming up a little to the ball of posh English energy.
She pulls back and beams at me “Alright then, for my first act as best bootcamp friend candidate, let me show you the view!… That should earn me some points!”
She says, leading me into the room that’s so small it makes me doubt that that goody-two-shoes 17 year old can possibly have one a sixth this size!
She leads me to the window and spends a few moments making sure I’m positioned just right before she draws back the curtain.
The view is quite breathtaking… rolling hills of snow blanketed mammoth steppe, lit by evening sun, with barely any of the sprawling military camp visible.
Though, you can see one of the tallest structures ever built by Humanity… the Sussex Space elevator… several times the Earth’s own diameter, the ‘top’, if you can even call it that, is a fifth of the way from here to Luna! …And… in 8 months, I’m going to be riding it, all the way up, to get on a troop transport.
“Look! See! There’s a herd of aurochs over on that hill! You know this place used to be a national park, before even Unification or the Reset! It’s called the South Downs! My mum told me we had family from here… obviously I never met any of them because they would have left hundreds of years ago!…”
The bubbly girl talks and talks and… just keeps talking… but I don’t particularly mind.
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TWBS Previous Next First

TDLR: I grew out of my college friend group and they won't stop messaging me to come back.
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Reddit I need your help with something that has been stuck in the back of mind for a long time. I really want to get passed the odd situation.
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So in college I (25M) lived with a group of five other guys (At the time 18M - 22M but they are now around my age). We all went to a religious university and played football. I enjoyed my friends, we made a lot of great memories and had plenty of fun. However after our second year living together I underwent a big change in my worldview and the dynamic of the friendship changed.
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As a group they are conservatives politically, big MAGA guys, pretty homophobic. I grew out of all that slowly as school progressed. I quit the football team because it was a borderline religious cult, I totally changed my political ideology around, I stopped believing in god. As I changed I grew distant from them and when graduation came I sort of fell off the map. I stop responding in the group chat, I only hung out with them rarely. I just felt less comfortable around them and felt like they were closer friends with each other than with me. I didn't fit in anymore and I was going through a rough time financially so I was nose to the grindstone working and preparing myself to make moves in my career.
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When we did hangout it felt like I was invited only because I was the last piece of the old college gang. I was reminded of how much I didn't fit in and how much nobody listened when I spoke or how everyone tries to one up each other. During one trip in particular I could barely speak a single word without being interrupted and ignored. And at one point during the night one of them started crying about a grad school admission test that I had done well on because he was jealous. Everyone rallied around him being sad because he hadn't done as well even though I had easily put in twice as much work as him. That really rubbed me the wrong way and after that trip I really stopped associating with them.
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After I sort of cut ties I began to realize the group was more toxic than I knew while I was living with them. I was reminded of the moments the group was violent with one another and moments when they talked shit about me behind my back for quitting football or for not participating in bible study. The issue is that even to this day they will call and text me, almost never individually but as a group on a weekly to monthly basis. And I have continued to ghost them for literally years. And first off I feel absolutely awful about that, I just can't bring myself to respond. I know its a massively awful thing to do but I just don't get why they dont get the hint. I just grew out of that friend group and moved on. They text, call, email, message me on Linkedin and even DM my family asking about me. I'm just so conflicted on what to do and how to feel about this moving forward. I have deleted social media in part because I dont want them to see that I am active. I just want to disappear from them and for them to accept I no longer fit in.
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I just dont know what to do. Maybe all of this sounds dumb but reddit is the last place I can turn to for some good advice. What would you do in my situation? I just feel so conflicted, I feel like an awful friend but at the same time I feel justified in not wanting to be with them if I don't want to

Thanks and Credits in the Comments Section due to LONG chapter.
Chapter 31: A Whale of a Tale and it’s All True
“IT’S FUCKING J-POD!”
Kalai watched in shock and awe as the two humans collectively lost their minds, hopping up and down and letting loose a series of high pitched vocalizing as she, Papa, and Mama Sakalbi stared in confusion at the two ecstatic aliens.
Andy turned and ran back to where Kalai and her parents were still staring in amazement and held his hand out, face alight and happier than she’d ever seen him before. “Binoculars! Quick! I want to see who’s out there!” Mama Sakalbi tentatively held them out, and he took them with a nod of thanks before rushing back to the bow. Kalai started as he jumped up on the bow and balanced against the roller horns to spot the black and white whales that were swimming fast towards the net.
“Eyes on Mama Shachi! Look, over there, see her?” Kalai approached cautiously as Andy pointed in the direction of a cluster of porpoising black shapes that were coming nearer.
“Eyes on! I got Grammie Slick out there too; the WHOLE POD’S HERE!” Jackie cut loose an undulating cry and waved her hands as little geysers of water and air shot out from the water on the other side of the net.
Kalai nearly jumped when a miniature version of the Orcas from the clone tank at Headquarters breached the water, leaping almost twice her height into the air before splashing back down in a massive wave.
“Look at that! Butterball’s getting some good air these days!” Andy crowed as he hopped back down from the bow and passed the binoculars to Jackie.
“Butterball?” Mama Sakalbi asked as she and Papa joined them. Kalai stared as the Orcas formed a line and charged at the middle of the ‘S’ bend in the net before diving down in front of it, sending a wave that pushed the corks back. She saw the spouts and the dorsal fins rise again for another charge at the net.
“He’s the baby, only about four years old. Grammie Slick’s taking the family hunting, see how they’re flattening the net out? We’re about to have a great fucking day!” Andy took Jackie’s shotgun and took it back to the cabin as Kalai and her parents crowded the rail.
“What are they doing?” Mama Sakalbi’s question was directed at Jackie and the woman turned to answer with a gigantic smile.
“Herding! See the ones circling around the net?” Jackie pointed to the two dorsal fins that were almost invisible in the fog that was starting to burn off in the morning sun that had started to clear the eastern mountains. “They’ll be starting to round up small schools of salmon once they’re done turning our net into a reef. Right now, they’re running along the line and probably seeing what they have to work with.”
Mama Sakalbi did a double take, “You must be joking, that level of intelligence would almost be-”
“Human?” Jackie interrupted with a smile, “Yeah, that’s our original teachers out there. We learned to fish from them.”
“I was going to say ‘sentient’, but I take your point. What I want to know is, what are they doing?” Mama Sakalbi gestured out at them, with a bewildered look on her face.
“They’re using the net as a sea wall. Thing is, the net’s hard to see in the water, but the fish can feel it. They’ll put their heads into the net, but that doesn’t catch them. They’ll try to swim around it so that’s why we put an ‘S’ bend. That’s where most of the fish get tangled.” Andy returned and picked up the explanation. “See in the center of the line? That fin with the black and white little checkmark behind it? That’s Grammie Slick, the Matriarch. She’s around sixty now, and grew up out here LONG before you all came down. They don’t always do this, but I guess with you all keeping the fishing fleets docked, she saw the net and wanted a big meal for the family. They’re going to keep pushing the net until it’s in the shape of a crescent and herd a bunch of small schools into a big baitball with pickets to keep the fish pinned in the middle. You watch, there’ll be salmon jumping all over in the middle as they school up.”
“That’s when you’ll see them charge up the center and take big old mouthfuls of salmon. It’ll be a smorgasbord for ‘em!” Jackie pulled up Andy’s omnipad and started recording.
“Wait, but you hate seals for competing with you for food, why are you this excited about Orcas who take so much more?” Papa asked as he also took out his omnipad and started recording as the pod of Orcas finished repositioning their net just as Andy described.
“Because they’re using the nets as a reef to trap the fish! See? Look! There they go! The wolves are out scaring every salmon in the area here!” Kalai dug her own omnipad out at Andy’s words and watched as the dorsal fins sank below the waves, with only a faint and fading wake to tell where they’d gone.
“Now watch ‘em set pickets! They’re going to start patrolling the outside of the net. When they get enough salmon in the middle, they’re going to charge. When they do, watch the entire middle section of our corks go under from the salmon trying to get away. They get whole heaping mouthfuls of food and we get a full net!”
Kalai watched the Orcas swimming in circles around the net like Helix Sharks, and felt a pang of fear seeing the big predators that seemed so gentle and inquisitive in the tank. “But what if they get caught in the net?”
Jackie suppressed a laugh before sweeping an arm out at the net. “I’ve never seen that happen before, and I haven’t even heard of it happening before… at least not here in the Salish Sea. All our Orcas grew up around these nets, so they’ll either avoid them or use them like they are right now.”
“I think it’s because they can see them and the fish can’t. Either way, we’re in for a show!” Andy patted Kalai on the back before pushing Kalai and Mama Sakalbi forward.
For a long while, the surface was calm, save for the circling Orcas as they all watched. Then, by degrees, there was movement on the surface of the water as fish the length of Kalai’s arm started to jump and kick in the baitball. Kalai watched, fascinated, as Orcas seemed to appear and disappear along the edges but never approached the middle of the net.
All the fins disappeared from the surface and an eerie stillness settled over the water. Suddenly, the water in the middle of the crescent erupted, with hundreds of fish shooting out of the water and a sudden surge that hit and pushed the corks outward before they sank completely out of sight. Jackie and Andy started vocalizing those strange undulating cries again, raising their fists in the air before shouting something in their language. From as best as Kalai could guess, it was encouragement as the Orcas started breaching and jumping. In those moments, Kalai could catch glimpses of their mouths full of salmon.
Kalai watched as the terrified fish swarmed towards the net, and watched as many seemed to jump over it and swim away as the Orcas gorged themselves on the enormous school of salmon they had trapped. It was an awe inspiring sight to see, and Kalai lost herself in the moment watching the amazing display of symbiotic hunting and fishing between them and the Orcas.
The engine of the boat turning over broke the spell they were all under as Andy moved the boat at a dead slow pace back towards the net. “Alright, let’s haul it in and reset for ‘em! Jackie! Get on the bow with the billhook!” Jackie whooped in agreement and gently pushed passed Kalai to grab a long pole with a small metal hook at the end.
“We’re gonna have to work fast. They’re hungry, and we all want salmon today,” Andy called over the sound of the engine as they approached the giant buoy that marked the end of the net. “Doc! Open that hatch back there and watch your step! Mrs. Vaida, stand clear in the cabin; I want no accidents today, and three on deck’s going to be a crowd with how many fish we’re going to be taking in. Kalai, I want you back in the-”
Kalai shook her head as she put her omnipad away. “I can do it! Let me help!” she was riding the high feeling of watching the Orcas, and seeing Andy and Jackie preparing to go to work while she was to be just a passenger galled her.
Kalai saw Andy give Jackie a look that she couldn’t quite interpret. “Alright, but you’ll work with me picking fish. Jackie, you’re on the Drum; trade places with me!”
Kalai saw Jackie huff and give Andy a piercing look as she handed off the billhook. “Watch out for jellies, they tend to explode,” the native woman muttered to Kalai as she took over at the net drum’s controls. Kalai was about to volunteer to grab the line with the hook, given her longer reach, but Andy had already leaned almost all the way over the side. Kalai had a momentary scare as Andy seemed to dip forward, seemingly in danger of falling overboard, until he seemed to almost levitate himself using his lower legs back into the boat and pulled the line over the roller horns. She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do when Andy braced a foot against the side and began to pull on the line and feed it back towards Jackie.
“Way, haul away, we’ll hang and haul together! Way, haul away, haul away Joe!”
Though she didn’t understand the words, Kalai knew a sailing song when she heard one and didn’t wait for any instruction. She moved forward opposite Andy and lent a hand, pulling the heavy line in to the cadence of his chant. After two verses, Kalai heard the whine of hydraulics and the slack in the line behind them went taught.
“Stand back! Here we go!” Andy called to her and the line began pulling the net back aboard. Kalai looked back to see that Jackie had wrapped the line around the center pole of the drum, with the wheel turning to pull the line and net in out of the water. A small set of guide poles that moved when Jackie twitched the controls kept the line evenly distributed on the drum as the first corks and the dripping wet net began to appear out of the water.
“Put your hoods up!” Andy yelled at her over the noise of the machines, and demonstrated the motion. “It’ll keep the water, seaweed and Jellies out of your face and eyes, and take this!” Andy tossed her what appeared to be a handkerchief and he mimed the act of tying it around her face like a mask.
“What about you? You’re sleeveless!” Kalai’s voice was slightly muffled from the cloth as she tied it around her face before pulling up both hoods.
Andy didn’t respond, except to grin at her as he leaned out to watch the net coming up out of the water before it got pulled aboard.
From behind her, Kalai heard Jackie start singing another human sailing song. It was a bit fast paced, and Andy joined in for the chorus. On the third time she heard it, she joined in too.
“Blow ye winds in the mornin’, Blow ye winds, high ho! Haul away your running gear, And blow ye winds, high ho!”
“Coming up!” Andy shouted as there were several loud thunks before six large salmon appeared in the giant fluorescent green tangle of the net. The drum stopped, bringing the fish to a halt as Andy pulled on the corkline and scurried his hands back and forth, gathering the net up as he did until he reached the first fish. Kalai watched in awe as he seemed to magically pull the fish from the tangle and shake it out onto the deck. The second one seemed to be resting on top of the tangle and he flipped it over the corkline and shook the fish out onto the deck.
“Just watch these first few. When you get a feel for how I’m doing this, jump in. Until then, slide these beauties back towards the stern. Jackie’ll pitch ‘em into the hold.”
Kalai nodded and watched Andy’s movements intently. It looked like sorcery, with how fast he moved his hands and zeroed in on a fish. As soon as he was done, he’d whistle to Jackie, who kept singing the cadence out to pull more of the net in, only to stop when more fish were pulled up and over the horns.
The song changed twice before Kalai felt confident enough to jump in. She almost got tangled in the net herself trying to pull out her first fish, but Andy gave the net a quick tug and she was free again. Maddeningly, the fish had simply fallen out of the net without any help from her, and she fumed just long enough for Andy to point to one that was closer to her.
“Hoist up the thing, batten down the whatsit! What’s that thing spinning, somebody should stop it! Turn hard to Port! That’s not Port, NOW I GOT IT! Trust me, I’m in control!”
On the second refrain, Kalai managed to dig her first fish out and drop it to the deck. She let out a whoop, and Andy paused for a moment to give her a quick applause.
“That’s one, girl! There’s a thousand left if we’re lucky!” Jackie called out as Andy sang a verse and tackled another fish in the net.
“Keep an eye on the lead line; make sure it doesn’t go over the corks!” Andy called as Kalai ran down her second fish and was about to throw the excess net over the other side. She stopped, and Andy helped her get the fish without tangling the net.
It took until the end of the song for Kalai to find her rhythm, and soon she and Andy were running down fish in the net in a crisp and quick manner. Kalai felt like she could go faster, but Andy had cautioned her to keep pace with the songs, as there was still a lot of net to go. When Kalai spared a glance at the length of net still in the water, she saw that Andy wasn’t kidding. It looked like they hadn’t even really started to reel it all in. Ok, it’s hard work, but so is sailing, and he’s my size so I should be able to keep up with him. If he can do it, I can do it!
“Haul away you rollin’ kings! Heave away, Haul away! Haul away you’ll hear me sing, We’re bound for South Australia!”
Andy was impressed. Kalai had jumped in without complaint, and she was very coachable. He could feel himself start to flag as they were starting to come to the last third of the net, but Kalai’s persistence, even though she was sweatier and more haggard than he was, kept him going.
The pile of salmon was almost as deep as their calves, and the deck was getting slick with fish slime. For that matter, so was Andy. In a momentary lull in the fish coming over the horns, Andy caught a glimpse of himself shimmering with all the scales that had flown off the fish as they scraped against the net to hit the deck, flopping. He took a big gulp of air and Kalai groaned as she straightened up, cracking her back as she twisted and bent to relieve her aching muscles.
Andy groaned a bit and looked back towards the stern. It was getting hard to see over the amount of net they’d pulled back in, but he could see Doc and Mrs. Vaida doing their best to help throw and shove the piles of salmon into the hold. Everybody’s getting their hands dirty today. Andy smiled and heaved a happy sigh. This, this is what I want. Being out on the water and doing good, hard work.
“SHIT, JELLYFISH!” Kalai shouted as she twisted away to hide her face behind her rain slicker hood. Andy blinked just in time as a wet squelching sound sent a spray of disintegrating jellyfish exploding all over the bow as the net bunched up and got squeezed together.
Andy felt it splatter all over his arms, neck, and face, before he felt it start to slide down his shirt to his chest. Almost immediately, he started to feel the burn. His arms, neck, and chest he could stand, but the blossoming pain on his lips, eyelids, cheeks, and most horribly the inside of his nose overwhelmed all his conditioned pain tolerance.
“FUCK!” Andy screamed. “FUCKING FUCKER! RIGHT IN MY FUCKING FACE! GOD FUCKING DAMNIT! FUCK!” Andy only barely avoided bringing his hands to his face. It was a hard fought thing to deny his instinct to try and scrape it off, but he felt his boots loose purchase and his feet slide out from under him. He hit the pile of fish that surrounded him hard. He was aware of Kalai yelling for her father and Mrs. Vaida, while Jackie’s braying laugh carried over everything else.
Andy felt Kalai trying to grab him, but her gloves were too slick to get a grip and all she did was spread the stingers more evenly over his arms. Andy kept his eyes squeezed shut as he heard Jackie start to direct the confused and panicking aliens.
“Hold your breath, cuz, vinegar incoming!”
Andy felt the bitter stinging splash as Jackie poured a steady stream of vinegar out from what he assumed was the giant jug he kept for these occasions underneath the little kitchenette in the cabin. Though nothing about the intensity of the burn changed, in the back of his mind, Andy knew that it was killing the stinging cells.
“Alright, Kally, take that bucket and fill it with seawater from over the side, then dump it on him.”
Andy sputtered a bit and spit as he scrabbled onto his knees. He steadied himself with one hand on the rail beside him and the other which found the corkline. He kept his eyes shut and growled as the burning spread from his hairline down to his navel. A sudden bracing splash of cold water nearly bowled him back over. Without warning, Andy hadn't had time to get a breath and he sputtered and yowled as the water soaked down under his rain gear.
Andy shook his head like a dog, whipping his braid back and forth before daring to open his eyes. “Son of a BITCH!” Andy growled as he got a look at Kalai holding an empty bucket, while Jackie was shoo’ing Mrs. Vaida and Dr. He’osforos away to give him some room.
“Jesus, quit your bawlin,’ you big baby, you’re acting like you’ve never been stung before!” Jackie called back to him as Andy ripped the gloves off his hands and plunged them over the side to clean off the stingers.
“It’s in my fucking nose you horse’s ass!” Andy shouted back as he splashed his face. A few strings of purple stingers fell into the water and Andy reared back aboard. “Ugh, get another bucket of seawater! I can still feel this shit!”
“Andrei, as a medical professional, I advise you to cease work and-”
Andy looked over as Dr. He’osforos spoke but waved him off mid sentence. “I appreciate it Doc, but I’ve had it far worse than this. There’s a brown and yellow bottle in one of the drawers under the bench that says ‘Motrin’. Get me the bottle or enough to tranq a cow, and I’ll go back to work just fine.”
Kalai let loose a piercing scream and Andy looked over just in time to see her rocketed herself backwards, dropping the bucket over the side. The Doctor caught his daughter before she fell into the hold, but he too had a look of fear plastered on his face. Andy and Jackie moved to the side to see what had scared her so badly, and the two of them couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Grammie Slick and two of her daughters were there, sticking their heads out of the water with their mouths open, while Butterball was playing with the bucket.
Jackie laughed and stuck her hand out, rubbing the Orca matriarch on the snout. “Raggedy Andy’s fine, Grammie Slick! He’s just milking it for sympathy from these gullible hwun’eetums!”
“What in the Balance of Nature is going on here?” Mrs. Vaida’s shocked voice caused Andy and Jackie to look at her as she stared dumbfounded at the Orcas that were gathering alongside the boat.
“Oh they’re just saying ‘hi.’” Andy shrugged with a smile, despite the burning.
“More like ‘What the hell, cousins, you still got fish to pick. Quit loafin’ around and get another set in!’”
“Jackie, Motrin… NOW!” Andy growled at her. Jackie blew a raspberry at him before diving into the cabin.
“They’re pretty friendly, if you’d like to be introduced,” Andy held out a hand and motioned for Kalai and her father to step forward. Andy dipped his hand in again to make sure it was clear of any stinging cells, before he gently guided the hesitant Kalai to stick her ungloved hand out toward Grammie Slick.
One of the daughters blew a spout before sliding back under water, but Grammie gave a few clicks before briefly touching Kalai’s outstretched hand. “Kalai, this is Grammie Slick, Matriarch of J-Pod. Grammie, this is Kalai… a purple hwun’eetum.” Andy laughed a bit at the look of incredulity on Kalai’s face and the concern on her father’s.
There was a series of shutter clicks from behind Andy, and he turned to see Sakalbi snapping pictures as fast as she could. Kalai was clearly torn between fear and wonder as she held perfectly still and silent for Grammie, who was letting her touch her before she slid back under the water herself. Andy laughed as several clicks and whistles from the pod reverberated through the hull of the boat and he leaned back in.
“Alright, break’s over,” Andy called as he caught the flying bottle of pills Jackie threw at him. He popped two and swallowed them dry before washing the gloves off and putting them on. The extra rinse would have to wait, and he’d have to tough it out until they got back to shore. His boots squelched as he picked his way through the fish on the deck to get back to his station and nodded for Jackie to restart the drum.
It was another twenty minutes before the last of the net was pulled aboard and they were able to clear away all the fish into the hold. Andy stuck his head in and smiled. In a single set, they’d filled three quarters of it, and they had more than enough fish for the gathering and to feed another ten to fifteen families besides. The spouts and the clicks of J-Pod hanging around the boat, however, told Andy that they wanted their reef back and were still hungry.
Andy ordered them to prep the net for another set and helmed his boat again, only to bomb out in a straight line and let J-Pod take care of the fishing from that point on. Once they’d finished, Andy moved the boat out of the Orcas’ way and stood outside the cabin with Jackie while the three aliens crowded the bow, watching and recording the whales going to work a second time.
“Ok, I think we might get a moment to talk,” Andy muttered to Jackie in Salishian. “New orders from the Council. There’s going to be a raid.”
Jackie sucked in a breath and looked at him, all levity gone. “Cambrians, Militia, or the Dummy Bunnies?”
“Militia and the Interior.”
Jackie whistled softly in surprise as her eyebrows shot up. “Really poking the bear, cuz… When and where?”
“Uncle Willy wants us to hit the Militia Supply Depot out by Tanner on Saturday,” Andy growled quietly as he watched Kalai pointing to Grammie Slick’s dorsal as she swam out on the picket around the net.
“You mean the one close to the Snoqualmish?”
“Yeah. Full raid, we’re to hit it and take any supplies, especially military, that we can and destroy what we can’t. The messier we can make it the better. We’ll meet up with the Resistance on the old Bessemer Logging road by Hancock Creek and they get half for taking the credit. Me and Chuck’ve been assigned to ‘lead’ you.” Andy nodded and tried to flick some of the fish scales off himself, but got nowhere.
Jackie sat down on the rail with a groan before looking back up at him with a smirk. “You mean babysit on overwatch while we do the real work.”
Andy pursed his numb lips together and considered the ramifications of folding his arms on the jellyfish burns that had started to go quiet thanks to the Motrin. “Grandma and the Council want me to ‘get my hands dirty.’” He gritted his teeth in frustration.
“What? I’m sorry, that sentence made zero sense.” Jackie shook her head like she’d just been slapped.
Andy couldn’t keep the frustration and anger out of his tone when he spoke. “Apparently there are doubts about my loyalty to the tribe and whether or not I’ve lost my way.”
Jackie huffed in amusement. “Everyone knows the Council’s fucking stupid, but this is a new level of dumb. You got us land back, you got them to allow you to break the rules to feed our people, they’re fixing the fuck ups on our waterways because of you and they think you’ve gone to the dark side?” Jackie started laughing at the nonsense of the politics.
“Last time we talked, you thought I was playing with fire and-” Andy started to throw back at her before she snorted loudly.
“Results talk, cuz. Three of our Hatcheries returned, and my whole family drawing good money in Imperial Credits? Fuck, even if you had sold out, we need more Clan Heads doing the same thing.” She smiled as she nodded towards their guests on the bow.
“They still don’t trust that I know what I’m doing,” Andy growled as he folded his arms unconsciously and immediately regretted it.
Jackie snorted. “Of course they don’t. You didn’t talk to them or get their permission first. Hell, I’m surprised your grandma didn’t chuck you out on your ear for even suggesting that you should work for the dummy bunnies.” Jackie stretched and hopped up and around Andy to grab a water bottle. “But it’s working out. There’s land being returned, money in our hands, and food about to be on our table. You’re doin’ what a Chief is supposed to do.”
Andy scoffed and started to object. “I’m no Chief-”
Jackie gave his shoulder a slap and grinned evilly as a starburst of pain and burning cut through the painkillers, shutting Andy up mid-protest. “You keep saying you aren’t, but that don’t make it true.” She resumed her seat as Andy fought the yowl of pain back so as not to give her the satisfaction. “I mean, case in point, what are you going to do with all these fish Grammie’s catching for us right now?”
Andy blinked a few times as he regained his composure and thought seriously about his answer. “We’ll pull fifteen for the gathering they got invited to… Then all the fish you can pack into the truck goes to the Exiles. The rest? I’ll call Chuck and get some folks from the Council to claim the rest and distribute it to the families that need it.”
Jackie deepened her voice and adopted a cowboy drawl. “He never eats until he sees the pots are full of meat in the lodges of the widows and orphans-”
“That’s Comanche Law, not Salish, and that’s from a John Wayne movie, you ass.” Andy huffed and Jackie giggled wickedly, flipped him off.
“Still haven’t refuted my point, cuz.” Jackie’s singsong voice caused Andy to glare spitefully at her, until she raised her hands defensively. “Alright, you’re not a Chief. So, Not Chief Tsu’titsi’uqw; you need to get your hands dirty and lead a raid. I’ll scrape up what we need and scout the target. You just meet up with us Saturday night at the Snoqualmish Casino and I’ll put a gun in your hands. Don’t worry, we’ll only get dirty enough to make the Council happy.”
“I’ll be a bit late; I’m escorting them to the Hwatcom Family Gathering on Friday.” Andy took a step back as Jackie stood up and twisted a bit to stretch out.
“No surprise there, grandpa’s an old school traditional Indian. They’re dummies, but they’re trying to do right by us, finally. Again, thanks to you, Chie-” Andy slapped the back of her head hard and growled at her, but she just started laughing, making him even madder.
“Alright, enough. Let’s get on the bow and not look like we’re sketchy Indians plotting to attack an Imperial fort.” Andy snarled, shoving her past him while she just kept laughing.
Andy stomped forward, aware of the wet sounds his boots made as he walked. Kalai turned and smiled at him as he moved to stand beside her and her father. “So how are they doing out there?”
“They just started their attack. This is fascinating! Their coordination, their ingenuity, and adaptation to human activity is astounding! I wish I had brought observation drones!” Sakalbi was glued to the binoculars and holding her omnipad up while she muttered observations into the speaker. Andy was content to watch as the pod put on a repeat performance and the net sagged again until they all came up and started swimming lazily around the net and the boat. All of them except Butterball and one of his older brothers. The two seemed to be getting into a jumping contest.
“He’s feeling a bit hyper. Must be nice to be full,” Jackie commented as the two whales took turns jumping out of the water and twisting in the air. Andy smiled and nodded and felt a hand go to his shoulder. He looked down and saw it was Kalai making eyes at him. Andy hid the grimace at the burn and gave her a wink.
“That one’s getting closer, should we be concerned?” Andy looked over at Dr. He’osforos and Kalai quickly moved her hand as they watched Butterball getting closer and closer with each jump.
Jackie hopped up and straddled the railing as Andy and Kalai shared a concerned look. Jackie hooked a hand around one of the roller horns and peered down into the water. “I don’t think so, I mean he knows we’re-”
The sudden appearance of a flying adolescent Orca only a scant few feet away from the boat right next to the lot of them cut Jackie off. Most of them only had enough time to watch the little playful bastard hang in the air for a moment before he twisted to almost shoulder punch the water as he came back down. Andy had just enough presence of mind to pull Kalai and her father down, and braced himself as the plume of water rose from where Butterball landed.
“Oh shi-” Andy heard Jackie say before water cascaded down on them and drenched them all, sending the boat rocking violently.
It took a moment for Andy to recover and he helped the two Shil back to their feet. “Quick check, is everyone alright?”
“HEY! WHAT THE HELL, BUTTERBALL! GRAMMIE! YOU HAVE A TALK WITH YOUR GRANDSON! HE’S GONNA GET SOMEONE KILLED ONE OF THESE DAYS!” Jackie screamed at the water, shaking her fist.
A camera shutter sounded and a dripping wet Mrs. Vaida stood, wide eyed in fear, staring out over the water.
Andy started laughing at the sight of his boss soaked to the bone, her hair and her fur a dripping mess. “That picture right there? You can title it: ‘Angry Native Woman Yells at Whale.’”
Kalai looked like she was on Krek’s doorstep. Akil’eas knelt next to her as he finished his examination and was looking over the readings on his omnipad. His daughter sat in front of the cabin on the little step, legs splayed out in front of her while she leaned against the railing on the side of the boat. Her father stood next to her as he finished a quick check of her vitals and her viral load.
“Unsurprisingly, you’re a bit elevated, but given your numbers over the last week, that’s saying that you’ve come back up to your normal levels.” Akil’eas had been worried. When they’d hauled in the net the second time, Kalai had stayed on the bow with the boy, Andy, while Akil’eas’d stood over the human woman’s shoulder and studied the controls.
Akil’ieas had also pitched in and helped fill the hold, but when he and Sakalbi could no longer stuff them in, they’d given up and stood out of the way. His old friend and colleague had spent the rest of the time recording, either the large predators that continued to circle and play around the boat, or the seemingly inefficient fishing practice of Andy and his people. No wonder he was so big, and his brother had been that strong. It beggared belief that their people worked at that backbreaking pace for so long, but there Andy stood, proud and tall at the end of it, while he and Sakalbi struggled to stay standing.
Akil’eas had to focus on keeping his hands from shaking and retrieved another water bottle for his exhausted daughter. Andy had them moving at a slow pace back towards a different harbor from the one they’d left that morning. They’d stopped briefly at the pier they’d started from to allow Jackie to disembark. The two humans packed all the fish that couldn’t fit in the hold up to Jackie’s truck and filled the bed of it without any help. She drove off with close to a hundred fish.
Now with the deck cleared, Andy told them they were on their way to the harbor most of his Band used. The trip had been slower going than the morning had been, but only because they were riding much lower in the water than they had been.
“King Triton’s farewell,” Kalai muttered looking up. Akil’eas followed his daughter’s gaze up to see a flock of white and gray seabirds calling out loudly as they kept pace with the boat as it headed towards the docks.
“It means work’s almost over. It’s a great sound, isn’t it?” Andy called out from the cabin where he sat at the helm.
Kalai shifted herself with great effort to look around the door to the cabin. “It sounds amazing.”
The smile Andy gave Kalai caused Akil’eas to have a pang of fatherly protectiveness, and only fatigue kept the scowl off his face. “Just wait, we’ll clean a few once we’ve off-loaded to the families. Fresh salmon tonight for everyone, and I’m cooking! Doc, we’d love to have you, too.”
“I’d love to but-”
Kalai grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Trust me, Papa, you don’t want to miss it.”
Akil’eas chewed his tongue for a moment, looking from Andy to Kalai. Sakalbi caught his eye and nodded emphatically. “Alright, if you’ll allow me to help. You must be exhausted.”
Andy beamed at Akil’eas, “You won’t hear me turn down free help.”
“Vaascon fellas don’t have no frills, Haul away, haul away! They’re plain and skinny as a lodthfish gill, And we’re bound away for Vaasconia!”
Kalai sat back and started singing between sips of water. Akil’eas sat down next to her and joined in the chorus for a Vaascon sailing song. It was strange to think that these humans also sang to their sea gods to placate them and coordinate the work. What else could you expect from a sailorman? Some things call to the soul across time and evidently even the gulf space and peoples.
“So heave him up my Turry Turry girls, Haul away, haul away! Heave him up and let the sails unfurl! And we’re bound away for Vaasconia!”
Andy’s voice joining in on the chorus startled Akil’eas and Kalai and they both turned to look back at him.
He gave them another wide grin, “I started learning some of the sail songs after Kalai told me about sailing on Shil.”
“Akil’eas, a word?” Sakalbi motioned with her head towards the bow and offered him a hand up. He followed her to the bow, leaving the two children singing together.
The harbor mouth was coming up fast, and between the noise of the engine and the net drum keeping them out of sight, there was some privacy. “I’ve heard some rumors about your feelings toward humans…” Sakalbi leaned against the railing, giving him the look that every teacher and professor had when questioning a belligerent student. When Akil’eas didn’t answer her, save to throw her back his own look, she continued. “Kalai is quite taken with Andy. It’s been quite a refreshing thing to see her come out of her shell.”
“It’s a vacation romance, nothing more.” Akil’eas felt his stomach clench and couldn’t stop himself from looking back.
“I don’t think so, Akil’eas. This is the first time I’ve seen her so on thorns and thistles around anyone, much less a male. She’s been very keen around him.” The smile she gave him was a bit galling, but he had to admit, he didn’t really know Kalai as well as Sakalbi and her spouses.
“He is… I’m sure he is a very nice young man, but as a fit consort for a soon to be Duchess? No, and I’ve yet to meet a human that is.” The thought of a human becoming the next Duke He’osforos was absurd. Sure there had been the occasional non-Shil Kho-liebhaberin or even the one Duke Aurar’ian He’osforos who was a Triki, but a human? “They’re far too individualistic and self centered to rise to the responsibilities of the Peerage.”
“That’s not exactly as large a sample size as you think it is, Leas. If you had Andy in your class, or on your crew, disregarding the fact that he’s human, what would your read on him be?”
Akil’eas locked his jaw and pursed his lips, defiantly. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Leas, you’re better than me at reading people, and I’m damn good at it.” He hated how Sakalbi’s eyes flashed and her right ear would twitch when she thought she had the upper hand in an argument. He huffed a sigh and decided to play her little game, just to humor her enough so that she’d drop the subject.
“Dependable, fastidious and competent, judging by the state of his equipment and his boat. Self sacrificing, diligent, hard working, given what I’ve observed today. He’s got a temper, but it takes a bit to get there, and he’s carrying some pretty heavy emotional scars.” He’d not seen very much of Andy, but the old Sailing Master and Professor in him started to come out and assess the boy just as he would any of his students or junior sailors.
“That’s my read, too. Doesn’t sound so individualistic and self-centered to me. Blighted Nature, Leas, from what I’ve learned about him and his people, he broke with several of their traditions and customs to help us. He’s stuck his neck out far further for us than we would have for him and his people, for no other reason than to try and save his homeland. Were he an Erbian on Myr or even back home in Vaasconia, there’d be Groom-War over his hand.”
Akil’eas was a bit piqued about her statement, “What about your daughter? Kalai made no secret about little Sitry mooning after him, and her disapproval of their courtship.”
“She thinks she’s in love, and it very well might be that she is, but Kalai’s disapproval should tell you what it tells me, given your own rather astute assessment of the man.”
“HEY DOC! TAKE THE WHEEL, I GOTTA DRUM US IN!” Andy’s voice cut their conversation short as Akil’eas turned to look back around the drum. Andy waved him back as he slowed their approach to come in. “Take us to Dock 5, straight back and to port.”
“Straight back and to larboard, aye!” Akil’eas rattled off as he traded places with Andy at the helm.
Kalai heaved herself up to stand as Andy grabbed a large leather circle and ran forward to jump up on the bow. As Akil’eas piloted the boat into the harbor and made the turn, he saw a large crowd of humans gathered on the pier and the shore. As soon as they were in sight, he watched as Andy, standing tall, began to drum a beat and vocalize, projecting his voice over the water to those on shore. Akil’eas sputtered a bit in surprise as he guided the boat slowly towards the open mooring.
“That’s their call. His family’s song lets the people on shore know who he is and that he’s friendly.” Kalai looked back at Akil’eas before moving inside the cabin to stand next to her father. “All the families know it, but only he is allowed to sing it. It’s their version of a family crest and coat of arms. Elder Hwatcom taught us about those. There’ll be a reply in a second granting us permission to come ashore.”
There was indeed a response of drumming and singing from the assembly of humans as many started to crowd forward carrying what appeared to be coolers. Andy reappeared and took the controls back and reversed to kill their forward momentum as Sakalbi threw out their mooring lines to the waiting humans. Andy killed the engine and moved quickly out of the cabin to speak in a language that Akil’eas did not recognize. There seemed to be a bit of confusion from those gathered on the dock, but Andy opened the hatch to show the hold full of fish.
“Don’t thank me, thank them. Sockeye and Kings to all comers, courtesy of the Vaidas and the Vaida Warren!” Andy shouted happily in Vatikre as he pulled two giant fish out by their gills and handed them off to the applauding humans.
Sakalbi managed to shoot Akil’eas a smug look before she plunged her hands into the mass of fish and began helping Andy hand them out to the people.
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Possible Late Post Due to Vacation. I will try to post on time, but it may be as late as 6/12/23

I don't know why it has taken me until 2023 to playthrough TNT: Evilution, I love Doom... I've dabbled in some mods and wads here and there, played Sigil, No Rest for the Living, Doom 2 dozens and dozens of times. Decided to finally sit down and see what TNT is all about, no idea if I'll ever play Plutonia... I'm a bit Doomed out for awhile after finishing TNT. Well, from someone who went into this megawad mostly blind, here is what I think of the maps...
Map 01: System Control Rating: 7/10 Decent starting map, not overly complex or difficult. Grabbing the Berserk at the start to clear out the first parts of the map is a pretty satisfying way to get things started. Though there is an "outside" area of the map, most of it feels a bit claustrophobic and some of the rooms are just a bit too tight and compact. Fair and reasonable amount of ammo and health.
Map 02: Human BBQ Rating: 6/10 There are some interesting ideas on this map, but gameplay wise they don't really make for a satisfying experience. Couple big ambushes, but thankfully they aren't terribly unfair. Jumping out the window to get onto the area with the yellow/blue keys is kinda neat, but sometimes you need to waste time trying again when you don't make the jump.
Map03: Power Control Rating 6/10 Fairly standard TechBase, outdoor "ring" area is nicely designed but not overly special or unique. Not bad gameplay throughout, but just nothing stands out as super exciting on this map. Archvile near the blue key (I think?) was a neat little surprise.
Map04: Wormhole 7.5/10 Neat design and a very cool overall concept, unfortunately it feels like you have to specifically go out of your way to 100 percent the map, as some areas are somewhat unnecessary. Kind of scary/annoying fighting some of those revenants in such close quarters but still I thought it was a decently unique map.
Map05: Hanger 7/10 Lots of very tight and confusing corridors and a big wide open area fight. Nicely designed with some nasty traps. Not sure why but I enjoyed this one, even if it wasn't super special. Blue Key with the Revenant ambush was fun.
Map06: Open Season 8/10 I really liked this one, the big reactor concept was very cool and I really appreciate designs that feel a bit less abstract while keeping gameplay mostly intact. Ledge walking to get the Yellow Key is slightly annoying but this was still fun to explore.
Map07: Prison 5/10 Really don't like the outdoor section, as clearing out the hitscanners and other enemies to make it safe enough to explore is just too tedious for me. Its just a bit too wide open, and I don't always enjoy that in Doom gameplay. Big cage arena is fun if you have the invulnerability but I somehow missed it my first time and got fucked. Not fun lol.
Map08: Metal 4.5/10 Big rooms loaded with enemies. The one with the imps in cages has a cool aesthetic but by the time you finish the map you are absolutely exhausted from the tedious open room fights with chaingunners and specters standing in your way. Ugh. Just not for me.
Map09: Stronghold 6.5/10 Lots of nasty traps and difficult maps, man this one gave me trouble. There were some cool map design tricks and elements to the map that boosted the rating because despite being yet another techbase, it had a pretty neat layout.
Map10: Redemption 7.5/10 Really liked this one, tight design, short, sweet and to the point with a few tough and surprising encounters. Plenty of health laying around, so the really tough fights aren't too bad as long as you can survive them. I do wish there was maybe just one more room or encounter just to make it slightly longer but still a nice map.
Map11: Storage Facility 3/10 I have a love/hate thing with box mazes, big ass warehouse looking maps. The outside security checkpoints are very clever and look really nice but man the indoor box section is so bad. Just not my taste.
Map12: Crater 7/10 Good one. Some big open areas that I usually don't like but the fights didn't feel tedious or unfair like Metal or some of the others. Really fun to explore the map, though I don't think I really cared for the tunnel area with the water running through. Very decent, but not special.
Map13: Nukage Processing 8.5/10 Love the central hub with the slime/nukage. Another big outdoor area, but the tough fight here leads to a very satisfying CyberDemon fight that I quite enjoyed. Big storage vat of the green stuff fit the theme of the map really well. Just a really nicely designed map with the right level of difficulty.
Map14: Steel Works 7/10 Clever design. Grab your chaingun and go to town. I tend not to like crushers very much, and though you do get a set of goggles, the map has just a bit too much darkness and tricky to navigate spots. Nice to see a Mastermind, but the room wasnt set up very well to make a fun encounter. Cool concepts, but the gameplay wasn't always great.
Map15: Dead Zone 6.5/10 Tough one to rate, as the big fort is very neatly designed but window chaingunners are sometimes just a bit too annoying when navigating the perimeter. Some of the map progression is a bit unclear (how to open things, the switches, etc). In theory I liked the design but I ended up just not liking the gameplay much.
Map16: Deepest Reaches 5/10 An incoherent design when compared with the rest of TNT up to this point. The switch/platforming puzzle near the end was cool but it didn't make up for the rather bland canyon and cliffside sections. The fights weren't bad at all but just something about the design feels really bland compared to the other maps.
Map17: Processing Area 9/10 Fantastic. Clear, easy to understand design with a whole mess of dangerous encounters and enemies. Tight and compact but intricate enough to include lots of cool details. Great balance of exploration and good encounters. Exactly my cup of tea.
Map18: Mill 2/10 Fuck this map. I get what they were going for with the switch puzzle in the big blue CPU core looking room but I didn't like the implementation of it. Lots of pointless, annoying or otherwise confusing rooms. Final area is pretty neat but man I just had such a difficult time with it.
Map19: Shipping Respawning 10/10 (!) I hear this map isn't well liked, but man I love this one despite not generally liking rooms with boxes in them. So many little details in this map, the office room, the conveyor belt, the little truck outside. A super coherent map design by Doom's generally more abstracted levels. Easily my favorite TNT map.
Map20: Central Processing 9/10 God damn this map is brutal, and although it has some elements I normally don't like... the scale of the map, the ridiculous encounters and traps and the level of challenge were just awesome in my eyes. Last big outdoor series of encounters can be damn hard but delivered that sigh of relief and accomplishment once done. What a map.
Map21: Administration Center 6/10 I love central hubs, and having the keys be in that center slime pit was cool but I don't like being almost forced to touch damaging floors while trying to dodge revenants. Outdoor section didn't have enough interesting details to make the fights pleasing. Exploring the map was pretty fun but near the end I was getting exhausted with imp spamming fireballs at me while dealing with everything else going on.
Map22: Habitat 4/10 Just a pointless map, most of it can be skipped entirely and the weird maintenance tunnels are really stupid and contain secrets that are barely secrets. The archvile traps were surprisingly a fun surprise but still managed to rub me the wrong way considering how the rest of the map just feels so... directionless. Just not well thought out.
Map23: Lunar Mining Project 6.5/10 Not a bad map at all, just a bit too many rooms that serve no real purpose, but still work well within the design concepts. A nice break after suffering through the ugliness of Habitat. I just wish it had a bit more to do, as the strange section in the underground felt a bit half-baked. If there was just a bit more polish done on this map it could have been a real banger.
Map24: Quarry 7/10 Cool design, just not a very memorable one as its very short. The winding passages aren't that confusing once you do some running around in here. Nothing wrong with this one, lots of cool little details, just another map thats missing something a bit extra.
Map25: Baron's Den 5.5/10 A bit of a mixed bag as it has some really nice designs in some sections while others just have really stupid fights that aren't that fun. While there were a few maps before this that were too short, this one feels too long for what it is. I think a few of the maps and areas could be slightly remixed to make this a 7 or higher but... didn't care for this one.
Map26: Ballistyx 9.5/10 Banger. Love the claustrophobia of descending the elevator into a series of creepy tunnels. Great gameplay, balanced traps and fights, felt good to explore and open things up. Exit was a bit weird and some places could have used just a tiny bit more lighting.
Map27: Mount Pain 0/10 Why? Why is the interior so ugly? Where is my health? Why is there so many enemies that aren't placed in interesting areas besides just spammed at you? Dumb. Just really fucking bad.
Map28: Heck 10/10 A central hub! Hellish! Rockets everywhere! Wonderfully designed map that is really fun to play. Each room branching off the center has it's own unique gameplay feeling. Chefs kiss. A classic Doom design that just works on so many levels.
Map29: River Styx 9/10 Great design. Well laid out, lots of powerups and ammo and just a real joy to explore. So many well thought out fights except for maybe the last ambush in the very tight corridor is just a bit unnecessary. A real treat of a map.
Map30: Last Call 6.5/10 I don't dislike this map, but its just so mixed. Instakill platforms were cool the first time through when you figure out the puzzle of it, then it just feels like tedium. Some okay fights like the revenant/arachno room and the cyber, but then a real bland section where you're literally just shooting fish in a barrel. Demon Spitter room is fine, just a bit tight and hectic. Final levels are rarely very good in Doom so overall just kinda "pretty good/okay".
Not reviewing the secret levels since I didn't find them during my first blind playthrough.

Hello, everyone! These are the first two chapters of my fantasy fiction, The Word Of Chaos. I haven't really written a novel before (tried multiple times but always got bored after something just did not work), so I might not be familiar with some of the 'technical terms' of writing.
1st chapter: A day spent in control, a month spent under sorrow's soul, what is it that makes me different from a devil, if evil lies in my veins, made of holes.
Beautiful, isn't it? People smiling, laughing happily. Seemingly, doing the most obvious thing, without any thought. Walking with their friends, munching on an hash brown, taking their lovers on a date, or just simply... sitting. Doing nothing and anything - something and more than nothing, I must ask those who do something, what do you find in that something that you are happy? And to those who do nothing, what is it in nothing that you gain something?
It is a concept... that we, especially I, fail to comprehend.
Chapter 1: Ceremonial rites
"The lesser good, and the greater evil.", a deep, eccentric voice filled the chamber. The voice, kept on retracting and contracting, reflecting endlessly. And being etched into everyone's mind. "If good deeds end up in an evill doer, or, if evil deeds end up in a good doer, how must we distinguish an evil doer from a good doer?" The baptist stopped for a second, standing still on his high ground. As he scratched his side hair, he rapidly started turning pages. One by one. Two by two. Three by three. Four.. by Four until he stopped. Although it was difficult to tell whether he stopped or time itself halted. "Well, the Wolves. Ooh, a name to tell indeed isn't it?" Everyone chuckled, silently as possible. "The Wolves. Ah, yes. Well an old man never forgets despair does he?" "The Wolves were a group of savage, barbaric demons who came from the western land, yes?" Everyone nodded in unison, like children in a class. "They robbed stuff, stole gold, and ran off like cowards to their 'home' which they ever so happily stole from others." He paused for a second, resuming walking from right to left. Left to right. Right to left. His feet lifting so slightly from the ground, making a rubbing sound. His leg not bending even a single degree. And, his posture remaining the same throughout; tall, high, straight. Not a single person dared to wet their tissues.
"Well, that's at least what we are taught." He started walking quickly. Not hastily, but patiently, taking each step in caution. "For all that I could see, they carried their own good." Everyone was shocked, not because of the statement, but because it was made in front of the nobles of the royal family. "The lesser good, and the greater evil." He repeated the principle again. Although, this time, he looked directly at us with a wide, focused glare. As if he was trying to foreshadow something - a message, a key to a note, the future and the past that can lead to it. "What must be done for good must be done." "A small deed, how small, must be accomplished even if requires a greater sin." Time, truly had stopped. In its truest essence, time halted. Not even a speckle of dust dared move. The nobles, sat in expressionless faces, as they too admired his glory distilling each and every word that he said against them. For the first time, no one sat down after a speech had ended.
"So, what it is that I want to tell you guys?" "Hmmm, perhaps some might take this as a bit of dating advice? Mmm, mhmm?" A small chuckle silenced the entire glory of the chamber. It felt like the normal, plain theatre.
"That there will come times, when difficult decisions must be made for the greater good. For -" "Mr. Mephisto, I believe we should start the baptism." A surreal voice interrupted. A noble from the right side of the chamber stood up, and gestured his servants to pass out what seemed like a paper.
But still, Mephisto never faced the noble. Rather, he increased his walking speed as if he was intentionally trying to ignore the noble in question. And then, almost in a sense of urgency, stopped walking. As if he found what he was trying to find. Imagined what was to happen. For the final time, he stopped walking and looked back at us. He said,
"Alas, lads. Laddened are the ladels, so we must too ladel them for their lads."
My thoughts were apparently audible to everyone. And after realizing it, they were and what's worse, I was speaking really loud. "What, lad? Laddening the past, are we?" I did not look beside me to check who was talking. All my mind could think about was the past.
Later on... Mephisto was found dead, on the same stage that he staged his speech on. Chapter 2: The Prelude Of Chaos
Calamity, bethought is thy name, what is it left when blood kills the blood of supreme pain? Is it the good of the ruler, or the evil of the ruled whose kindst were killed too? Or, is it the evil of the ruler that will still impact the kingdom of his devious rule? Chaos' Child, Tell Me, What is it That A Cat Must Do In Order To Be A King, And Not Be A Fool?
"Margaret, how many times must I tell you? Your mouth... should ... ah, yes there you go." It was one of those popular adult shows that we could watch while eating food, and not get disgusted by the sight. "Ah, this show is so good." A crude voice came from my right. It sounded like General Pendra, one of the higher-ups. Technically, he was the only higher-up that we knew of. Others chilled in the air conditioning room, with their own beer and women. "Well, this is the only women that we could get." The voice was surreal enough to distract me from the television. His voice was practically laughing, jiggling around in his mouth. Only the lower soldiers still have the nerve to speak in such a manner when a higher-up is present. I was not even sitting in front of the television but could hear their voices clearly. It was as if a bunch of old men were hagging around with a bunch of old hags, but instead of seducing them, started talking about their experiences with other hags. I wanted them to shut up already, so that I can focus on my work. But, it did not feel like they were going to stop either way. Well, whether they sto - "Private Sanahate reporting, sir. May I presume that I am speaking to Lieutenant of the Night Parade, the left seat commandment, the person known by many names, the Lor-" "Yes, you are speaking with him. What business do you have here?" "I-I apologize for my rude behavior. I am a big fan, sir. I just could not control saying those words when I am present before your Eminence." The voice was rather slingy. It sounded like it came from all directions but in fact, only came from one. It sounded like a mix of personalities - angry, sad, reverance, loyalty, happiness, all of them were audible. It did not sound like one of my underlings, so it must have been from either the leftover soldiers who were not able to go to war, or the servants of the soldiers who went. "Speak your business, and make it quick. I do not want you to stay here for even a minute. This isn't a place that the higher ups would like you to stay in." I gestured towards General Pendra to show him what I meant. Oh, how the great fall, don't they? It was embarrassing to even point at him. "Yes. I am here to deliver news from the battlefield, sir. The 91st cavalry... has been destroyed." I was not surprised. Considering the leader that they were assigned to, it was only natural that they would meet their demise at the battlefield. But, the most information here is not that they were destroyed, but who- "Who killed them?" I did not even need to deduce who this voice was from. Surreal, glorious, educative and revered. It was Mr. Mephisto, the baptist. "Sir, your orders. I believe I have a strong hunch about who killed the 91st cavalry. If you may allow, please send me to the battlefield, and I shall achieve results as soon as possible." My body did not even need to think what I should say. It reacted on its own, and said the default thing that any soldier would say. "No, you must stay here." He gestured a palm towards me. This was the first time ever that Mr. Mephisto declined anyone's request. "Private Sanahate, prepare me a quick horse to travel on and pack my belongings. If you don't know where to find them, ask Januela." "But, Sir Mephisto, this i-" "I don't need buts and muts. Either follow my orders, or see your family die of hunger. What do you want to choose?" The soldier did not say a single word, and left. As if he was dissapointed that the same person who he respected, did not act in the way that made him respectable. He let out a deep sigh. "Mordred, do not look at the map after 12:46 of the seventh Sun." I did not ask why. But, even an idiot would know what this meant.
Things were about to get bloody.

--- Table of Contents ---
Autumn 4986, 15 Aoimoth
“Slow down, Squire!” Master Daunas walked around the sixteen Squires. They were all going through the basic motions of knife fighting together, but Shon knew the Weaponsmaster was talking to him specifically. He'd fallen into the rhythm of steel clanging off steel as the eight pairs of Squires went through the practiced strikes of a rehearsed fight. His partner was keeping up, but just barely. If Shon sped up, the boy would fumble, and Shon could disarm him. But that wasn’t the point of this exercise. It wasn’t a sparring match; it was a two man kata. Shon let out a long exhale and slowed down, matching his partner’s pace.
“Sorry,” Kefir, muttered to Shon, “You should try and get Zihler next time. He won’t slow you down.”
Shon arched an eyebrow at Kefir as the two pivoted in unison, spinning but staying together, so they switched places and continued without breaking rhythm. Or that was what was supposed to happen. Kefir stumbled just a little. He still wasn’t very good at quick pivots like that, and knife forms were full of them. Shon slowed down to wait for him to recover, matching his thrust with a counter as rehearsed.
“Don’t give me that look. I know you want to go faster. Zihler’s the most likely to keep... up...” Kefir had to space the last two words as they dodged each other again. More twists and turns he tended to overshoot.
He wasn’t wrong. Shon did want to go faster, wanted to push himself to his limits, and always just a little beyond, but “Speed isn’t the point of this exercise.” Shon said, and Kefir’s brow furrowed. Though if concentrating on Shon’s words or the continued form Shon didn’t know, “It's precision and practice. Keep partnering with Rerves, who's even worse, and you won't improve.”
They slammed together, the hilts of their daggers locking together as they sidestepped in tight circles. Shon could see at least ten different ways he could end a match right here. His left hand was free, as this was a single dagger exercise, and his opponents hardly ever paid attention to his feet. But that wasn’t the point, and Kefir would learn nothing from Shon downing him now, even if it was.
“Thanks,” Kefir spat sarcastically. Shon gave him a purposefully deadpan look in response, and he continued, “You’re the same, though. You won’t get better if you pick the weakest partners.” the two disengaged, jumping back and falling into a ready stance in one motion. Kefir took a heartbeat longer than some of the other boys but didn’t stumble at this speed as he had the last three times they went through the drill.
“I’m better than Zihler…” Shon said, not in pride or arrogance but in truth. When they had first started knife fighting weeks ago, he had partnered with those who seemed to be at the same level as himself or higher. Pushing himself to reach their level and surpass it. Add to that the fact that he often used his free time for more practice, and Shon had jumped to the top of the class as usual only a week into this new weapon.
Shon brought the topic back around to his point, “Practice is practice no matter how fast I go, as long as I have precision.” and, as if to prove his point, the form reached the culminating move, where Shon and Kefir needed to thrust at each other while turning just enough for the blade to pass by their chests. Shon slowed his thrust only at the end, just enough for Kefir to finish his dodge. Adjusting speed in the middle of a strike without pulling it completely wasn't easy, and they both knew it.
That was the end of the kata, and they both stepped back. Kefir looked down at his knife, sighing, “I suck at this, give me a shield or a hammer, and you wouldn’t have to hold yourself back.” he glanced up at Shon and forced a smile he obviously didn’t feel, “Then maybe I could teach you a thing or two…”
Shon nodded, perfectly serious, and when Kefir didn’t seem to understand, he added, “Exactly.”
The bell rang and the other Squires started heading for the weapons rack to return their knives, but Shon held Kefir in place with his eyes. He looked confused, his expression asking the question before his words could, so Shon explained, “You're better at armor and shields than me.”
That actually got a genuine smile from Kefir, “Everyone is better with armor and shields than you, Shon.” Shon humphed but couldn't argue, and Kefir laughed, “You know, if you spent your extra time actually practicing with the stuff you need practice in, instead of the things you're already the best at, you would get better.”
Shon ran his fingers through sweaty hair. It was only two finger widths long but still needed to be cut. He wanted to argue that practicing with the heavy weapons without armor in his free time was the only reason he was still the top in those as well. But instead, he nodded in acquiescence to Kefir’s observation.
“Hey,” Kefir stepped forward and poked Shon with the hilt of his dagger. Even with his thicker winter uniform on, they avoided touching him, “I get what you’re saying. We each have our own strengths and weaknesses. Thank you for trying to help me with mine.” The thanks was genuine this time, now that the frustration of the practice was over, and Shon nodded. Kefir continued, “Why don’t we make a deal? I’ll let you help me catch up to you in this if you let me help you with armor work. Master Daunas wants to get you in plate, but if you can’t even move in banded mail, you’ll never make it in the heavier stuff.”
Shon let his head fall back in frustration but nodded. Kefir laughed and the two returned their daggers without further words. Shon split from the rest of the stragglers in the courtyard, moving towards the bench beside the wall and the barrel for catching rainwater beside it. This deep into autumn, the water was sometimes frozen in the mornings, but Shon preferred it that way. Reaching in, he splashed handfuls of it on the back of his neck. The others would be heading for the hot showers, but with sixteen of them and only ten shower heads, Shon would wait until they were all done before washing properly.
“I’ll meet you after study time!” Kefir called as he walked by to try and reach the showers with the first group. Shon waved without turning around. He knew Kefir was right. He should focus his extra time on improving his weaknesses. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
***
The mess hall where they had their meals had one long table set in the middle with enough space for fifteen Squires on each side. Around it were set smaller circular tables for the Paladins stationed in Hamerfoss and one larger near the door for the officers. Against one wall was another long table with plates, bowls, and food where they would each gather their meal before finding their seats.
The seats weren’t assigned, but Shon always sat at the farthest end of the Squire’s table, with his left facing the walkway so he wouldn’t bump anyone with his elbow as he ate. No one ever took the spot. It was an unspoken consensus amongst the Squires that that was Shon’s seat. The rest tended to congregate in the middle, talking and poking friendly fun at each other, extending their break into the dinner meal.
Shon took his place and started eating without joining in. They didn’t try to include him most of the time, and he was content to just listen. “Hey, Shon,” Rerves called from down the table, and Shon looked up from his plate to show he was listening, “I hear Kefir’s going to help you with armor tonight. Can I come?” Shon shrugged, turning back to his meal. Rerves went back to his conversation, and dinner continued as usual. The Squires ignoring Shon.
They filtered out of the mess hall as they each finished their dinner at their own pace, some heading to the chapel for prayer and others to the library for study. Shon made his way to the library, pausing in the doorway and debating with himself. If he joined the others at the larger table, they would try and talk to him. They seemed to think it was their duty to include him if he was there. But if he sat alone at the two-man table by the window, they would leave him alone. It meant he wouldn’t be able to ask them questions if one came up, but it also meant they wouldn’t bother him with pointless asides…
Tonight, he joined the study group. The subject they'd started a few weeks ago wasn’t one he had taken to easily, an in-depth history of Gasha province, so he wanted to be able to talk when needed.
It started as soon as he finished the first page, “So Shon, when do you think Master Veon-Zih will be back?”
“Winter Solstice,” Shon answered shortly, rereading the sentence. The others whispered around him about Master Veon-Zih, something about if he would dance with the pretty baker again this year…
“Hey Shon, do you know if Monks train in dancing too?”
Shon placed his finger over the paragraph he'd reached, knowing he would have to reread it after the interruption. He shook his head. When they continued to look at him, he sighed, glaring up at them. This was supposed to be study time… “He learned how after he left the Monastery.”
He reread his paragraph and managed to finish the chapter before running his hand through his hair in frustration at the text. Looking up, he said, “We’ve read about the war between Gasha and Swailand, but this doesn’t say anything about why they went to war in the first place.”
“Fishing rights, I think?” Thom answered, flipping through his own book, “Knowing those Horsa Bast…” he cut off before finishing the curse, glancing at the Paladin acting as librarian, before continuing, “I bet they wanted to extend their fishing to the area around Gasha, and they are just as likely to fight each other as us.”
Rehlien slid a new book Shon’s way, “Here, read this one next. It gets into the justification a little more than that one.” Shon nodded his thanks, taking the book and placing it under the one he was still finishing.
But his question had opened the door to more derailing chatter, “You really like to know the why of things, don’t you, Shon?”
Shon nodded, hoping this talk would at least be relevant, but “You’re like that in etiquette too. That’s probably why you struggle so much.” Shon shrugged. Etiquette didn’t seem to have a point, but that wasn’t what they were supposed to be studying now, “I find some things ‘just are’ because of tradition…” the boy trailed off as Shon glared at him, his words freezing in his throat. When silence had returned, Shon went back to his book. He should've just sat alone.
***
Kefir and Rerves were already waiting in the sparring ring by the time Shon showed up dressed in his banded mail. The armor rubbed uncomfortably around his neck and the thick gambeson underneath bunched at his joints, limiting his range of motion by at least a few inches. It also weighed him down, which he'd managed to convince himself was good for strength training, but was incredibly frustrated by for sparring.
Kefir already had his sword and shield and held an extra bastard sword for him, so Shon went right for the ring, stifling a frustrated sigh as he took the proffered weapon.
Rerves grinned at the look on Shon’s face, saying, “We figured you'd be miserable enough in the armor alone, that we should channel some of Soleil's compassion and let you use your best weapon instead of the hammer.” to which Shon was grateful. Making him practice in the armor with a weapon he still hadn’t mastered would've been adding salt to the wound.
“Let’s do some stretches and warm-ups first.” Kefir started, “Your problem isn’t being afraid to take a hit with the armor,” Rerves laughed out loud, but Kefir continued with only a grin, “It’s in having to adjust your mobility. So let's re-imprint that before we try any sparring.”
They went through stretches, the two of them seeming to match Shon in flexibility only because he was hampered by the armor, then moved on to solo sword forms. Even though the armor was only about thirty-five pounds evenly distributed, Shon still felt sluggish. When they moved on to sparring, Rerves beat him soundly while Kefir watched, tilting his head back and forth like Master Daunas and trying to give advice that didn’t help. Shon could fight, he knew the proper blocks and parries better than they did, but too often he would either not make up for his lack of speed or would overcompensate and swing too hard.
Kefir took his turn, lifting his shield and watching Shon raise his sword to the ready, “Honestly, Shon, I don’t know what to do besides have you practice more and just get used to it.”
“Sometimes that’s all you can do,” Rerves said from the side as he slipped off his helmet. Shon knew they were right in some regards but couldn’t entirely dismiss his frustration at the thought that he was missing something that he needed to learn and not just have beaten into him. He was grateful for his companion’s help but annoyed at their inability to teach.
Rerves gave the order to "Lay on!" and Shon and Kefir engaged. Shon could predict Kefir's moves, could practically see them in his mind's eye, but barely reacted in time, his arm not bending as far or fast as he wanted it to. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the other Squire, trying to sidestep around but moving too slow compared to Kefir, who just needed to turn in place. Shon took a step back and planted his feet. If he could force Kefir to make the larger motions, then perhaps he could focus on redirecting the boy’s attacks.
Kefir hesitated. Shon was most dangerous when he stood his ground, and they both knew it. The hesitation just gave Shon more time to try and strategize. Not that it had helped at all before. Maybe if he could somehow slow Kefir down, or focus on trapping his weapon, then it wouldn’t matter that Shon wasn’t as fast as he would be without the damn armor. Kefir tested Shon’s guard with a few half-hearted attacks that Shon deflected, waiting. When the other Squire finally committed fully, Shon let go of his sword with his left hand, twisted to dodge, and grabbed Kefir’s sword arm.
Just stop. Stop long enough for me to hit you… Kefir tried to pull away but couldn’t. Despite the poor grip Shon had with the thick gloves that were part of the armor, the two Squires seemed lashed together. Kefir twisted his shoulders so he could lift his shield to deflect Shon’s oncoming attack, but his feet didn’t move. His eyes went wide, and his shield came up barely in time to hit Shon’s sword, the tip still reaching over to clang off Kefir’s helm with a glancing blow.
Kefir fell backward and Shon, still clinging to his arm, was pulled on top of him. The boy yelled, and Shon rolled, letting go of Kefir and hearing something like glass breaking over the clanging of armor and screaming of his fellow. Shon rolled to absorb the shock of the fall and twisted to find Kefir on his back, his knees still straight and his boots stuck to the ground. Encased in ice.
The ice climbed up his boots to his shins, but Kefir was gripping his arm, trying to pull more ice from where Shon had been holding him. It continued to grow, soon encasing his hand and sword hilt. Rerves rushed forward, trying to help pry the sword free while the ice on his legs grew past his boots and under his greaves. Kefir screamed again, in pain and fear.
The Paladins on the wall began yelling, their leader taking command, sending some to help the boys and others to run for the fortress. Shon watched in horror as Kefir’s legs and arm were slowly encased in ice, his lips trembling and turning blue. He would be covered soon, Shon knew it, could picture it happening, like a waking nightmare. It would trap his brother Squire and anyone else touching it…
The ice started clawing at Rerves fingers, trying to gain hold and freeze him too.
“What in all the hells?!” Master Daunas showed up with a gaggle of Paladins and the Cleric, who all fell around the boys. Some took out their belt knives and tried to break the ice apart; others began to chant spells to either melt the ice or keep Kefir warm.
Master Daunas searched above the throng for answers and, finding Shon, cursed. He ran around the larger group, grabbing Shon by the arm and wrenching him away, practically dragging him across the courtyard towards the fortress proper. Someone called out in triumph as Shon reached the fortress door and Daunas forced him through it.
What had happened? Had they freed Kefir? Would he be alright? What happened?!
Daunas was still cursing as he slammed the door and spun on Shon, who stared blankly through the Weaponmaster. Panic, he was trying so hard not to panic. Was trying to figure out what had happened, trying to play through the entire thing again, picturing it from outside his body. Was the ice what had allowed him to hold on to Kefir? Was it still climbing up Kefir's legs? Was that why the older Squire wasn’t able to pull back and block properly? Had Shon...
“Calm down, boy.” Daunas reached for Shon’s shoulders but pulled back a moment later, shaking his hands and cursing as they reddened from the cold, “Breathe, boy. Look at me, think warm thoughts.”
Think warm thoughts? What did that even mean? Shon found Daunas’s eyes and saw the Weaponmaster scared for the first time, “Breathe, slow and steady, like old man V taught you. You need to control your energy…” his lips were pale and trembling, his breath coming out in a cloud before him. had it been that cold outside? Shon couldn’t feel it...
Shon closed his eyes and breathed. Control his energy… He pulled himself in, finding his center and gathering around it, “That’s it, boy, like that.” Shon breathed in his energy, his ki, holding it in his gut, storing it for later when he could use it to focus a strike and give it more power, just like Master Veon-Zih had taught him. And just like Master had taught him, he tried to let go of his worries, to clear his mind, if only for now.
Kefir would be alright, almost every adult here could cast healing spells, and at least half of them were with him now. It was okay. Shon could relax, let go, calm down… Suddenly exhausted, Shon nearly collapsed right there in the hallway. Daunas caught him, slowly lowering him to the stones.
Shon could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, but not fast enough to miss Master Daunas’s last curse, “Damn it, boy, why did you have to be a Sorcerer?”
***
“He has to go to the Mages Guild.” Major General Davies Selibra, Paladin head of Hamerfoss, stated to those gathered in his office. It was a simple room containing two sets of closed cabinets on either side of a large desk facing the door with two seats positioned in front of it. Shon sat in one of those seats, his head hanging and fists clenched tightly in his lap.
Master Daunas slammed his palm down on the desk. He seemed too agitated to sit, or perhaps he just didn’t want to sit next to Shon, who was radiating cold like a fire radiated heat, “We can’t, Selibra! He’s the most promising fighter I’ve ever trained. He’ll lose too much time.” the Weaponmaster's words puffed out as white fog from his lips.
Major General Selibra sat behind his desk and rubbed his temples, “It’s the law Daunas, he either needs to get a clearance or be sealed.”
“Can’t be a Paladin with the tattoo…” Smith Nangran muttered from his position leaning on the door. Shon was too focused on his predicament to wonder why the Smith was even here. A thin layer of ice began to form at his feet.
“It’s the law…” Selibra said again, weary, “If he had awakened sooner, he might have been able to get his clearance before training, but…”
Daunas threw his hands into the air, bellowing, “It takes years to get a clearance. If they even let him. Those Mages would rather just mark the boy up and be done with it!”
A sealing tattoo. They would want to block the magic. Seal it away in his body where it couldn’t hurt anyone. Kefir had suffered severe frostbite as well as a broken ankle. Lucky for him, he was surrounded by divine conduits and was fine, but what if Shon lost control again? Who would the ice entomb? Master Veon-Zih? Innocent citizens he was supposed to protect? Shon’s nails dug furrows into his palms as he clenched his fists tighter. The ice crawled up the legs of his chair and crystalized on the backs of his hands.
The adults continued to talk around him, “The law is clear, Daunas. The magic either needs to be trained or sealed. There are no exceptions.” The law never made exceptions. It’s what kept everything running at top proficiency. Shon admired that… and understood it, as even now he couldn't control the sorcerous ice.
Shon tried to slow his breathing, relax his hands. The ice cracked over his fingers as he forced them out of their fists. It was responding to his emotions, his fear, and horror at what he'd done. What he was. If he could just pull it in, stifle the emotions feeding it, then the magic wouldn't be able to control him…
Ice continued to inch up the chair, and Selibra rubbed his hands together to warm them. They'd been pointedly and purposely ignoring the winter-like cold since bringing Shon to the office.
“Tattoos aren’t the only way to seal magic…” Nangran stated from the door. Daunas and Selibra stopped arguing, and Shon’s head shot up. He turned slowly to watch the Smith who combed absently at his beard, “Law says sorcerer magic needs to be trained or sealed, doesn’t say how.”
“I know the law Nangran,” Selibra still sounded defeated. “A council of Mages, including one of the rank Archmage, must determine if a Sorcerer is capable of controlling his or her power. If they determine the power is too great a risk to the kingdom, then said power will be made unable to manifest. Sealed.” the Major General recited, most likely for Shon’s benefit. Shon's heart pounded in his chest, and the fires that lit the room dimmed.
“What are you suggesting?” Daunas asked Nangran curiously. The smith only talked when necessary, using grunts and nods instead of words whenever possible. That was probably why Shon liked him so much. It also meant he wouldn’t have contradicted Selibra unless he had a reason.
“Know a guy. Used to make sealing items for the guild…” Nangran said with a shrug, as though Shon’s future didn’t hinge on his point, “Owes me a favor…”
“You’re not talking about that mad hermit who comes barging in here once or twice a year, are you?” Daunas asked, looking stunned.
Nangran nodded with a confirming hum. “Still Archmage in good standing…”
The Weaponmaster looked ecstatic, shouting, “Nangran, you’re a genius!” he slammed his hands down on the desk again, breath puffing out in thick clouds as his excitement grew. Nangran grunted.
Daunas turned back to the Major General, who actually looked intrigued. Shon’s heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. “This is it, Selibra! This Archmage can make the boy a sealing item. I’m sure the Temple will vouch for him. He’s our top Squire.” Shon was still too terrified to feel proud of the compliment and watched Major General Selibra with wide desperate eyes. Ice started forming on his hands again, looking like clawed talons.
“The Mages Guild hasn’t given out sealing stones for generations…” Selibra hummed, and Shon barely stopped the desperate whine before it could escape, his fingernails drawing blood on his palms as he balled them into fists again, breaking the ice claws. “but we can at least try.” Selibra finished, focusing on Shon, his brown eyes still looking sad, “Are you sure you want this, Shon? As a Paladin, you won’t be able to train with your elemental magic unti-”
“Yes, Sir!” Shon shouted, leaning forward in his seat and breaking the ice off its legs. He fell back a moment later, embarrassed by his outburst. More quietly, he said again, “Yes, Sir. I don’t want this magic. I want to be a Paladin.” more than anything in his entire life, he'd wanted to be a Paladin…
“Very well,” Major General Selibra stood, resting his fingertips on his desk. Speaking as if to himself, he muttered, “Perhaps this is a sign from Hengist.” looking up, he addressed Nangran, “Tomorrow you will take Squire Shon to this Archmage friend of yours. Gods willing, he will be able to seal the sorcerer magic without hindering his divine capabilities.” he failed to hide a shiver from the cold.
***
Her candles burned hot and bright, flickering wildly as She paced around Her little room. Something was happening in Her tower. There were far too many people with strangers' voices out Her window and beyond Her door.
Brom and Ran continued to visit, but they wouldn’t answer Her questions, wouldn’t take Her for samples, or to see Her treasures. The first made Her angry, the second gave Her energy, and the last scared Her enough to stop asking questions. What if they took Her books again? They hadn’t given Her a reason She couldn’t see Her treasures, so maybe they would soon… maybe tomorrow...
***
“Tomorrow,” Morndancer stated as Shaloon let herself into his room. The transfer preparations had taken months. MONTHS! They were Mages. No. Greater than Mages. They were Warlocks. And yet, everything still took far too long. They could instantly communicate with allies across the kingdom but still had to spend time making the proper arrangements. They could travel miles in a blink but still had to painstakingly pack every book and file, disassemble and disenchant the golems guarding the tower over days and even weeks. If it had been a true emergency -if they'd been found- they could've destroyed everything, vanishing all evidence of their presence and research. But the Master Archmages had forbidden it in this case.
“The western Talon is ready to receive us,” Shaloon confirmed, “What of the subjects? Archmage Yarna has no interest in animal husbandry..."
“The Firewyrm is all she is interested in. It is the only reason she agreed to take us.” Morndancer sat on his bed and stared at the pseudodragon perched on his desk, its leathery wings half furled and its tail twitching over the side of the desk, “I will handle the animal subjects tomorrow. Just make sure you are ready to open the portal out when I am done.” she could only open one portal a day, sometimes two but it would leave her incapacitated for at least a day after.
“Tomorrow then,” Shaloon confirmed, leaving him alone with his running mind and the little pretend dragon, that seemed to stare through his skin and into his soul.
***
Shon couldn’t sleep. Once again, his entire future hung on what would happen tomorrow. And just like the divine test and the road to Hamerfoss, there was nothing he could do to speed up the process. It was out of his hands. Out of his control. Just like the ice now clouding the window and the frost freezing the blankets to the mattress.
He tapped the blank page of his open journal with his pencil. The images running through his mind were the last he wanted to solidify on paper. He tried drawing something else… Kefir smiling warmly at him for the second thank you. Rerves leaning forward and shouting to him across the dinner table. The study group conversing in whispers instead of studying…
He wrote about it all between the drawings but everything that happened after pushed at his mind, the scenes forming in his vision. Shon drew Kefir again, lying on his back and tugging at the ice forming on his sword arm. Then a group scene with the Paladins falling around him, their faces focused, and hands glowing with spells to try and save him… Master Daunas’s scared eyes as he ordered Shon to ‘think warm thoughts...'
With two pages full of various sketches and commentary, Shon dropped his pencil and rested his head on his desk. Why? Was this why he was so cold to the touch? Sorcerers were rare; those with ice power were the rarest even amongst them. Should they have noticed something was wrong sooner? Would Hengist really accept someone like him? Chose a Sorcerer to be one of his extensions in Daanlin?
Shon closed his eyes, breathing slowly and trying not to cry. If they forced him to go to the Mages Guild, he would never be able to fight again. He was sure of it. All his hard work and dedication. All those years of disciplined practice, gone in one instance where he lost control. Where he almost killed a friend.
Everything he was, everything he would be, hinged on the following day. “Tomorrow…” Shon whispered into the dark, his candle finally flickering to die in the cold.
--- Table of Contents ---
Thanks for making it this far, you are the real MVP

First Chapter
Chapter Fifteen
“Thank you, Ms. President, and Mr. Secretary-General. It’s my privilege to come and speak to everyone present during such a momentous time in human history. One which, I hope, will lead to a brighter future for us all…”
US President Correa’s boilerplate beginning flowed out as she scanned the room. Behind her rostrum sat a larger dais tiled with green marble, behind which sat the UN President, Secretary-General, and Under-Secretary-General. Two huge screens flanked the dais, and those screens now showed Correa’s face as she continued.
“…and we are committed to our country’s pledge to finding a peaceful and just way for Coalition technology to be incorporated worldwide, and to not attempt any reverse-engineering of our own. Make no mistake; we do not do this out of any sense of altruism or fairness, as pleasant as that may sound. We will hold this pledge sacred for the simple reason that, if the United States were to attempt such efforts the rest of the world would, without a doubt, find out. That, of course, would lead to a great instability.”
‘Great instability’ was diplomatic-speak for ‘the rest of the world then gangs up on the USA and then everything goes to hell’.
“I know there has already been a great deal of debate in this august hall as to the best way to proceed forward, in a fair and impartial manner. We believe that we have found what one might call a ‘trial run’ which will allow us to work out such matters.”
The general murmuring from the many semi-circular rows of desks in front of her increased.
“To begin with, during the first weeks after first contact we wanted to make sure our guests from the Coalition would not starve to death. Much like humanity’s own ships during the Age of Sail, Coalition exploration vessels store enough provisions for years…but such provisions never last. They have very advanced recycling, but mostly for water and even that is only a stop-gap measure. It is unknown even at this time as to how long it will take to repair the Exultant Finger of Rithro, and we did not want to risk the crew running out of food.
“Therefore, we undertook an emergency effort to have their ship’s medic examine various Earth foods to determine their compatibility with our guests’ varied biochemistries. I am pleased to report that there are quite a few Earth foodstuffs which are indeed compatible, although there are some specific items which act as allergens amongst some of the Coalition species. During these efforts, we did learn a bit about how their alien biochemistries work…information which has been duly published and is now openly available. We also began to get glimpses of something wonderful, and asked the Coalition crew for more details. They supplied us with some general ideas of what their medical technology can accomplish; I must emphasize that we do not possess any knowledge of how they can perform such miracles.”
Now the murmuring got quite a bit higher, but not quite to the point where they’d have to call for order.
“Yes, I use the word ‘miracles’ advisedly. For example, take Captain Sadaf. You have all seen her, and how she moves like a person in the prime of their life. Now. What if I told you that she is a little over four hundred years old?”
The murmuring died down into a shocked silence.
“Her species, the auhn, is no more long-lived than we are…but they are able to regenerate and remove the effects of aging. I hope the esteemed ambassadors can see what I am driving at. I propose that we set up a research institute, international in scope, to be placed at a neutral location which is still to be determined. The purpose of that institute will be to study and adapt Coalition medical technology for use in humans.”
Now the murmuring started again; she hoped they were actually listening instead of hatching side-deals with each other.
“You all have families and friends. I’m sure you have at least one family member, one good friend, who died of some horrible and unnecessary affliction. Think of what this means to the world, to us. It is also an excellent way to determine the inevitable issues and frictions which will arise from such a concerted international effort, and that, in turn, will inform our efforts in mutual reverse-engineering of other Coalition technology.
“I know this is, in many ways, a frightening time. Change can be frightening. But I am convinced that you will all know the right way forward, and that you will all see the need for us to unite in this matter, even if others may not be so clear-cut. I thank you for the opportunity to speak.”
As she stepped away from the rostrum, the UN President cleared his throat.
“We will now begin the debate on Madame President Correa’s proposal. Paper copies, with specifics of the proposal, are now being distributed to you all. We’ll now begin the debate period…yes, the gentleman from Portugal…?”
__________
Correa’s Chief of Staff was a shorter, tubby man with an olive complexion by the name of Pablo Rosas. He and Correa sat in a White House conference room, staring at a big screen which now showed the results of the UN vote. “Well, I suppose that went about as well as we could expect,” said Rosas.
“Yep. I was surprised they even agreed with our asking them to kick in some money.”
Rosas chuckled. “Keep in mind that all of this new medical tech will be available for anyone patent-free. Should be air-tight legally, since nobody here on Earth invented it; we’re merely adapting it. I think that was the sweetener we needed to get it passed.”
The president gave a brief nod, then tapped a few keys on the controls in front of her. The screen now showed a world map. “Now we just have to figure out where to put the damn thing without everyone getting butt-mad about it.”
“Hmm.” Rosas laced his fingers over his substantial gut as he regarded the map. “Someplace not ‘the usual’, then.”
Correa growled in frustration. “I keep thinking Switzerland, but I know there’s gonna be a lot of shit flung about that it’s too European-centric. Taiwan would be great; they’ve got both a good tech base and excellent transport infrastructure.”
“But way too controversial, for obvious reasons,” replied Rosas. “Japan?”
“China will, again, kick up a fuss. Huh. New Zealand?”
“That might work. They tend to be more neutral…but then again some might say they’re in too close with Australia, and that this whole effort is too Western-centric.” His eyes flicked back to north on the map. He was about to move his gaze elsewhere, but then he paused. “What about Iceland?”
“Iceland?” Correa almost scoffed, then looked more thoughtfully at the map. “Okay, they’re a NATO member which is a minus. But they tend to remain mostly neutral, which is a plus. Decent transportation infrastructure…don’t we have a naval air base there?”
“I think so, let me check…” Rosas tapped at his phone. “Hey, Jack? What can you tell me about any US naval air bases in Iceland? Just the highlights.” After a couple of minutes, he responded with a curt, “Okay, that’s enough, thanks.”
He put his phone away. “We kinda-sorta have one, at a place called Keflavik. The base there used to be a lot bigger during the Cold War. Then we shut it down after the Soviets were no longer a going concern. Iceland uses it now, and they allow us to fly submarine-search aircraft out of there, but a few years ago they nixed the DOD’s request to rebuild it into a more permanent base.”
“That does work in their favor. It makes for better optics if they’re known for keeping NATO at arm’s length.”
Rosas sat up. “Think the UN will go for it?”
“We can only try. I’ll have our ambassador in Reykjavik make some discreet inquiries, let’s see if they’d be okay with our proposing them as a candidate.”
The Chief of Staff smiled. “If it goes through, this institute will be pumping well north of a billion dollars per year into their economy. That should make it more than ‘okay’.
__________
Agent Cécile Savoie sat in a secure-location breakroom, silently grumbling as she held an as-yet un-drunk mug of coffee in her hands. As the agent-in-charge of the security detail during the Camp David incident, she’d been put on administrative leave, right alongside every other agent who’d been there. But it wasn’t like she had much down time; the inquiry board into that incident now summoned her damn near every other day for yet another round of tedious questioning.
“Hey,” said Hanson as he strolled in, looking just as sour as she felt.
She looked up in surprise. “Hey yourself. I thought you were assigned to the alien detail.”
“I was,” he said as he seated himself across the circular table from her. “Guess being in Alabama when the shitshow went down wasn’t far enough away to be completely out of suspicion. I just finished running my own gauntlet. But the rumor is, I’m getting it easy compared to everyone who was at Camp David, including the special forces people. Especially you.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty much a colonoscopy every day,” she muttered. “Going over the timeline, where I was at which times, who I had direct line of sight on, who I was in radio contact with.” She finally sipped her coffee.
Hanson’s sour expression deepened. “Do you really think it was one of us?”
She sighed. “It has to be. My gut tells me that there’s more than one mole and I told the inquiry board as much. The fuckers who got in knew too much about our patrol patterns, where everyone was, when they’d have a clear shot at an infil. That means someone with access to our methods and comms, and as to the latter we don’t use CB radios.”
The other agent leaned back. “Fuck. I wish I knew why any of us would do that. We’re supposed to be quiet professionals, not frothing radicals.”
Savoie turned the mug in her hands. “Not to tell tales out of school but, through the whisper network, they’ve been leaning hard on the captured dudes from the attack. Apparently one of their main ‘objections’,” and here she made some one-handed air quotes, “is that they think the whole Breaker thing is a ruse. It’s all smoke and mirrors, so that we’ll beg the Coalition to come and save us. And then…well, it gets vague after that but I guess they claim that at best we’ll get turned into the galactic equivalent of a Native American reservation. Worst case, we all get harvested for our precious bodily fluids.”
Hanson stared at her for a moment in disbelief. “That is, if you will forgive the uncouth term, utterly retarded. For chrissake, the Hubble got some beautiful shots of their ship once they’d spun that shield around to reveal it to us. I mean, I’m no spacecraft expert but even I could tell it had gotten the shit pounded out of it.”
She responded with a shrug. “Hey, Flat Earthers are still a thing.”
“Flat Earthers don’t stage FUCKING mortar attacks in our nation’s capital,” snapped Hanson. Then he subsided and spoke more softly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so on edge. This whole thing just pisses me off.”
“Join the club,” said Savoie as she sipped more coffee. “I just don’t get it, though.”
Hanson made a gentle ‘continue’ wave of his hand.
She leaned forward. “Okay. Our comrades in the CIA managed to identify the four who made it into the compound. They were all mercenaries, each with at least ten or fifteen years of experience in kicking ass around some of the worst hot spots in the world. Syria, Burma, bunch of places in Africa. One of ‘em even turned out to be ex-Wagner group.”
“Okay?” It was a leading single-word question, but not an unkind one.
“So why was the rest of the attack made up of nothing but a bunch of goddamn shit-kickers? And that includes the aborted attempt in Decatur. I’ve seen the files of those we rounded up in the Camp David attack. They were all low-life idiots just banging around, maybe they might have once held a gun in their lives. Hell, from what I’ve heard, the shootings that triggered the alarm at Camp David were an accident; those intruders were supposed to sneak around that patrol, not kill them. They all had the same top-of-the-line kit, so we know whoever is behind this has deep pockets. Why not hire an entire bunch of competent people instead of doing it onesy-twoseys?”
“It is a puzzle.” Hanson got up and set a styrofoam cup of water into the nearby microwave. As the cup turned within its electromagnetic prison, he leaned against the nearby counter and pondered her question. “Maybe the team in the woods was intended just as a distraction?”
“That’s what I thought at first, but then I reconsidered. I mean, what if the four who went in failed? You’d still need a proper backup plan. Same thing with the Decatur bunch. By the way, did they ever catch them?”
Hanson let out a dark chuckle. “Decatur PD found a pile of vests and rifles, hastily wiped down. They were able to pull a few partial prints off of ‘em. My guess is they’ve fled to the proverbial four winds, hoping to lay low for the rest of their lives. We’ll nab ‘em eventually.”
The microwave dinged and he retrieved his hot water, then pulled a tea bag out of his jacket pocket as he re-seated himself.
Savoie smiled. “I never figured you for a tea guy.”
He unwrapped the bag and with a bit of ceremony dunked it into his cup. “Well, I used to be a coffee guy, but my gut doesn’t agree with the acidity.”
“We do have tea here, you know.” She pointed to the storage bins behind him.
“Yeah, but it’s cheap-ass stuff. The brand I like is expensive, but worth it…” Hanson’s eyes widened as he trailed off.
She raised an eyebrow. “Hanson? Do you smell burnt toast?”
“They couldn’t afford it,” he said in a near-whisper.
Savoie was about to tell him to stop being overly dramatic, then she realized he might be on to something and that she didn’t dare distract him. “Keep talking.”
He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “Okay. Imagine you’re a hard-bitten mercenary. You’ve been in the literal shit, in every nasty conflict anyone cares to name. Somehow, someone finds you and comes to you. They say ‘hey, these aliens are bad news, do you want to kill them?’ Even if you, as the hypothetical mercenary, are down with the cause…”
“From what the intruders were yelling, they were,” said Savoie.
“Yeah but even then, our mystery financier is asking you to infil and exfil out of one of the most heavily guarded pieces of real estate on the planet. Oh, and kill a bunch of special-forces-maybe and aliens-definitely in between. What do you do then?”
She replied with a grim smile. “If I’m that mercenary, then I ask for a metric fuck-ton of money. And there were four of them, they would have all done the same. Hell, they must have been doing collective bargaining.”
Hanson dunked his tea bag as he thought it through. “Okay, so our mystery mastermind has a lot of money, but not billions on hand to hire a literal army of hard cases. Huh. So those other dipshits might indeed have been a distraction.”
“Maybe. They must have also spent quite a bit on the mortar attack. That wasn’t made by some hobbyist in their bedroom, they knew what they were doing. Given that nobody saw them set up the launcher or leave, they were more pro.” Savoie hoped that the FBI’s efforts to track the various mortar components turned up something soon. Thus far, those efforts were bogged down; as it turned out, quite a few companies had ordered the identified components, and tracking the subsequent second-hand purchases was time-consuming.
“And those mortar-making pros would be more expensive.” Hanson sipped a bit of tea. “Did they ever get anything off of the launcher itself?”
“Sadly, no. Turns out the whole damned thing was homemade, constructed out of tubing and other off-the-shelf components. It was also wiped down thoroughly, no prints. Like I said, pros.”
“But limited in resources,” said Hanson. “Which explains one of the things that’s bugged me. Namely, that our OPFOR didn’t use some proper artillery. If they have a couple of moles in the Secret Service, then it should be easy to recruit and pay some military dudes to slip ‘em some gear and alter the logs. They could stow a howitzer inside a semi-tractor-trailer. You could park that thing anywhere up to 25 miles away. Use a single 155mm Excalibur GPS-guided munition, boom. That would have pretty much obliterated the stage and everyone on it. Then you just re-stow the howitzer and toodle off all innocent-like, right when everyone is freaking the hell out.”
“So they couldn’t afford that type of arty strike,” she said. “Or they simply didn’t have the contacts to pull that off. Hmm. I wonder if our moles are getting paid at all?”
Hanson resumed his thousand-yard stare. “The mortar attack must have been planned first. The other two attacks feel much more like rush jobs.”
“Eh? Oh, I get it. Sadaf’s speech was known well in advance. It was going to be one of her first big public appearances since the initial presidential speech. They were broadcasting it online to the world. Having her get turned into chunky red salsa, in real time, would be one helluva statement. So that’s what they focused on.” She drank a bit more coffee, and now it was time for her eyes to widen. “Our mole or moles didn’t arrive at Camp David until after Sadaf’s speech was announced.”
“That…oh, yeah, that makes sense. Originally the mortar attack is the OPFORs’ only focus, but yet somehow they’ve suborned one or two Secret Service agents and they have ‘em in their back pocket. Then one, or better yet both, of the moles gets assigned to the Camp David detail, and they realize that now that they have a golden opportunity to get at the other aliens as well. So they go off and hire four pros for the actual attack inside, plus a bunch of chucklefucks to act as a distraction, because that’s all they can afford since the four pros are asking for some serious money.”
Savoie leaned forward. “When did Chao and Grakosh leave Camp David?”
“It was, ah, three? No, four days after we got everyone settled, both the aliens and the special forces types.”
“Okay, so then the OPFOR gets word, courtesy of our moles, that one of the aliens is now heading to Alabama. But now they’re stretched so thin that they can’t afford anything other than to hire another bunch of dipshits to make a run at them and hope for the best.”
“And then the second bunch lets the FNG drive.”
They both laughed, but that humor settled down as they both thought through the chain of inference.
“It is pretty thin,” said Savoie at last. “There’s a lot of assumptions in there.”
“Yeah. But I do like the idea of our moles getting assigned at the last minute.”
She rubbed her forehead. “We had a bunch of new people come in when they decided to stow the Rithro crew there. Seven, no eight in all.”
“It’s a place to start,” said Hanson. He finished his tea. “C’mon, let’s see if we can get a meeting with the inquiry board.”
__________
A little while later and not very far away, three people sat in a well-lit but otherwise deadly dull room. At least the chairs were somewhat comfortable. Matt and Martinez sat at two chairs against one wall, while across from them McCoy sat sprawled sideways on another with a foul look on her face. She glowered at the far beige-painted wall. “This completely sucks. Why can’t we have our phones? I could at least play some mahjong.”
“This is a secure location, Corporal,” replied Matt. “Ixnay on the onephays.”
Martinez’s leg jittered. “How long are we gonna sit here? They said they’d call us in, like, an hour ago!”
“Dunno, it’s some kind of last-minute interview thing,” replied Matt with Zen-like calm.
The corporal looked over at Matt. “I don’t get you, man.”
Matt grinned. “Nobody gets me. I’m like the wind, baby!”
“That’s not…I mean, I watched you open up a dude like he was a bag of fuckin’ Doritos using nothing but a fuckin’ knife. Now you’re being all Caine from ‘Kung Fu’.”
“It’s good to know that the classics are still appreciated,” said Matt.
Martinez pointed at him. “If you start calling me ‘Grasshopper’ I will shoot you.”
McCoy turned her glare to the ceiling. “Maybe it’s a psychological test. They want to see if we crack under pressure and start yakking secrets.”
“I mean, I’m sure they’re recording us right now,” replied Matt. “But it’s merely as a precaution. I am also five-nines certain that none of us are suspects. We weren’t integrated into the compound’s overall security, and thus it would be unlikely that we could have let our four attackers in.”
“Not to mention, we were the ones to kill ‘em,” added Martinez. “Well, except for the one that Takh took care of.”
“Yep. This is…I won’t call it a formality, but the board just wants to know where you were and what you saw. Walk them through your personal timelines, understand? Tell them only what you know. If you don’t know something, then say so.”
McCoy turned herself around so that she now sprawled the other way. “This whole bullshit just bugs me. Takh and the others are off with a bunch of strangers and I…I mean, we aren't there to help protect them.”
Matt and Martinez shared a meaningful glance. “From what I heard, Takh is quite capable of taking care of himself,” said the latter with a grin. “You told me he pitched that one dude across the room like he was throwing a softball.”
For once, the petite corporal looked a bit flustered. “Yeah, but, I mean, what if some other potential bad guy gets the drop on him with a gun? I don’t like not being there. I just wanna know that he’s okay. I should be there, just to make sure.”
The smaller man snapped his fingers in the face of the taller, who sighed and took out his wallet. With great ceremony, Matt pulled out a five-dollar bill and placed it upon the now-upraised palm of Martinez.
“Told ya,” said Martinez with a grin.
She sat up and glared at them both. “That doesn’t mean anything! Takh is a good guy!”
“Nobody said he wasn’t,” replied Matt as he stowed his wallet. “He is indeed a good guy.”
“Yeah, seriously, we’re glad you two hooked up,” added Martinez. “Takh’s solid. Hell, I’d let him date my sister.”
“I. Am. Not. Hooked Up. With ANYONE.” McCoy now looked furious enough to chew nails.
Martinez stroked his chin. “Kissing might be a problem, though.”
Matt performed a similar chin-stroking action. “Hmm, indeed, Corporal, I do believe it might be a serious issue. One has all of those mandibles to contend with.” He hooked his fingers next to his mouth in an approximation of an udhyr’s face. “Still, I think that, with enough will and effort, one could figure it out. Like the man said, life finds a way.”
“But how much tongue is he packing?” posed Martinez. “You know what the man also says. Big dude, big tongue. Could make things more interesting, all around.”
The woman did not look amused. “Martinez, Toke? You are now both officially gigantic flatulating assholes.”
“C’mon, McCoy!” protested Martinez. “Think of it this way. A few years from now, let’s say we filthy humans are now part of the Coalition and I’m at some meet ‘n greet, and I just so happen to spy me an oh-so-very-fiiine udhyr mamacita from across the room. Now, I wanna do my bit for my species and approach her, and get some good old inter-species cultural interaction going on. But there’s all sorts of questions. How do I compliment her without insulting her culture? How am I supposed to get in good with her? How do the mechanics work? How do the various bits line up? We need details! You’re at the tip of the spear, we all need good intel!”
McCoy slumped back into her seat. “Over seven hundred billion Dimmadollars of defense spending, and yet somehow I wind up stuck in a room with you two fuckos…oh, by the way, Toke,” she added, pointing a finger at Matt, “why the hell can you and Sarge never go back to Okinawa?”
“Nice distraction, McCoy,” said Martinez. “My guess is some sort of wet-work shit.”
Matt just smiled. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I don’t kill everyone I meet. I was a Second LT at the time, managed to somehow leapfrog my way into officer ranks all the way from enlisted. Anyways, the Okinawa affair was merely a case of, well, one particular case of rye whiskey. The good sergeant…was he a sergeant then? Oh yeah, we had done some other stuff I can’t tell you about in someplace I can’t tell you where, and we were celebrating Shaw getting his third stripe. We’d got ahold of the previously-mentioned case of whiskey and then we began toasting to each other’s good health. We did a lot of toasting. Quite a lot of toasting. As you can imagine, the toasting went on and on until we, um, well we did some unwise things. It started out with us sparring-for-fun with each other in public and escalated from there. No locals were harmed, and nothing we did was hella illegal, or I would’ve never made Captain. Buuut the local government would definitely throw a shitfit if me or, God forbid, both of us set foot back on the island.” He chuckled. “Hell, the Okinawan customs people probably still have both of our pictures taped up inside their booths with a big old sign saying ‘DO NOT ADMIT THIS PERSON, YOU FOOL’ written above them.”
“What did you do?” asked Martinez. His eyes were big and soulful, like a kid asking for yet one more story before bedtime.
Matt shrugged. “I mean, I don’t remember much for obvious reasons. I’m almost sure we didn’t piss on any monuments, that would have definitely been cause for a serious demotion. We did do a number on some shrubbery, that I do remember. We decided it needed to be trimmed back, and so we did so. Using our bare hands. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
A fearsome light came into McCoy’s eyes. “Martinez, do you know what this means?”
He looked at her all uncertain. “Um, Toke and Sarge have cast-iron livers?”
“No, you fool. Blackmail material.”
Matt pointed back at her. “Hey, now, I told you that in confidence. Besides, Shaw has a lot more to contend with right now.”
The reminder of the sergeant’s current crippled state brought the elevated atmosphere of the room back down. McCoy nodded as her smile faded. “Right. Hey, did you see the Prez’s speech at the UN?”
“Yep,” said Matt. “From what I’ve read, the political wrangling after it seems pretty tame compared to the usual.”
Martinez snorted. “No shit. Did either of you see the laundry list of shit that we might be able to do? Anti-aging, limb regrowth, cancer treatments which work well and which don’t half-kill the patient…hell, maybe even Alzheimer’s could be in our rear-view mirror. The grand high muckity-mucks are falling all over themselves to get that out into the world, for themselves if nobody else.”
“You’re way too cynical, Martinez,” said Matt.
“Oh fuck off. What if…okay, I know this sounds like a cheesy sci-fi concept, but what if they hoard all of the good shit for themselves and we peons get just the crumbs?”
Matt lapsed back into his meditative demeanor. “In that case, my dear corporal, you or I or McCoy or someone like us will show those hypothetical elites that, while they are indeed long-lived, they are not in fact immortal.”
The trio fell into silence for a few minutes. Then Martinez leaned over towards Matt. “Ah, a little birdie told me you were involved in questioning the prisoners we nabbed at Camp David.”
“I merely facilitated certain conversations,” replied Matt.
Martinez sighed. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies…Corporal.”
McCoy let out a growl. “Well, I heard these terrorist assholes are saying that the Breakers aren’t real, that it’s all fake videos from the Coalition.”
“Just to play devil’s advocate,” said Matt, “our AI image and video generation is already getting to the point where, soon, we puny humans could manufacture such evidence.”
“What?” Martinez looked as if he was about to launch himself at Matt.
Matt held up a calming hand. “I’m not saying it is fake. The Hubble pics are damned convincing.”
Martinez hiked up one foot to place it on his seat, then rested his chin on his knee. “Fuck. I guess it didn’t convince everyone.” He mused for a few moments. “Wait. What if we made it even more convincing?”
“How?” asked Matt.
“We send some humans up to the Rithro. Two or three at least. The boats can still make it up to the ship, right?”
For once Matt looked uncertain. “I think so? Dunno how many times they can come and go without recharging, we’ll have to ask ‘em.”
“Right, so we set up an even better publicity stunt than the Hubble pics. Choose a few people, from all over the world. We have ‘em travel up to the Rithro, take pics and video up close showing the damage. Even take ‘em inside the ship and get a full tour, maybe…if the crew is okay with that, of course.”
“Huh.” Matt sat back and pondered the idea. “That’s a really good idea, Martinez. I guess you aren’t as dumb as you look.”
The corporal responded with a slight smile at the verbal jab. “We’d need to choose the right people, though.”
“They’d have to be trustworthy…or at least someone that the entire world will consider trustworthy,” said Matt.
“Well known,” added McCoy. She no longer looked vengeful. “With recognizable faces and voices, and then they can go on all the talk shows after and say that, yes indeed, I got a tour of the ship and it is indeed quite banged up.”
Martinez stared at the far wall. “Some kind of celebrity? Heh. You think Tom Cruise would be up for it?”
Matt laughed. “That beautiful maniac? Hell, he’d insist on shooting an entire movie up there, with at least one action scene where he’s hanging off of the outside of the ship.”
They all smiled at the resulting mental image.
“Chao could work,” said McCoy into the silence. “She’s kind of a celebrity now. After all, she was the first human to come into contact with aliens, eh?” She gave Matt a big and very un-subtle wink.
To skirt the rather…unconventional methods used to achieve a positive First Contact, Matt’s role had been very much demoted in the official story. Now every recounting of the tale included a bit of ‘…oh, and there was also another person who stumbled across our brave woman in the midst of her attempts at informational exchange with the aliens…” His exact identity was also not published, under the screen of ‘he wishes to remain anonymous’.
“Oh bite me, McCoy, it’s fun,” replied Matt. He waggled his eyebrows. “Besides, I work better in the shadows!” He threw his forearm across his face like a half-assed Count Dracula trying to hide behind his cape.
Then he dropped his arm. “Yeah, Chao would be good as a current social-media darling. Of course, she might not want that. She strikes me as more of the wallflower type, for the most part.”
“We need more people,” said Martinez, as he stared at the floor. “Chao might be good on her own, but she’s got that motor-mouth talking thing when you get her going. It’s one or the other. Either she’s trying to shrink into a corner and take up as little space as possible, or suddenly you’re getting pulled into another corner for a doctoral dissertation on how minimal-energy transfer-orbits work.”
Matt pondered for a moment. “Wait, when did she do that? I never sat through one of those lectures.”
Martinez looked away and…well, Matt hoped that their supposed overlords were indeed recording this particular moment in time because the hard-bitten Hispanic special-forces corporal actually blushed.
McCoy, of course, realized a golden opportunity for payback and immediately pounced. “Why, Corporal Martinez,” she purred. “Doooo tell us. When did Chao Me Chu, heh, pull you into a corner? Hmmm?”
“She’s…she’s just real nice, that’s all,” replied Martinez. “I asked her a couple of questions, and she answered them. That’s all. We both love classic sci-fi, like Asimov and shit. I guess we bonded over that.”
Matt cleared his throat. “Aaaaand may I remind you two and everyone listening in that we have all been cooped up nuts-to-butts for awhile? Don’t mistake familiarity for romantic bullshit.” He pointed over at Martinez. “But you. If you can follow at least half of what she talks about, then you are absolutely without-a-single-fucking-doubt wasted as a corporal, even if you’re in a low-drag high-speed outfit like this. You hear me?”
“Um, yes sir.” It was the first time in McCoy’s memory that anyone had addressed Matt as befitting his perhaps-former rank.
“Good. You get your ass into college, somehow. You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure all that shit out. And as for Chao? Just give it room to breathe. Let her know you’re interested, but don’t press the matter.”
“Let her know?” For once Martinez looked completely lost. “How do I…” he trailed off. “I mean, I like her…and yeah, I mean I like her in that way, but she’s so damn smart and pretty and I’m just some dipshit meathead.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” said Matt. “You’re our dipshit meathead.”
McCoy’s vengeful smile faded. “Martinez…no, Luca.”
Martinez looked up in surprise at her use of his first name.
She continued. “Just talk to her. Neither of you have any clue as to what ‘normal’ social interactions look like. In your case, it’s because you’ve been a soldier for all of your adult life. In her case, it’s because she’s, well, because she’s Chao. So just walk up to her and be straightforward. Trust me, it’ll be like a breath of fresh air for her to not have to navigate social cues. Just say something like ‘Hey, I really like you, do you like me and do you want to go get a coffee sometime’? Start with that. Chao’s good people, the worst thing she’ll do is say no. She won’t yell at you or talk shit about you online. Buuuut, some sixth sense is telling me she won’t say no to getting some coffee with ya.”
Matt smiled. “McCoy, I think you might have a calling after you leave the military.”
She snorted. “Oh yeah, I’ll hang up my match-making shingle on the internet and start raking in the big bucks. Martinez is right, though. If we try to do a publicity stunt up at the Rithro, then we’ll need somebody alongside Chao to win the world over. Somebody well-known, but preferably someone not in the traditional Western pop-culture sphere. That’ll make it more palatable…”
Her voice trailed off and she stared into space. The two men now looked at each other in genuine concern until she spoke again a few moments later.
“Guys? I think I just had the best idea ever.”

I parked in the tower's lot, letting my headlights bore into the amalgam of twisted metal and glass for a few moments before shutting them off.
Josh muttered, his voice low. "We're really doing this, huh?"
He ran a hand through his mop of curly hair— a dumb tic he developed last summer when his girlfriend, Annabeth, told him it was sexy. She was beside him now, cuddled up in the backseat across his lap.
I glanced at my own girlfriend, Ellie, in the passenger seat. She was trying her damndest to appear brave, but I knew better. There was no way she was comfortable with trespassing tonight.
I sighed, realizing that Josh would also chicken out.
"We're doing this? You sure you want to come?" I prodded.
Josh shifted in his seat, hand running through his hair yet again. "Maybe it's better if I stay in the truck.”
Annabeth shrugged next to him, unsurprised.
"Me, too,” Ellie chimed in, nodding at Josh.
Annabeth met my eyes, a glimmer of understanding passing between us. Our partners were both boring, god-awful goody two shoes.
"Pussies," I jabbed, swinging open my door without giving them a moment to respond.
Annabeth hopped out behind me, waving at the two losers in the truck before spinning towards me with a grin on her face.
"They're weird," she said, rolling her eyes.
For a moment, I was drinking in the way her golden hair shimmered in the moonlight. A light breeze tickled at our faces, sending sparkles of her moon-lit hair between us.
"Yup," I mustered.
I turned, strolling towards the chain link fence that formed a circular perimeter around the base of Sabe's Tower.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of abandoned potential, whispering of times past when our town's inhabitants thought we'd hit a population boom, becoming the Houston of West Virginia. In the 70s, our success was tied to coal. Jobs flooded in, and with them, a myriad of people trying to make their way in life. Then the mines abruptly ran dry, decimating our town's economy. Since that time, our population has done nothing but dwindle.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of decaying grandeur, silently rotting from the inside out. Some say that's what happened to Sabe himself— a rot took hold in his core, spreading and spreading until nothing but rot was left. In the end, he took his own life, which some say was for the best. He was a greedy fool, the wealthiest man for miles, owning half the surrounding countryside before the mining industry took off. Made a fortune selling his family's land to coal companies, putting every ounce of profit into making his towering hotel more luxurious than a Ritz Carlton.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of failed dreams, now screaming vulgar obscenities at our eyes. It is a truly ugly behemoth, domineering our town's skyline with unmerited arrogance. Sabe thought painting the tower purple would give it an air of majesty, like royalties of the past, swaddled in silky lavender robes. His aspiration, after all, was nothing less than to emulate the sacred Tabernacle of Moses, to make his hotel a dwelling place for gods among men. In its current state of disrepair, however, the tower was no more than an eyesore— a visual cacophony of broken glass, peeling sickly-purple paint, and rusted steel inlays.
Adding to the hotel's disgrace, it was cylindrical in form, perched atop the highest peak for miles, jutting into the sky like a middle finger to the gods. Its phallic outline stood in stark contrast to the run-down strip malls lying in its wake.
The fence surrounding the tower was a bit too tall and a bit too wobbly to safely scale, so we circled, looking for an entry point. Every few yards, a DO NOT TRESPASS sign hung, tied to the fence with zip-ties in each corner. Someone had taken the liberty to spray paint a word underneath each sign, now making them all read:
DO NOT TRESPASS ALONE.
"Good thing you're coming with me," I joked, pointing at one of the signs.
Annabeth paused to read it for a moment. "Yeah... kinda weird that someone did that. I wonder why?"
I shrugged, continuing around the perimeter.
Eventually, we found a gate in the fence, held closed with chains at waist level. The gate's post careened steeply outward, creating a manageable gap near the top. The gate post was only held in place by the chains, not even slightly anchored to the ground. Without too much of a struggle, we hoisted ourselves up and through the gap.
Once inside the fence, I found myself spellbound by the abandoned hotel. The stars in the night sky reflected across the windows, bending and warping around the curved perimeter. Each glimmer of starlight turned into dizzying fractals, melding together and slipping between the shards of broken glass with each shift of my gaze.
The result was honestly breathtaking.
At night, the eyesoriffic tower was beautiful. Its silhouette dared to embrace the star-studded cosmos, standing with a quiet dignity that defied its daytime mockery.
I felt Annabeth shuffle beside me.
Suddenly, her phone flashlight was on, illuminating a path through overgrown concrete to the tower. At the end of the path was the structure’s entrance— a gaping hole with no attempt to conceal the darkness within.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" I yelled, spinning to face her.
"W... What do you mean?" she stuttered.
"Turn that off, you idiot," I explained, lowering my voice. "Someone might see the light and call the cops."
The light flicked off, Annabeth mumbling apologies.
I blinked away the afterimage of weeds eating through the concrete lot, silently cursing myself for being so ridiculously hostile toward her.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
"You're good, Donovan" she whispered, brushing her hand across my arm.
As we continued to the open doorway, the outside of the tower came into focus. It was far further dilapidated than I had realized— each accent of purple paint, faded and peeling, was bulging out from between the glass and steel like it was trying to escape. I rubbed a fingernail on the paint, revealing a soft, rotting wood beneath.
I entered the tower first, pausing to let my eyes adjust. The darkness of the doorway opened up into an atrium that must have once made for a magnificent entrance. It was shaped like a slice of pie, us standing near the crust, peering inward toward the center. Above was pitch black, not yielding any answers to just how high up this mighty room's ceiling stretched.
The musty scent that filled my nose was surprisingly welcoming— somewhere between the smell of fishing trips and century old bookstores. I took a deep breath, relishing in the soft stench.
I could vaguely make out wires dangling down from the ceiling of the atrium. They were impossibly long, stretching upward into the infinite gloom.
"They look like vines," Annabeth whispered, her voice a soft purr.
The air was thick with falling dust, filtering down from the abyss above, twirling between the wires in satisfyingly slow-motion. The falling dust made it even harder to see in the dark, leaving the walls on either side of the room foggy blobs. I waved my hand, sending fleeting dust spirals through the air.
I remembered seeing photos of the atrium online, taken on some of the earliest digital cameras ever made. Those pictures showed marble countertops, intricate wooden carvings, and lushly carpeted floors.
The room, as it stands today, is a barren husk of Sabe's vision. The carpet, only present in scattered clumps, was impossibly dark, soiled to the point of true black. It clung to the concrete foundation, viciously holding on for dear life in a losing battle.
I bent down to examine a clump of carpet in front of me, amazed by the absence of light reflecting back. It was like staring into a pit of nothing, a vague absence, an outline of something that should be there.
I poked the toe of my boot at it.
FPOOSH.
It exploded, erupting into my face.
I gagged instinctively, tasting the vile substance mix into my lungs. Annabeth slapped my back as I continued gagging and coughing, begging the mucus to tear itself free from my lungs and just fucking get out of my body because it feels like I'm dying oh GOD.
And eventually, it did.
The violent hacking subsided into slight wretching, then was gone.
"Are you okay?" Annabeth tested.
Do you think I'm fucking okay?
"What the fuck was that?" I spewed.
She bent over the clump of carpet. Underneath the blackened top layer that just violently erupted was a pale network of matted spiderwebs.
"Hmm..." she began, "It kind of looks like mycelium."
She met my raised eyebrow with an eye roll.
"You know, like the roots of a fungus or some shit, I don't know. I just saw the shrooms growing in Bryce's closet that one time he showed me his stash. This white stuff looks just like it. So I guess that makes this black stuff like the part of the shroom we eat, or whatever."
"Oh dip," I responded, nodding. "That makes sense. One time I saw a nature show about some plants that shoot their seeds everywhere when something touches them. It's probably just spreading its spores when we touch it."
"Yeah," she breathed, "pretty gnarly."
We shuffled deeper into the gloom, weaving between dangling cables and clumps of fungus. I felt a drop of moisture flick off a cable, sliding onto my arm.
I groaned. "Fuck. That cable was wet."
"Disgusting," she whispered back.
We made our way to the apex of the room, the center of the tower, revealing a rusted set of elevator doors leaning together like drunks at a quinceanera. The doorway to the stairs, however, beckoned to us with the same unobstructed, pitch-black allure that the tower's entrance emanated just minutes before.
In the dark, it's truly amazing how utterly void all open doorways look.
Upon stepping inside the stairwell, the world vanished. The only proof of having working eyes was a faint, vertical glow of light filtering through the door, abruptly fading into all-consuming black.
Every sound in the entire building bored through my soul, bouncing from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, echoing on and on for all of eternity. The stairwell, directly in the center of the decrepit hotel, was the focal point of every creaking floorboard, every popping nail, every howling gust of wind. It was as if I was holding up a monstrous conch shell to my ear— a deafening murmur of echoes in disarray, smelting together to form satanic harmonies.
"Whoa," Annabeth mumbled.
Her word cut through the other echoes, impossibly loud against their monotonous hum.
Instantly, the echo of her voice filled the stairwell, rising like the build up of a dubstep song until peaking, impossibly overwhelming for a few brief seconds. The echoes of her voice then faded as quickly as they arrived.
She put a hand to her mouth, the whites of her eyes barely visible in the glow coming from the doorway.
I reached out, placing a hand where her shoulder should be. There was not enough space for us to stand abreast in the stairwell, leaving us in a comically squished proximity. She was breathing rapidly, barely managing to stay silent. I squeezed, and her breathing quickly slowed. I felt her hand creep onto mine, and we stood for a minute, simply listening to the cries of the dying building echo around us.
As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a staircase spiraling up the curved wall. Clearly this was a service stairwell, as it is much too cramped for the likes of Sabe's guests. Only a few steps were visible through the darkness at a time, making the staircase feel even tinier than it already was. Luckily, no fungus grew on the stairs themselves, leaving the metal alone to rust.
Annabeth shuffled onto the first step, producing a small object from her pocket. She handed it to me, then pointed up the stairwell, careful to not send echoes through the cylindrical chamber again.
I brought it close to my eyes for inspection, straining against the lack of light.
A joint...
She wants to go to the roof and smoke.
A smile cracked my lips. Classic Annabeth.
Every couple stairsteps, there would be a doorway. Most of them let in a dim glow, offering a glimpse into what must have once been a custodial closet on each floor.
On floor 9, I tugged at Annabeth's hand. We made eye contact in the faint light coming from the doorway. I motioned through it, pointing to the nearly fungus free floor. I wanted to explore at least a little bit, to see if the closet circled around the stairwell or not.
I poked my head through the doorway, freeing myself from the overwhelming cacophony of echoes in the stairwell.
I verified that the closet did, in fact, curve around the circular staircase like a donut. A few steps in one direction led to a terrifying drop— the elevator shaft. Next to it, a sidewalk sized ledge led to an open door, giving a view of the floor's main hallway. The path looked safe— no fungus, cracks, or otherwise obvious defects— so I proceeded, treading as light as a fox, fumbling for Annabeth's hand behind me.
The main hallway ran between the custodial closet and the guest rooms, creating another donut ring around the central stairwell. Throughout the hallway, patches of fungus grew alarmingly close together, threatening to overtake the concrete.
"That stairwell was insane," Annabeth whispered.
I nodded. "Fuck yeah, I wonder what it was like when the hotel was actually open. Must have been miserable for the staff."
We weaved through the fungus filled hallway, coming to room 901. I glanced at Annabeth, raising my eyebrows. The door was slightly ajar, hanging from its one remaining door hinge. I pushed gently, eliciting a monstrous creak.
The room was empty, extending away to the outside in a familiar pie shape. The mold seemed to grow thinner in the room, leaving most of the exposed concrete safe to cross. At the far side, a floor to ceiling panel of windows looked out over our town.
I gasped, taking in the view. Never before had I seen our town from this high up. My eyes drew to the smokestacks by the river, their blinking lights ominously flickering over downtown. Individual streets ran in parallel lines away from the tower, lit with yellowing streetlights. Between the roads, tiny lights cast from window panes twinkled, blending with one another into a starscape of their own.
"Dude," I said. "Look at this."
No response.
I spun, looking for Annabeth, frantically scanning the room. My eyes had adjusted to the outside light, leaving me sightless.
"Annabeth," I hissed.
A cold tingle went up my spine, pulling at hairs on the back of my neck.
"Annabeth?"
​
Silence.
​
Silence.
​
Silence.
​
I crept back across the floor, now aware of the entire room at once. There was nowhere for her to be hiding. No desks, cans of paint, ladders, nothing. Just an empty room with patchy fungus growing on the cement.
Something must have happened.
I studied each fungal growth in the room as I passed by. Even with the light cast from the windows, the tops remained impossibly dark. Not a single feature was discernible— only an outline was visible.
Halfway to the door, a three foot wide hole led straight to floor 8. I could have sworn it wasn't there before. I peered into the opening, seeing straight through to the room below. From what I could see, it was identically empty.
"Annabeth," I tried again, nearing the door to the hallway.
"BOO!"
I stumbled backward, tripping over my own feet. I landed squarely on a patch of fungus.
FPOOSH.
I remembered to hold my breath, close my eyes, and plug my nose.
Annabeth cackled from the threshold of the doorway, standing over me with both hands on her forehead.
"You should have seen the look—" she began, breaking off into another fit of laughter.
"Shut up," I groaned, pushing to my feet. My entire body was covered in squishy fungus gunk. I pointed at the hole behind me, continuing. "You could have killed me."
"Blah, blah, blah," she mocked. "You're fine... you're just being a baby."
Annabeth gave me a playful shove, hands lingering for a moment overdue. Swatting her paws off me, I marched back to the stairwell. I led the rest of the way to floor 13, followed by her snickers.
As I reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the 13th floor, my jaw dropped. It was a scene straight out of a surrealist painting. An enormous pool room lay before us. Glass walls extended up from the tile floors, creating a massive, clear domed perimeter. A swath of stars twinkled brilliantly through the clear ceiling, their light refracting through the glass, casting ethereal patterns onto the room's otherwise bleak surroundings.
The pool itself was a semi-circular cutout covering half the floor space, starting at ground level and deepening in a corkscrew motion. Its ceramic tiles, once probably a bright blue, were now tinged with patches of the same fungal growth we had come across on the lower floors. The growth was sparse here, though, letting the original floor design take prominence.
In the center of the room— on top of the staircase we just stepped out of— stood a circular pillar that extended up to the middle of the glass dome, like a spine holding up the entire tower. A small antenna jutted out from above the pillar atop the dome. Surrounding the antenna was a low fence, perhaps a safety measure for maintenance workers.
Annabeth, having finally contained her laughter, stepped beside me, her face illuminated by the soft starlight filtering in through the dome. She too stood silent, taken aback by the unexpected beauty of this forgotten space.
As we moved around the room, our steps echoed across the vast emptiness. With every patch of fungus we passed, the same eerie darkness hovered, the undulating mold standing stark against the ceramic tiles.
We made our way back to the central pillar. A ladder, carved into the pillar, connected to the glass ceiling with a trapdoor.
"To the roof?" Annabeth sang, rubbing her hands together in a goblin-like motion.
"Ladies first."
As she climbed above me, I couldn't help but crane my neck and drool. She slammed open the trapdoor, and we burst through to the roof.
The fenced-in area was covered with a dark spongy surface, gripping at my knees when I stood up. Wind whipped around us, carrying a chill that cut through my clothes and bit into my skin. With each gust, the antenna above us groaned and swayed, almost as if it were joining in a dance with an unseen partner.
We sat on the squishy rubber surface, comfortably in silence. I met her eyes, smiling dumbly. We passed the joint back and forth until it dwindled down, its ember glow flickering one last time before extinguishing completely. A familiar haze crawled through my thoughts, slowing the passage of time to a languishing crawl.
"Hey..." she started, "I think I've finally found inspiration for my next album."
I scooted closer to her, taking her hand. I knew the topic brought about an unusual timidity in her— a blemish in the badass persona she's so keen on presenting. She won't even talk to her own boyfriend about her music career.
"Yeah?" I floated.
She hesitated for a second, settling into the moment. I felt a tug at my crotch, suddenly all too aware of how pretty she looked in the moonlight. I took in every detail— the way her hair fell across her face, the pattern of her freckles, the soft speckling of stars reflecting across her eyes.
"I think you need to take off your shirt, first, though," she whispered, now inches from my face. "You're filthy."
I glanced down, remembering the fungal gunk that had soiled my clothes when she scared me.
Without warning, her hands slid under my shirt, warm and sure. I helped her yank it off, collapsing into her lips.
***
When we got back to the truck, I was still high enough to see everything in slow motion. Before pulling out of the parking lot, Annabeth and I regurgitated the events of our urban exploration, trying to show our significant others what fun they missed out on. It goes without saying that part of the story was intentionally omitted.
Ellie and Josh were unamused. Their lack of adventure will forever be a mystery to me.
We swung out of the lot, hopping onto the highway headed into town. I swayed between lanes, struggling to keep the double-yellow lines in focus.
"Are you sure you're good to drive?" Ellie asked, gripping the armrest.
"I'm fine," I slurred.
Seconds later, another truck materialized in front of us. I swerved to avoid it, then everything went black.
***
I woke up to a strong hand pulling me out of the window. My truck was upside down, the roof completely caved in.
I groaned. "Aww... fuck...."
The person who pulled me out looked like the kind of guy to chew tobacco and spit wisdom. His fishing cap cast a deep shadow across his eyes in the moon's glow, concealing his gaze. He was an old timer, that's for sure, one of those folk who came during the coal rush and decided to stay when all was said and done. I could see his truck— the same truck I saw moments before the crash— pulled into the shoulder of the highway with its blinkers on.
"Easy now," he reassured, his voice like gravel under a boot. "Anyone else inside?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
I plopped onto the grassy slope embarking off the side of the road. The old man pulled their mangled bodies out, one by one.
The countryside shrank around me. I felt the corners of my vision pulling in, the weed in my system straining the limits of shock I could take before melting down.
"I'm sorry, son," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of my guilt. "The police will be here soon. Don't you worry."
The police.
I stood up. I knew exactly how the police treated people with my skin color in this town.
I ran.
"Hey now!" the man hollered.
I kept running.
Away from my truck, away from my dead friends, away from the police.
I ran until my breath came in ragged, uncontrollable huffs. I flopped to the ground, laying on the cool concrete, cradling my head with my hands. Blood flowed between my fingertips, pooling onto the pavement.
I laid there until police sirens wailed through the night, rapidly approaching. They stopped at the wreck, leaving me in silence. Moments later, the sirens picked up their mournful song again, heading toward me.
I sat up.
I was back in the lot of Sabe's Tower. Only then did I realize how little distance I really ran from the wreck— a couple hundred yards at most.
Four, five, maybe even six sirens filled the air. They were all coming for me. They knew what I had done.
I bolted from my position on the concrete. I could hide in the tower. No way the cops would look for me in that rotting place. They wouldn't dare.
I squeezed through the gap in the fence, same as before, vaulting past the
DO NOT TRESPASS ALONE
signs in a fluid lunge. The sirens behind me screamed into the night, melding together into a continuous doomsday chant.
Red and blue lights filled the lot. I hit the ground right in front of the gaping entrance to the tower, praying that the weeds poking through the concrete would be enough to mask my form. I army crawled, inch by inch, dragging myself across broken bottles and plywood shrapnell, until I was safely in the darkness of the tower.
In.
Out.
I breathed.
In.
Out.
A police cruiser parked in the lot. Its siren drowned out all other wails for a moment before shutting off. A chubby white officer hopped out, surveying the scene. His gaze came to rest on the spot where I had lain. He squatted down, raking a finger through the pool of blood I left behind. He took a few steps toward the tower, squatting down yet again. Another splotch of blood, no doubt.
His voice floated through the plaza, slightly nasal and a little out of breath. "Dispatch, this is officer Chetty, badge number 741. I'm on the scene at 1019 Pleasant Valley Lane, in the lot of Sabe's Tower. I've located a pool of fresh blood that may be linked to our hit-and-run suspect. Possible injury, suspect could be close. Requesting immediate backup and forensics for evidence collection."
Fuck.
I wormed my way further into the tower's belly, sliding between patches of fungus like a mouse in a snake pit, heading for the stairwell. I had to ascend, to find some nook or cranny out of reach of the pursuing officers. The godforsaken tower was one big game of hide and seek, only this time, losing meant far worse than a bruised ego.
Something gurgled in the darkness.
My blood froze. I halted, my heart hammering a tattoo against my ribs. Holding my breath, I strained my senses, eyes peering into the graying murk, searching for the source of the sound.
It came again, a wretched retching, like an animal choking on its own vomit. Hacking, gurgling, bubbling wetness bursting through strained vocal chords, a sound of fading vitality. It was coming from near the door, just outside the meager halo of light slipping through the hole.
A wet line smeared across the back of my neck. A yelp escaped my lips before I realized it was just a cord dangling from the ceiling.
At my yelp, the gurgling paused.
A heavy hush fell over the place, the quietude of the hunted.
I could faintly make out echoes emanating from the stairwell, only a few feet behind me.
The gurgling continued, sucking at the thick air. It began to drag itself forward through the fungus covered floor— a slow, steady, rhythmic drag against the concrete.
FPOOSH.
A geyser of spores bloomed, mingling with swirls of dust in the meager light. The creature, or whatever it was, did not slow its approach. Out of the darkness, a form began to shape— a silhouette clawing its way toward me.
FPOOSH.
I could see this eruption envelop the mass on the floor. One hand appeared, then another. Its fingers scrabbled over the concrete, searching for any purchase to grip. They flexed, heaving the thing even closer.
A mop of curly hair appeared between the hands. A body, face down. It pulled itself closer, into another fungal growth, grinding its face through the rough concrete.
FPOOSH.
A knife protruded from its back. The handle jutted upward, a grim totem amidst the grime and gore. I shuddered, involuntarily taking a step closer to the stairwell.
It looked up at me.
Or rather, Josh looked up at me.
I stared back, mouth agape.
His face was nearly sanded off from the concrete. His nose took the worst of it, ground down to the bone, leaving only two sucking, gurgling holes between his eyes. His cheeks were a mangled mess of blood and rocks, viscous red flowing freely to the tip of his chin before dribbling off. The chunks of meat hanging where lips should have been flapped against his teeth with every jerky motion, tethered to his face by all too little strands of flesh. Beneath them, his teeth showed bright red and white in a perpetual grimacing smile.
"Josh?" I managed to whisper, my voice a frightened squeak.
Josh opened his mouth as if to respond, ripping both cheeks in half. He hacked, gurgling, spitting up blood that came from deep within his torso. He slowly cocked his head to the side, but instead of stopping at a slant, he kept twisting his neck until bones started to crack and his head dangled upside down.
His mangled, upside down head swung limply as he pulled himself to his knees, his neck like jelly. He wasn't wearing the same clothes he was wearing earlier tonight— no, he was wearing clothes from the night Annabeth first cheated on him with me. He was at a Villanova game, supporting his favorite team since birth. Annabeth knew he would be gone for the weekend, so we took our chance. I was still at her place when he came back, wearing his Collin Gillespie jersey and reeking of beer.
Now in front of me, his prized jersey was in tatters, torn to ribbons by the concrete. He groaned, shuffling and reaching for me with bloody fingers.
I bolted into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. I pushed myself faster and faster until the door to floor 9 loomed to my side. I didn't pause for a moment, pushed forward by the gurgling echoes reverberating from below.
My thighs, weak from the frantic climb, begged for a break. I wobbled into the hallway, painfully tip-toeing through the fungus. The door to 901 beckoned ahead, hanging open like it had been awaiting my hasty return.
I stumbled over the threshold when Annabeth's singing filled the room. "Oh, Donovan!"
I froze.
Outlined against the window was a two-headed beast. One face belonged to Annabeth, the other to Ellie. The creature swayed, an obscene dance of bare, fused flesh. It wore no clothes, as if to mock God himself. It had two sets of everything— eight appendages total, like a humanoid arachnid. Annabeth's breasts, now side by side with Ellie's, put Ellie to shame, even now.
Annabeth crooned again, "Oh, Donovan!" each syllable laced with acid and honey. The sound made my skin crawl as it floated through the silent room.
"You always did want more, didn't you Donovan?" Ellie sneered, a harsh grin splitting her face.
Annabeth spat, "More than Ellie could give. More than anyone could give."
The thing dropped to the floor with a thud. All eight limbs moved in unison as it crawled.
"Isn't this what you wanted? Both of us at the same time?" Their voices tumbled over each other, mouths moving in synchrony. Together, their laughter filled the hollow room. "Don't you like the thrill, Donovan? Don't you like playing with fire?"
The thing scurried at me, jumping over fungal growths with powerful leaps. The sudden movement broke my paralyzation, spurring my legs to action. I darted into the closet and through the stairwell door, into the gurgling echoes.
Back down the stairwell I ran, the two headed beast in pursuit. Both girls snarled, hindered by their conjoined size in the narrow passageway. Their struggle echoed through the stairwell, mixing with the gurgling. I fled further down, needing to put distance between that thing and me.
I stopped dead in my tracks between floors 2 and 3.
Josh was there, leaning against the wall with the knife removed from his back, now grasped tightly in his hand. I staggered back up the stairs, instinctively retreating, narrowly avoiding the blade as he lunged at me.
Glancing up, I caught a flash of pale skin bearing down on me, cutting off my escape. My only way out was the door to floor 3. I charged through the closet, leaving the echoes behind me.
Floor 3 was empty— no walls, only fungus and windows. The atrium loomed to my left, a pie shaped hole missing from the floor and ceiling. I backed away from the door, eyeing the dangling cords hanging in the atrium.
Maybe... Just maybe....
Josh stumbled from the stairwell, filling the air with his wet slurping. Annabeth and Ellie followed, scrambling toward me.
I didn't have time to think.
I jumped, grasping at the dangling wires, praying they would hold my weight.
Time stuttered, hanging suspended like an icicle on a winter's morning. The world spun in a dizzying blur as I twisted, fingers stretching for a grip. Panic clawed its icy fingers up my spine, but it was the surprise that struck me most. The simple disbelief that this was happening.
A wire found its way into my hand, snapping without slowing my fall.
The wind whooshed past, ripping the breath from my lungs. Above me, the third floor retreated, its grimy concrete replaced by a view of the atrium's ceiling, wires swinging back and forth from my desperate escape.
Then came the sensation of falling. It's a feeling that strikes a primal chord, an orchestra of fear and adrenaline that means the end of a life. My stomach lurched, free-falling alongside me, while the rest of my body seemed to hover in a state of disbelief.
The impact came as both a shock and an inevitability. There was a moment of sheer, undiluted pain, a soundless scream reverberating through my very bones. It felt like being shattered from the inside out, an explosion of agony that started from my back and radiated outwards. An iron-hot spike of pain shot through me, and then, a chilling void as everything below my waist slipped into a terrifying numbness.
The echo of my body's collision rang in my ears as the world spun into a disorienting whirl of blurs, shadows, and pain. The cold concrete beneath me felt real, solid, a chilling contrast to the sudden loss of sensation in my legs.
In the throbbing silence that followed, I understood. I had fallen. I was broken. I lay sprawled on the atrium floor, gasping, the world tilting dangerously in my vision.
Annabeth and Ellie emerged from the staircase, scrambling across the atrium floor. Red and blue police lights filtered through the tower’s windows, making shadows dance between the monster's eight limbs. Josh wasn't far behind, still clutching onto the bloody knife, head rolling upside down between his shoulders.
"Police, we're coming in!" a familiar nasally voice shouted.
The moment officers stepped foot in the tower, the monsters vanished in a spray of spores.
​
X

"Fuck it all!" said Stalin. "Atomic bomb! Beria modestly lowered his eyes. Kurchatov was a little late, but he also lowered his gaze and nervously tugged at his beard.
"So, does it explode?" Stalin asked, tapping the pipe against the iron side of the bomb.
"Of course, Comrade Stalin!" Kurchatov replied, feeling that the question was directed at him. "How... How it will!"
"How it will fucking blow!" Beria chimed in.
"They've really invented something," Stalin said, exhaling. "And tell me, does it explode powerfully?"
"I'm telling you, Comrade Stalin, it will blow as much as it can!"
"How it will fucking blow!" Beria supported again, making scary eyes behind his glasses, as if to say that if it blows, it will really blow.
"And what does Comrade Zhukov think?"
Zhukov seemed to have dozed off, but woke up just in time.
"It's a useful thing," the marshal said, jingling his medals. "The army needs it."
"Right," Stalin wisely remarked. "But it needs to be tested. Right, Comrade Voroshilov?"
"Definitely, Koba," the iron commissar supported.
"And on whom? The Jews?"
"It's not worth it on the Jews," Beria boldly said. "We've already tested gases on them. It's not fair."
"Indeed, indeed," Stalin pondered, releasing puffs of smoke. "The Jews might take offense. Thank you, Comrade Beria, for the timely remark. By the way, will you yourself not be a Jew, Comrade Beria? Stalin, as usual, made a successful joke, and everyone laughed. Kalinin and Kurchatov laughed, shaking their beards, Zhukov giggled, Voroshilov laughed out loud, and Beria smiled subtly and said:
"No, Comrade Stalin, I'm Mingrelian."
"Mingrelian, warmed his cock on the stove," Stalin joked again successfully, and the company laughed a little more. Finally, Stalin tapped the bomb with the pipe and remarked:
"It's good that we had a laugh, but we haven't decided yet on whom to test our atomic bomb."
"On the Japanese?" Voroshilov asked questioningly. "We have plenty of Japanese prisoners, and the war isn't over yet, we can catch more. There are still Germans left from that war too."
"Germans and Japanese are a well-tested people," Stalin said. "We've already fought Germans and Japanese. But the atomic bomb should be tested on a nation that we haven't studied yet from the perspective of a battle. Am I right, Comrade Kurchatov?"
Fuck would Kurchatov object.
The bomb was loaded onto the plane and they set off to drop it. In the plane, there were pilots: three-time Hero of the Soviet Union Comrade Kozhedub and three-time Hero of the Soviet Union Comrade Pokryshkin. Kozhedub was the commander of the crew because he shot down 62 enemy planes during the war, while Pokryshkin only shot down 59. That's why Kozhedub rudely told Pokryshkin, who was talking to the technicians:
"Stop talking nonsense, Comrade Pokryshkin! It's time to fly and drop the bomb!"
"Sorry, Comrade Kozhedub," Pokryshkin said and climbed into the plane.
Kozhedub turned the ignition key, pressed the pedals, pulled the levers, and the red-starred plane sped along the concrete strip of the secret airfield.
"They've taken off," Voroshilov said, wiping away a tear.
The plane flew very high. Kozhedub even dozed off from the monotony of the scenery outside the window, while Pokryshkin, out of boredom, started reading poetry:
Late autumn. The crows have flown away. The forest is bare, the fields are empty. Only one narrow strip is not compressed. It brings a sad thought...
"What kind of poetry are you reading, Comrade Pokryshkin?" Kozhedub asked without opening his eyes.
"Poetry by Comrade Stalin, whose else," Pokryshkin replied.
"Well, well. You take the controls for now, and I'll take a nap. Is it still a long way to fly?"
"About a thousand five hundred kilometers," Pokryshkin said, checking the map.
"Alright, then I'll doze off. Wake me up when it's time to drop the bomb."
"And fuck you," Pokryshkin thought vengefully.
The decision was made to drop the bomb on America, it was a great idea of Comrade Stalin. However, he had no idea that Truman had also built an atomic bomb and they were bringing it to drop on the USSR. Not just on the USSR, but on Moscow, to kill Comrade Stalin and the Politburo. But Truman had no way of knowing that Comrade Stalin and the Politburo had already left for a large underground bunker that was built precisely in the hope that the bastard Truman would decide to drop an atomic bomb. The plane, under the control of American pilots, named "Enola Gay," was flying directly toward the Soviet plane. It was called "Enola Gay" because there were faggots on board. That's not surprising, because America has always had many faggots, so finding suitable ones among the pilots was not a problem. It was Truman's subtle mockery of the Soviet people. Like, the Americans would fly in, drop the bomb, and Stalin and the entire Politburo would perish. The Russian people would learn about it from the newspapers the next morning and say to each other, "Did you hear? The Americans bombed Comrade Stalin and the entire Politburo!" - "What faggots!" And indeed, there were faggots there. What a humiliating incident. In short, the faggots were flying toward the Soviet plane of Kozhedub and Pokryshkin, listening to Glenn Miller, and the Soviet pilots had no idea. The flight paths of the planes intersected somewhere over Japan.
"Look, Comrade Kozhedub!" Pokryshkin said, nudging his commander with his foot. "Look... a plane!"
"What is this?" Kozhedub wondered, opening his eyes. Indeed, a large plane was flying towards them, seemingly American.
"These are Americans flying, Comrade Kozhedub," Pokryshkin reinforced his suspicions. "They're flying in our direction! And behind us is Moscow!"
"Let's ask them," Kozhedub decided and opened the window.
"Hey, guys!" he shouted in English, sticking his head out. "Where are we headed?"
"That's what we'll tell him," the Americans thought, but said aloud, "Just around. Taking a ride."
"So are we," Kozhedub lied, and to himself, he noted that there was a big bomb hanging under the tail of the American plane, probably atomic. After hiding back inside, he said to Pokryshkin, "They're bringing an atomic bomb, those faggots. Call Comrade Stalin."
Comrade Stalin sat in the underground bunker and argued with Voroshilov whether the bomb would explode or not, when a telephone operator approached and said, "It's for you, Comrade Stalin."
Stalin asked sternly, "Who is it?"
"It's Pokryshkin, Comrade Stalin!" the pilot hurriedly spoke on the phone. "The Americans are here, Comrade Stalin! Those bastards are also carrying a bomb!"
"Why did you become dumbfounded over it?" Stalin asked.
"We're flying, Comrade Stalin! We just got delayed. It doesn't look good..."
"Hmm... Well, wait a little there, I'll consult with my comrades."
Covering the phone with his hand, Stalin said, "Pokryshkin is calling. He says the Americans are also carrying a bomb, bastards."
"We'll shoot them down," Voroshilov said. "We'll send the fighter squadron immediately."
"I wish you'd shoot them all," Stalin grumbled. "Even a fool can do that."
Here's what we'll do. Get Truman on the other line for me. And he opened the line himself and said to Pokryshkin, "Keep them detained for a while, and we'll make a decision."
"Yes, Comrade Stalin!"
Pokryshkin covered the phone with his hand and said to Kozhedub, "Do whatever you want, Comrade Kozhedub, but we need to detain the American plane. Comrade Stalin will make the decision."
Kozhedub leaned out of the window again and said, "Hey, guys! What's hanging under your tail?"
"A bomb," the Americans said.
"Why is it so big?"
"Just because," the Americans replied, "no big deal. What about you?"
"We have one too," Kozhedub said.
Down below, the Japanese were gathered, wondering what was happening. They tried firing their anti-aircraft guns, but it was all in vain—the planes were too high. Emperor Hirohito called upon the kamikaze pilots, ordering them to fly and shoot down the enemy planes. But the kamikaze, as expected, took their time with the ritualistic songs, drank sake, and tied headbands... The Japanese, what can I say.
In the meantime, Stalin was connected with Truman. "Hello, Mr. Truman?" "Mr. Stalin? How are you, and how's the weather?" "Thanks to your prayers. Here's the thing—a little plane of ours was flying over Japan..." "Well, that's good for you." "But then yours was coming towards it..." "Well, we're at war with them." "But why the bomb?" "Well, we're at war with them! And besides, you have a bomb too." The Americans, those bastards, also called Truman, of course. "We're at war with them," said Stalin. "We'll drop a bomb on them now." "Then go ahead." "No, you go first!" "And you'll deceive us." "We?! Have we ever deceived anyone?!" "Oh, plenty." "And you, even more so." "And you communists, one can't trust communists." "And you bourgeois, one can't trust bourgeois either. Lenin said so. " "Your Lenin is an idiot!" "And your Lincoln is a Jew and a faggot, and Washington is a fool, and Jefferson is a moron, wipe your ass with your constitution on Independence Day. And in general, fuck off." Stalin wisely said, "I'll hang up now." Truman couldn't find anything to say and fell silent. "Alright, Mr. Stalin," he said. "We'll drop the bomb. But you drop one too!" "We'll drop it, we'll drop it," Stalin assured him. The Americans did drop the bomb, and they flew back home. The bomb fell, and it exploded! The next morning, the Japanese went out all over the country, reading newspapers and telling each other, "Did you hear? The Americans dropped a bomb on Hiroshima!" - "Those bastards!" And indeed, they were bastards. What a shameful incident, even for the Japanese, despite being a yellow-faced people. And our planes kept flying over Japan. Then Truman called Stalin and said angrily, "Hello! Mr. Stalin, this isn't fair!" "You got screwed! You got screwed!" Stalin rejoiced. "This is unworthy," Truman said. "Well, who cares." "We didn't agree on this." "So what?" "You promised to drop the bomb too!" "But we didn't. We'll drop it on you now, haha!" "Then we'll drop another one on you! We still have it!" "Wait a moment, Mr. Truman, I need to consult with the Politburo," Stalin said, getting serious. "It's quite possible that they have another bomb," Beria said, after listening. "Don't we have one?" Stalin asked. "Not yet, Comrade Stalin," Kurchatov was scared. "But we'll make one soon!" "Too late," Stalin waved his hand. "So, what should we do?" "Let's drop it there. I suggested testing it on the Japanese," Voroshilov proposed. "Alright, but not right away. Let Truman squirm a little," Stalin said and contacted Truman again. "Hello, Mr. Truman? Well, we're considering it."
The Red Star plane circled above Japan, running low on fuel. The heroic crew finished their last can of canned meat when a message finally came from the ground: "Drop it closer. Stalin." "What do we have there?" unshaven Kozhedub rejoiced, pulling the map closer. "Let's see... Osaka... Yokosuka... Nagasaki..." "They're all bitches and bastards over there," Pokryshkin said, licking the can from the inside. "Which bastard was the last one?" "Nagasaki," read Kozhedub. "Well, fuck 'em then," said Pokryshkin, pressing the button.
Thus, in 1945, there was no nuclear war between the two great powers.

PART SIXTY-FOUR
[Previous Part] [Beginning]
“What the fuck is that shit?!”
“The more important question is how?” Thalien cut in, staring at me in utter disbelief. “You’re well aware of what chain-lightning looks like.”
“But it’s not supposed to do that hand-to-hand bullshit,” Shay-Lee argued. “That shit goes from hand to whatever the fuck you want dead.” As she spoke, she pointed to her palm and flicked her finger outwards at an imaginary target. “Not bouncing between your fucking hands like a goddess-damned rubber ball in motion!”
“It’s the Acropolis,” Lanna said, and although her tone was to answer her husband, her expression asked me to confirm it and fill in the specifics.
“No, it’s me actually. But I’m more than just doing it. I see the source of the magic,” I explained. “It’s floating in the air all the time, like specks of dust, waiting to do whatever the mage or sorcerer requests of them.”
“That’s why you asked me what I saw,” Thalien said thoughtfully.
I nodded. “I wondered if all mages saw it like that, but you said no. Emphatically no,” I reminded him. “From what you said, you merely gesture or speak, and the magic happens … which is true for a given definition.”
“What do these dust dots look like?”
“As I explained to Tarq, they’re like a pinhole-sized dot, not unlike the grains of the Acropolis key, only smaller. Much, much smaller. And just like the key grains, they connect to others to create different patterns, like a deck of cards. If you divide it into four, you have the houses. If you only want the sevens, only four stick together. On their sides, they’re three inches long and barely visible. From above, they become two inches. Just by that explanation alone, the combinations are endless, but when you’re really describing something that can change shape like we’ve seen the key do, there are no limits to their capabilities.”
I gestured to my hand. “When Milo healed this, I watched the dust dots gather along the injury and pull it back together, somehow fusing the two sides to make it whole.”
“And how long have you known this?”
“Since the night we got to Tetorli. I scryed Polly by myself on that lookout and asked her how many other Shadow Emperors wielded the power that had been bestowed on me.”
“And you screamed most emphatically, ‘none’,” Milo said on my behalf. I nodded again resolutely.
“So what exactly are your limitations, magically speaking?” Lanna asked.
“I’m not sure I have any. Not only that, but I don’t need to incant or gesture or have ingredients to make things happen. I’m directly … linked … to the magic via this.” I rubbed my left shoulder.
“And Harmony already said that thing probably can’t be neutralised, even if it was cut off you…” Shay-Lee commented, scowling at my shoulder like it was the source of all her problems. In her head, it probably was.
“Those two days I was unconscious, it wasn’t because of the cold. Or at least, not totally,” I amended, because falling over half-frozen had undoubtedly been part of the issue at the time. “This…” —I rubbed my shoulder— “…is now everywhere. I felt it spread out inside me. Bonding with me. Honestly, I don’t think the brand itself matters anymore, except to let the people know who I am.” My hand moved to the back of my neck and up to scratch across the top of my scalp, indicating it had somehow travelled into my head … and through my limbs, all the way to my toes. “I’m not going to try and do anything I haven’t seen done or can’t envision happening because that is a disastrous line of thought.”
“What other things can you do, Uncle Em?”
I wasn’t interested in doing a show-and-tell, but if a couple more examples were enough to keep them happy, I stuck with the ones I knew. Curling my right hand into a cup, I formed a snowball-sized fireball. Ironically, I didn’t feel the heat because more dots had lined my hand like a protective glove.
It was amazing how much I had folded into the word ‘magic’ when common sense was right there in front of me. Fire was fire, and when it was said aloud, magic fire that didn’t burn the caster was just stupid.
I heard a gasp that was not part of our party and clenched my fist to extinguish it as everyone swung towards the sound. With a wall of trees at our back and Felipe and Gimweren’s people in front and on either side of us settling in for the night, there was no reason for anyone to be back there. At least, I had assumed so, given I’d put up a sound blister to keep this conversation private.
That meant our observer was right up against the protective barrier, just as Felipe had been last night. Except no one was there. It wasn’t snowing so hard that we couldn’t see three feet into the darkness, but by the time we snatched up our weapons and reached the protective wall, our visitor was long gone.
A dwarf couldn’t move that quietly, nor could they do so without leaving a trail in the fresh powder, which made our unwanted visitor a snow half-orc. We’d be tracking one lone snow half-orc with countless numbers of them around us while it was snowing.
Oh, this is going to be fun … not.
Thalien dismissed the protective dome that would’ve dumped the better part of a foot of snow on top of our camp (not to mention ruin my meal prep) if I didn’t throw another one up six inches inside his. The difference being mine was more like a cave, complete with an opening we could all rush through.
Only Thalien seemed to notice. Or maybe he was the only one who truly understood what I’d done. Magic in his eyes was uncompromising. Specific gestures and specific words moved a specific number of dust dots into a specific formation that couldn’t be modified. In contrast, I mentally commanded the individual dust dots to form whatever pattern I saw fit, including a protective barrier with an open doorway.
“Milo,” I called, for we wouldn’t get very far if we didn’t know what direction to head.
Milo was already pushing past Tarq, searching the ground. He quickly surmised the same thing I had and held out his hand, palm down. I’d seen him do this trick dozens of times before, but with my new insight, I saw the dots gather into designated sections on the ground and condense into six-inch footprints that turned a pale blue for everyone to see.
“It’s a kid,” I said before Milo could make the announcement, tossing my weapons belt back inside the campsite (since I hadn’t buckled it into place yet) and charging after our pint-sized runaway—a snow half-orc. Felipe would have a fit if he knew one of the kids had followed us after all, though it did beg the question of how they’d evaded two hundred snow half-orc warriors plus however many Felipe had following us from the shadows.
The frantic pace of their footsteps … the way they bounced off a tree, went down onto one knee, and scrambled up to run once more was proof of their panic. I wouldn’t add to that fear by drawing a sword on him. Worst case, I still had a dagger and a zot-shot tucked into my boots.
Tarq and I ran at full speed, assuming we were leaving Milo and the others to trail behind us (except Thalien and Lanna, who almost always remained with the camp due to the amount of magical gear we all carried. That stuff was expensive).
However, it was times like this that I was forced to remember I was approaching sixty, and we had kids less than half my age with us. Liab charged between us on all fours, running half as fast as us again and in my peripheral vision, I caught sight of our resident half-elf thief converging through the snow on our right.
Less than a minute later, I heard the thump of someone impacting the snow, followed quickly by Liab’s sharp, breathy grunts of victory. As we ran up on the scene, Liab was sitting on the ground with one of his long arms around the shoulders of our runaway child, his other hand cupped securely over his mouth. He had the boy sitting on the ground before him with his legs hooked over the kid’s thighs to keep them secured.
Shay-Lee was kneeling beside them, her dagger out but folded back along her wrist and forearm. Any wrong move on the boy’s part would have that dagger finding a new sheath in his throat.
To my surprise, Harmony was on the other side of Liab, rubbing her hand across the child’s head while her other hand pulled a blanket from the shoulder tote she was almost never without. Her presence was another reminder the younger women were faster than Tarq and me when they wanted to be. I made a mental note to lecture them both about taking unnecessary risks, given we still knew nothing about this child and how danger came in all forms. There was a reason Tarq and I went first, followed closely by Milo.
Straight away, something felt wrong. The child’s deflation as he realised there was no escape was to be expected, but something else was way off. Back at Tetorli, the kids were playful and curious, only to be chased by their elders with smirks and snowballs. More stringent discipline was sometimes necessary, but this boy’s reaction was another level of defeat.
If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he was ten, maybe eleven. I declared him male since he only wore a loincloth, though truthfully, it was hard to tell at that age. I wasn’t a specialist in the age development of half-orcs.
Apart from the loincloth, something else struck me as odd. As soon as he saw me, his gaze went to my covered wrists and then dropped to the ground between us. His shoulders also curled forward as much as Liab would let them. I got the distinct impression he would roll all the way forward with his brow to the ground if he were released, and that was definitely not the way of the snow half-orcs.
And then it hit me.
The boy’s head had been shaved, and very short white bristles, more common amongst my soldiers, barely penetrated his pale grey scalp. Even the youngest child at Tetorli wore their hair long with some manner of weight tied into the end to familiarise them with the handy weapon they’d use as they got older.
Which meant the boy wasn’t from Tetorli or any other native snow half-orc settlement… and we were less than a day’s march from Cerro Nexo, only hours from Jinis Ridge.
I really didn’t like the picture I was putting together in my head.
The poor kid trembled when I came forward, took the blanket hem and lifted it to cover his head … and stopped with a wordless gasp when I saw the back of his head had been branded with a series of letters and numbers that went all the way into his skull. It wasn’t a square brand and had been rolled across the contours to go from ear to ear. And it was old.
Fuck me.
My stomach fell into my feet, and I felt all the blood drain from my face.
“What the fuck is that?” Shay-Lee demanded, which galvanized me into moving.
I took complete control of the blanket from Harmony and quickly covered his upper body, telling her to grab out a second one. We wouldn’t get back to camp without being discovered, but I wanted to limit the spread of this knowledge. Our saving grace was the camp was in the middle of being set up, and most eyes were busy doing other things.
Regular half-orcs were known for fits of rage that would make them both deadly and loud, and I had no idea how the snow half-orcs, their intelligent brethren, would handle this. I needed to be smart. I needed my army to stay smart and not get swept up in blind fury. I needed to return this boy to our campsite and bring Felipe in on our discovery. I would also need to change the arrangement of my protective barrier to hide the chief’s reaction from his people, who would be watching.
To quote our thief … shit just got real.
Tarq took Shay-Lee’s place and slid his hands between the boy’s shoulders and Liab’s chest. “Sit still, lad,” he said quietly, then lifted him just enough from Liab that Harmony could wrap his lower half in the second blanket, completely hiding him from view. Cradled in Tarq’s large arms, the boy’s general shape would only come across as humanoid, including an adult dwarf or a young human, which was just what I’d hoped for. Harmony stayed at their side with her hand on the blanket near the boy’s head, her presence keeping him calm.
And to ensure we didn’t have any curious observers, the rest of us formed a loose, defensive circle around them, with me at the front and Milo in the rear, and we made our way back to the campsite.
I knew snow half-orcs preferred the cold of the elements, but in this instance, he would just have to deal with the human conditions. I modified the dome to give it a milky pigmentation that would blend in with the snow but not allow anyone else to spy on us; at the same time, I closed the opening to give us complete privacy. There was little doubt word would get back to Felipe, but I wanted to question the boy while ensuring he had something to eat before I brought in the snow half-orc chief. Felipe was going to be emotional enough as it was without making things worse.
“The fact that you can change its composition after the spell’s conclusion defies all logic,” Thalien said, lifting his eyes to the structure around us.
I understood how it looked from his viewpoint. Magic cast was then set in place. Another spell could replace it only if more powerful magic were cast or the original was dispelled. Whereas for me, it was a matter of having some of the already amassed dust dots make a quarter turn to the left; no different than barking out the same command to an assembled army.
“This is not the norm,” I reminded him. “We’re presently at war, which has changed our dynamics temporarily. Very temporarily. Once we’re out the other side of this, should we be permitted to live with what we know, it will still be your job to create nightly cover when the weather turns against us and mine to cook dinner for you and Lanna. Just as it always has been.”
I wasn’t sure if he believed me; honestly, we had more pressing issues anyway. I had Shay-Lee gather up my comforter and ball it on the ground at the farthest point from the fire against the tree line, and I had Tarq deposit him on it while I fossicked through my bag for my canteen and some beef jerky that would give the kid a much-needed dose of protein.
The boy never moved as Harmony gently tugged the blanket from his head. “You’re safe now,” she crooned as his eyes met hers briefly, then jerked away to the floor. Unfortunately, when I stepped in front of him and squatted down, he gasped and curled into the tightest possible ball with his face pressed into his knees, covering his head with both hands (but not the brand, leading me to assume he’d been taught never to hide his identity) and proceeded to wet himself. The acrid stench meant he was severely dehydrated, but that too was the least of our worries.
I sighed and silently passed Harmony the food and the drink, then shuffled back a few feet without rising to give her room to work.
He’d been nervous around Harmony, but the sight of me terrified him. I sat on the ground beside the fire and crossed my legs, giving him time to settle. It amused me immensely to watch Lanna’s nose screw up as she approached them from Harmony’s side to not frighten the boy any more than he already was. With a few mumbled words, she cast her cleansing spell that took care of the comforter and the blankets (and knowing Lanna, the boy himself). Then, she moved around in front of the boy and knelt, leaning forward to peek through a gap in his arms. “What’s your name, honey?”
“SHO-8-1-4-3,” the boy barely whispered.
The same letter and number combination burned into his head—literally. I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly, refusing to call him that. My brain immediately started playing with the combination, shifting emphasis and accents. Until he selected a new name for himself, we needed to call him one that brushed up against his designation for the sake of familiarity but still sounded like a name. I opened my eyes and used a stick to write it out on the ground. By turning the 8 into a B, and the 1 into an I, it became …
“…Shobi,” I said, lifting my eyes to everyone. My friends were looking at me. The boy hadn’t moved. “SHO-8-1-4-3, from now on, we’ll call you Shobi. Nod if you understand.”
It made me sick to fall back on this mentality of barking orders at a frightened kid and watching his head wiggle forward and back under his hands, but soft words of comfort wouldn’t cut it. The boy would never believe them from me. I reminded him too much of what he had escaped from, and humans hadn’t been kind to him in that place. Augustus Morales, you need to survive long enough for me to get my hands on you. Then, and only then, will you be made to pay in full for all this.
“Alright, Shobi. I need you to eat the food and drink the water my friend is trying to give you, and to do that, you need to sit up. So, sit up.” I barely infused my words with command, but Shobi shot up so fast his head and shoulders knocked against Lanna and Harmony, who were both bowed over him, trying to coax him out. He still wouldn’t look at me, but he searched for the supplies, shoving the first jerky stick so far down his throat that he gagged.
Harmony tightened her grip on the rest and gently fed them to him in small, bite-sized pieces, intermittent with swigs of water. Thalien passed Lanna a short length of fabric which she wrapped around Shobi’s head like a bandana, covering his slave brand. He gasped and tensed, his hand reaching to drag the material away. Harmony did her patented shushing croon that took much of the fight from him. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” she whispered, feeding him another piece of jerky.
I watched their interaction, and knowing he was in safe hands, I twisted away from him and stood up to avoid frightening him. “Where are you going?” Tarq asked, also rising. I glanced over my shoulder to answer my friend but found the way the boy was staring at Tarq like he’d lost his mind much more interesting. It wasn’t hard to guess that he wasn’t used to an alternate race speaking that way to a human in authority.
“Word of our young friend would have reached Chief Felipe by now.” I used the honorific for the child’s sake, and sadly, he made no reaction to the title of his people’s leader. I wondered if he knew what chief even meant. “He might want to keep the boy close, or he might want to send him back to Tetorli with some of the fighters to keep him safe.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Tarq …”
“You’re about to tell the snow half-orc chief that our enemies have been enslaving his people without his knowledge or yours long enough to have a man-child with no clue of his heritage. If you think I’m not going to stand between you and him while he rages, you have clearly forgotten who you’re dealing with.”
I raked my fingers through my short hair and sighed. “Very well.”
Unfortunately, Felipe took it about as well as I had expected.
* * *
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For more of my work including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF WE PLAN, GODS LAUGH TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART SIXTY-FOUR
[Previous Part] [Beginning]
“What the fuck is that shit?!”
“The more important question is how?” Thalien cut in, staring at me in utter disbelief. “You’re well aware of what chain-lightning looks like.”
“But it’s not supposed to do that hand-to-hand bullshit,” Shay-Lee argued. “That shit goes from hand to whatever the fuck you want dead.” As she spoke, she pointed to her palm and flicked her finger outwards at an imaginary target. “Not bouncing between your fucking hands like a goddess-damned rubber ball in motion!”
“It’s the Acropolis,” Lanna said, and although her tone was to answer her husband, her expression asked me to confirm it and fill in the specifics.
“No, it’s me actually. But I’m more than just doing it. I see the source of the magic,” I explained. “It’s floating in the air all the time, like specks of dust, waiting to do whatever the mage or sorcerer requests of them.”
“That’s why you asked me what I saw,” Thalien said thoughtfully.
I nodded. “I wondered if all mages saw it like that, but you said no. Emphatically no,” I reminded him. “From what you said, you merely gesture or speak, and the magic happens … which is true for a given definition.”
“What do these dust dots look like?”
“As I explained to Tarq, they’re like a pinhole-sized dot, not unlike the grains of the Acropolis key, only smaller. Much, much smaller. And just like the key grains, they connect to others to create different patterns, like a deck of cards. If you divide it into four, you have the houses. If you only want the sevens, only four stick together. On their sides, they’re three inches long and barely visible. From above, they become two inches. Just by that explanation alone, the combinations are endless, but when you’re really describing something that can change shape like we’ve seen the key do, there are no limits to their capabilities.”
I gestured to my hand. “When Milo healed this, I watched the dust dots gather along the injury and pull it back together, somehow fusing the two sides to make it whole.”
“And how long have you known this?”
“Since the night we got to Tetorli. I scryed Polly by myself on that lookout and asked her how many other Shadow Emperors wielded the power that had been bestowed on me.”
“And you screamed most emphatically, ‘none’,” Milo said on my behalf. I nodded again resolutely.
“So what exactly are your limitations, magically speaking?” Lanna asked.
“I’m not sure I have any. Not only that, but I don’t need to incant or gesture or have ingredients to make things happen. I’m directly … linked … to the magic via this.” I rubbed my left shoulder.
“And Harmony already said that thing probably can’t be neutralised, even if it was cut off you…” Shay-Lee commented, scowling at my shoulder like it was the source of all her problems. In her head, it probably was.
“Those two days I was unconscious, it wasn’t because of the cold. Or at least, not totally,” I amended, because falling over half-frozen had undoubtedly been part of the issue at the time. “This…” —I rubbed my shoulder— “…is now everywhere. I felt it spread out inside me. Bonding with me. Honestly, I don’t think the brand itself matters anymore, except to let the people know who I am.” My hand moved to the back of my neck and up to scratch across the top of my scalp, indicating it had somehow travelled into my head … and through my limbs, all the way to my toes. “I’m not going to try and do anything I haven’t seen done or can’t envision happening because that is a disastrous line of thought.”
“What other things can you do, Uncle Em?”
I wasn’t interested in doing a show-and-tell, but if a couple more examples were enough to keep them happy, I stuck with the ones I knew. Curling my right hand into a cup, I formed a snowball-sized fireball. Ironically, I didn’t feel the heat because more dots had lined my hand like a protective glove.
It was amazing how much I had folded into the word ‘magic’ when common sense was right there in front of me. Fire was fire, and when it was said aloud, magic fire that didn’t burn the caster was just stupid.
I heard a gasp that was not part of our party and clenched my fist to extinguish it as everyone swung towards the sound. With a wall of trees at our back and Felipe and Gimweren’s people in front and on either side of us settling in for the night, there was no reason for anyone to be back there. At least, I had assumed so, given I’d put up a sound blister to keep this conversation private.
That meant our observer was right up against the protective barrier, just as Felipe had been last night. Except no one was there. It wasn’t snowing so hard that we couldn’t see three feet into the darkness, but by the time we snatched up our weapons and reached the protective wall, our visitor was long gone.
A dwarf couldn’t move that quietly, nor could they do so without leaving a trail in the fresh powder, which made our unwanted visitor a snow half-orc. We’d be tracking one lone snow half-orc with countless numbers of them around us while it was snowing.
Oh, this is going to be fun … not.
Thalien dismissed the protective dome that would’ve dumped the better part of a foot of snow on top of our camp (not to mention ruin my meal prep) if I didn’t throw another one up six inches inside his. The difference being mine was more like a cave, complete with an opening we could all rush through.
Only Thalien seemed to notice. Or maybe he was the only one who truly understood what I’d done. Magic in his eyes was uncompromising. Specific gestures and specific words moved a specific number of dust dots into a specific formation that couldn’t be modified. In contrast, I mentally commanded the individual dust dots to form whatever pattern I saw fit, including a protective barrier with an open doorway.
“Milo,” I called, for we wouldn’t get very far if we didn’t know what direction to head.
Milo was already pushing past Tarq, searching the ground. He quickly surmised the same thing I had and held out his hand, palm down. I’d seen him do this trick dozens of times before, but with my new insight, I saw the dots gather into designated sections on the ground and condense into six-inch footprints that turned a pale blue for everyone to see.
“It’s a kid,” I said before Milo could make the announcement, tossing my weapons belt back inside the campsite (since I hadn’t buckled it into place yet) and charging after our pint-sized runaway—a snow half-orc. Felipe would have a fit if he knew one of the kids had followed us after all, though it did beg the question of how they’d evaded two hundred snow half-orc warriors plus however many Felipe had following us from the shadows.
The frantic pace of their footsteps … the way they bounced off a tree, went down onto one knee, and scrambled up to run once more was proof of their panic. I wouldn’t add to that fear by drawing a sword on him. Worst case, I still had a dagger and a zot-shot tucked into my boots.
Tarq and I ran at full speed, assuming we were leaving Milo and the others to trail behind us (except Thalien and Lanna, who almost always remained with the camp due to the amount of magical gear we all carried. That stuff was expensive).
However, it was times like this that I was forced to remember I was approaching sixty, and we had kids less than half my age with us. Liab charged between us on all fours, running half as fast as us again and in my peripheral vision, I caught sight of our resident half-elf thief converging through the snow on our right.
Less than a minute later, I heard the thump of someone impacting the snow, followed quickly by Liab’s sharp, breathy grunts of victory. As we ran up on the scene, Liab was sitting on the ground with one of his long arms around the shoulders of our runaway child, his other hand cupped securely over his mouth. He had the boy sitting on the ground before him with his legs hooked over the kid’s thighs to keep them secured.
Shay-Lee was kneeling beside them, her dagger out but folded back along her wrist and forearm. Any wrong move on the boy’s part would have that dagger finding a new sheath in his throat.
To my surprise, Harmony was on the other side of Liab, rubbing her hand across the child’s head while her other hand pulled a blanket from the shoulder tote she was almost never without. Her presence was yet another reminder that the younger women were faster than Tarq and me when they wanted to be. I made a mental note to lecture them both about taking unnecessary risks, given we still knew nothing about this child and how danger came in all forms. There was a reason Tarq and I went first, followed closely by Milo.
Straight away, something felt wrong. The child’s deflation as he realised there was no escape was to be expected, but something else was way off. Back at Tetorli, the kids were playful and curious, only to be chased by their elders with smirks and snowballs. More stringent discipline was sometimes necessary, but this boy’s reaction was another level of defeat.
If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he was ten, maybe eleven. I declared him male since he only wore a loincloth, though truthfully, it was hard to tell at that age. I wasn’t a specialist in the age development of half-orcs.
Apart from the loincloth, something else that struck me as odd. As soon as he saw me, his gaze went to my covered wrists and then dropped to the ground between us. His shoulders also curled forward as much as Liab would let them. I got the distinct impression he would roll all the way forward with his brow to the ground if he were released, and that was definitely not the way of the snow half-orcs.
And then it hit me.
The boy’s head had been shaved, and very short white bristles, more common amongst my soldiers, barely penetrated his pale grey scalp. Even the youngest child at Tetorli wore their hair long with some manner of weight tied into the end to familiarise them with the handy weapon they’d use as they got older.
Which meant the boy wasn’t from Tetorli or any other native snow half-orc settlement… and we were less than a day’s march from Cerro Nexo, only hours from Jinis Ridge.
I really didn’t like the picture I was putting together in my head.
The poor kid trembled when I came forward, took the blanket hem and lifted it to cover his head … and stopped with a wordless gasp when I saw the back of his head had been branded with a series of letters and numbers that went all the way into his skull. It wasn’t a square brand and had been rolled across the contours to go from ear to ear. And it was old.
Fuck me.
My stomach fell into my feet, and I felt all the blood drain from my face.
“What the fuck is that?” Shay-Lee demanded, which galvanized me into moving.
I took complete control of the blanket from Harmony and quickly covered his upper body, telling her to grab out a second one. We wouldn’t get back to camp without being discovered, but I wanted to limit the spread of this knowledge. Our saving grace was the camp was in the middle of being set up, and most eyes were busy doing other things.
Regular half-orcs were known for fits of rage that would make them both deadly and loud, and I had no idea how the snow half-orcs, their intelligent brethren, would handle this. I needed to be smart. I needed my army to stay smart and not get swept up in blind fury. I needed to return this boy to our campsite and bring Felipe in on our discovery. I would also need to change the arrangement of my protective barrier to hide the chief’s reaction from his people, who would be watching.
To quote our thief … shit just got real.
Tarq took Shay-Lee’s place and slid his hands between the boy’s shoulders and Liab’s chest. “Sit still, lad,” he said quietly, then lifted him just enough from Liab that Harmony could wrap his lower half in the second blanket, completely hiding him from view. Cradled in Tarq’s large arms, the boy’s general shape would only come across as humanoid, including an adult dwarf or a young human, which was just what I’d hoped for. Harmony stayed at their side with her hand on the blanket near the boy’s head, her presence keeping him calm.
And to ensure we didn’t have any curious observers, the rest of us formed a loose, defensive circle around them, with me at the front and Milo in the rear, and we made our way back to the campsite.
I knew snow half-orcs preferred the cold of the elements, but in this instance, he would just have to deal with the human conditions. I modified the dome to give it a milky pigmentation that would blend in with the snow but not allow anyone else to spy on us; at the same time, I closed the opening to give us complete privacy. There was little doubt word would get back to Felipe, but I wanted to question the boy while ensuring he had something to eat before I brought in the snow half-orc chief. Felipe was going to be emotional enough as it was without making things worse.
“The fact that you can change its composition after the spell’s conclusion defies all logic,” Thalien said, lifting his eyes to the structure around us.
I understood how it looked from his viewpoint. Magic cast was then set in place. Another spell could replace it only if more powerful magic were cast or the original was dispelled. Whereas for me, it was a matter of having some of the already amassed dust dots make a quarter turn to the left; no different than barking out the same command to an assembled army.
“This is not the norm,” I reminded him. “We’re presently at war, which has changed our dynamics temporarily. Very temporarily. Once we’re out the other side of this, should we be permitted to live with what we know, it will still be your job to create nightly cover when the weather turns against us and mine to cook dinner for you and Lanna. Just as it always has been.”
I wasn’t sure if he believed me; honestly, we had more pressing issues anyway. I had Shay-Lee gather up my comforter and ball it on the ground at the farthest point from the fire against the tree line, and I had Tarq deposit him on it while I fossicked through my bag for my canteen and some beef jerky that would give the kid a much-needed dose of protein.
The boy never moved as Harmony gently tugged the blanket from his head. “You’re safe now,” she crooned as his eyes met hers briefly, then jerked away to the floor. Unfortunately, when I stepped in front of him and squatted down, he gasped and curled into the tightest possible ball with his face pressed into his knees, covering his head with both hands (but not the brand, leading me to assume he’d been taught never to hide his identity) and proceeded to wet himself. The acrid stench meant he was severely dehydrated, but that too was the least of our worries.
I sighed and silently passed Harmony the food and the drink, then shuffled back a few feet without rising to give her room to work.
He’d been nervous around Harmony, but the sight of me terrified him. I sat on the ground beside the fire and crossed my legs, giving him time to settle. It amused me immensely to watch Lanna’s nose screw up as she approached them from Harmony’s side to not frighten the boy any more than he already was. With a few mumbled words, she cast her cleansing spell that took care of the comforter and the blankets (and knowing Lanna, the boy himself). Then, she moved around in front of the boy and knelt, leaning forward to peek through a gap in his arms. “What’s your name, honey?”
“SHO-8-1-4-3,” the boy barely whispered.
The same letter and number combination burned into his head—literally. I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly, refusing to call him that. My brain immediately started playing with the combination, shifting emphasis and accents. Until he selected a new name for himself, we needed to call him one that brushed up against his designation for the sake of familiarity but still sounded like a name. I opened my eyes and used a stick to write it out on the ground. By turning the 8 into a B, and the 1 into an I, it became …
“…Shobi,” I said, lifting my eyes to everyone. My friends were looking at me. The boy hadn’t moved. “SHO-8-1-4-3, from now on, we’ll call you Shobi. Nod if you understand.”
It made me sick to fall back on this mentality of barking orders at a frightened kid and watching his head wiggle forward and back under his hands, but soft words of comfort wouldn’t cut it. The boy would never believe them from me. I reminded him too much of what he had escaped from, and humans hadn’t been kind to him in that place. Augustus Morales, you need to survive long enough for me to get my hands on you. Then, and only then, will you be made to pay in full for all this.
“Alright, Shobi. I need you to eat the food and drink the water my friend is trying to give you, and to do that, you need to sit up. So, sit up.” I barely infused my words with command, but Shobi shot up so fast his head and shoulders knocked against Lanna and Harmony, who were both bowed over him, trying to coax him out. He still wouldn’t look at me, but he searched for the supplies, shoving the first jerky stick so far down his throat that he gagged.
Harmony tightened her grip on the rest and gently fed them to him in small, bite-sized pieces, intermittent with swigs of water. Thalien passed Lanna a short length of fabric which she wrapped around Shobi’s head like a bandana, covering his slave brand. He gasped and tensed, his hand reaching to drag the material away. Harmony did her patented shushing croon that took much of the fight from him. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” she whispered, feeding him another piece of jerky.
I watched their interaction, and knowing he was in safe hands, I twisted away from him and stood up to avoid frightening him. “Where are you going?” Tarq asked, also rising. I glanced over my shoulder to answer my friend but found the way the boy was staring at Tarq like he’d lost his mind much more interesting. It wasn’t hard to guess that he wasn’t used to an alternate race speaking that way to a human in authority.
“Word of our young friend would have reached Chief Felipe by now.” I used the honorific for the child’s sake, and sadly, he made no reaction to the title of his people’s leader. I wondered if he knew what chief even meant. “He might want to keep the boy close, or he might want to send him back to Tetorli with some of the fighters to keep him safe.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Tarq …”
“You’re about to tell the snow half-orc chief that our enemies have been enslaving his people without his knowledge or yours long enough to have a man-child with no clue of his heritage. If you think I’m not going to stand between you and him while he rages, you have clearly forgotten who you’re dealing with.”
I raked my fingers through my short hair and sighed. “Very well.”
Unfortunately, Felipe took it about as well as I had expected.
* * *
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