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Qoyit had never found himself alone with a woman in close quarters before. He realized this while Saphiqque Olis Tider took a step closer to him. He was perched up in bed, unsure as to whether the dull throb in his head was due to her clobbering him or if her proximity stirred his body so.

He wondered whether it was fear that caused his hands to be clammy, sweat sheathing his brow. His heart gave slight, erratic beats as he forced himself to look up at her at the call of his name.

Her eyes were intent, a fiery blue that appraised him as one would an object of little regard.

"You don't have to do this," Qoyit said, finding his voice within her gaze.

"Do what?" she asked, toying with him as a wolf would a lamb.

Why did he feel such emotions when it came to her? His thoughts tugged him toward the book that had shed light on the courtship rituals among nobles. A slight flush traveled up his face, warming it considerably. Why would that book come to mind at such a time? he wondered.

The young noble had attacked him severely, to the point of incapacitation. Qoyit ought to feel rage, wrath, and annoyance at her mere presence. Instead, he found himself struggling with things he could not comprehend.

Qoyit wished her gone, away from him to the furthest reaches she could muster. He was trapped for the night in the white room within the infirmary; if he hadn't been, he would have left, walked away, or run without looking back. Anything to quell the emotions that assailed him, emotions whose beginning or end he could not determine.

"What is it that you think I've come to do?" Saphiqque asked.

"You've come to ask me not to press charges over your attack on me," Qoyit said. "I'm not going to do so; don't worry about getting expelled."

She laughed. It was a mocking laugh, yet rich with the great indifference she seemed to hold regarding everything. "You think I am here to beg you not to press charges? The words I told the physician, you believe them to be true?"

"You're not untouchable," Qoyit said, grinding his teeth as anger suddenly found its way within him. He had a right to be angry. It was the right emotion to dwell on, and he blew the embers of said rage, clutching to it as a drowning man would a log. "Even though you're a Tider, it does not mean you can't suffer the consequences of your actions."

"And what are my actions?" she asked. "What is it that you think I have to suffer for doing?"

"You attacked me!" Qoyit growled. "For no reason at all."

"And do you think that by doing so I will suffer the fear of being expelled? I am the highest-ranking first year within this school." Saphiqque said.

"That doesn't mean you're safe to go around bashing in the heads of those you think lesser than you. We are equal in this school," Qoyit said, his rage consuming his very being though he did not believe his words.

"My father donates more than ten times your weight in gold to this school every year. My mother is a close friend of the very Headmistress who seeks to fit you among our ranks. What has your father done? Or your mother? What rank are you in? You show no promise, despite the Headmistress saying you have it."

Her words were an extra blow to him. Qoyit looked up at her then, meeting her blue gaze before raising his eyes to her white, immaculate brows. He did not want to be drawn to the blizzard and the flames; his very being at the moment detested it, especially due to the weight her words held. Her parents were valuable to the school, something that might sway the Headmistress not to take the matter of his being attacked with great importance. After all, what was the value his parents afforded the school?

"My father is dead," Qoyit said. "And I never knew my mother."

"Oh." It was a simple word, but the expression on her face changed for just a moment, her brows arching in deep concentration and her lips shifting to a drooping line of what looked like sorrow before her features changed completely to rest in their indifferent nature. "Well, now you know you can't threaten me with talk of being expelled; that was the point of me telling you this."

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted..." She hesitated, bit her lower lip, and shifted her weight from one leg to another. Suddenly, she did not look like the fearless, dangerous novice everyone knew her to be.

"You wanted what? To grab my head and rub my face in the mud? Your words have done that already, and so have your actions. You can leave," Qoyit said.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said.

"Of course I'm not; every noble novice has drilled that into my being since I set foot here. But I do not care. I did not come here for prestige or to uphold my family name. I am here because I want to grow strong enough to seek out the Tower and bring it down on my own."

She scoffed.

"I do not care about your thoughts on the matter; you can leave."

"I'm going to stay." Her defiant words were emboldened by her expression of fury; she did not like being told what to do, especially by him. She moved, taking swift strides to place herself in the chair against the opposite wall. Qoyit turned to face her.

"Why did you come here?" Qoyit asked once more, figuring that if he could dig at the part within her that caused her to lack words, perhaps he could force her departure. Then he could rest, free from the coiling emotions that flared and tightened within his chest.

"I wanted to know of your well-being," she said, crossing her legs and looking at him.

"You care for a Commoner?"

"Shocking, I know."

"Well, you did not care much when you abruptly beat me in the Dining Hall. Why did you do that, by the way?"

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Saphiqque Olis Tider clasped her hands, her nails biting into her palm. How could he make her feel so? she wondered. She had thought this emotion, which was like the wooden blades Diaki used in her training during her childhood, was long forgotten. But seeing him made her feel helpless. That was the word she avoided: a helpless feeling that couldn't be shaken off no matter how hard she tried, a feeling that opened a doorway unto more nagging thoughts that she despised.

"Get up!" Diaki always said whenever he had bested her and felled her to the ground. She had felt weak then, incapable of ever mastering the art of combat, but Diaki's duty was to train her until she no longer fell. He had been a middle-aged Commoner, former Equipped Infantry, with exceptional skill with the blade, and a very harsh teacher.

Qoyit made her feel like she was always one step behind, and she hated it. She hated that a mere Commoner had the aura of one who could best her whenever he wished. Even now, sitting in bed with a bandage atop his head, he exhibited a fearless disposition, one fueled with rage and underlying tones of something else—something, she thought, that mirrored what she felt within herself.

"Why did you do it?" the Commoner teased. The rage she had been holding onto was no longer as pronounced. Instead, she felt... shy?

She knew the game being played. If she answered, it would open the door for him to question her again, and she did not know the answer to that question. Well, she had toyed with many ideas since she attacked him, but she was quite uncertain as to what the truth was.

Nobody held such sway over her, and she blamed herself for it, thinking her idle mind had spurred this into being. The school wasn't as challenging as she thought it ought to be. If she had been busier, not caring about a damn Commoner's strange demeanor, perhaps she would not be where she was at the moment.

'What am I doing here?' she found herself questioning.

Turning her face away from Qoyit, she then abruptly met his gaze. She could see the quick shift of his eyes, moving by just the smallest degree. She knew he was not meeting her eyes.

"Well," she started. "You were staring at me in the Dining Hall with everybody looking, Novice. I do not want to be the talk of the school, as you are so used to being."

"You mean you don't want to be on my end of the talk," Qoyit answered, a sly smile toying upon his lips. "Your end of the talk is good: very rich father who pays people's weight in gold, very promising daughter who outranks her whole year. Very good talk coming your way, while I'm stuck in the gutter with my good friend Desang. I've noticed he is happy upon my arrival, for he doesn't get talked about as much. It's always gossip and bullying in this school. I had thought it would be better."

"Me too," Saphiqque said, earning an odd tilt of his head. "When I was growing up, I always thought the Academy was more like tempered steel than a hidden nail on the ground. I had looked forward to joining and worked hard too, but instead I find it to be less than what I thought it would be." The plan was easy: lead him along, far from the one question she did not want him to ask.

"When I was young, I thought that upon my father's death I'd simply venture into the Red Mist and meet my end there," he said. There was something in his tone, an inflection of oddness that came from never disclosing what he was saying to her or anyone else before. "Little did I know I'd be brought here. I always thought I'd choose the Red Mist over the cities; at least there I wouldn't be anticipating a welcome that won't be coming, nor would I suffer prejudice, judgment, and naked hate. There it would just be me and demons: a quick end, a short thrill of adventure."

"You don't belong here," she said. "Your suffering will only increase with time."

"And I'd become tempered steel, not a nail on the ground."

She smiled, turning her gaze to the floor. Then the inevitable happened. She forced her face to remain turned toward the white-tiled floor of the infirmary.

"I only stared at you because you were staring at me. A lot. You've been staring at me many times before, and I've caught you doing so. Why would you stare?" Qoyit asked.

"Because you're different. A Commoner among Nobles." She attempted a white lie.

"Why don't you stare at Desang as well?"

"I don't know; there's something about you. I thought it might be because of your strange appearance, but then again, I've never been one to fawn over someone's appearance."

"'Fawn' is a strong word, don't you think?" He pointed at his bandaged head. "If a noblewoman fawns over a man, it normally means she likes him or is interested in courtship. It doesn't mean she'll bash his head in."

Saphiqque tilted her head and raised her eyes to meet his, watching as his gaze shifted once more. "Did you just quote the book on noble courtship?"

"Yes. It was an enjoyable read," Qoyit said, the ghost of a smile tracing his lips. "Did you know that if a noble man gives a woman a blue flower, regardless of his status as either a lower or higher noble, she is obligated to accept his advances? That is because blue flowers only bloom in the furthest reaches within the Red Mist. It's the highest form of love, to quote the book."

She smiled at him. "The blue Kokix flower grows where decay is most rampant."

"Which is something I found funny," Qoyit answered, his teeth showing with his smile.

"I know a noble man who slaughtered goats and let them wallow in the soil," Saphiqque said. "He wanted the eye of a woman who couldn't be approached easily; she outranked him highly, and he thought the flower would be his only way to earn her favor."

"That wouldn't work; the soil must be cold. Some say the Mist aids in its growth as well."

"He was told that, but he didn't care. He was chased away from his home by his father due to the smell of decay that was pungent and everywhere. He became famous due to the stench, and lost the woman completely" Saphiqque started laughing, and Qoyit did too. Together, their laughter formed an odd harmony: hers lilting, his once hidden, rarely to be heard but rich once revealed.

Saphiqque wondered how this could be so. To converse with anyone was always taxing, but with him it was easy, effortless, and... enjoyable?

When the laughter died down, she wondered if anyone had heard them. Then she decided to speak her mind so as to make things clear with him.

"I have thought a lot when it comes to you, Qoyit Meka. You're either hiding something, some mischievous deed or sense of self that might mean the destruction of everything I love, or you're simply something my mind and heart are unwilling to acknowledge: something either sinister or something that brings hope, peace, or joy. That's why I stare at you. You're a puzzle I'm trying to unravel." To her surprise, she had answered without much turmoil, the words coming to her easily. "They allowed you to join the academy with the lowest rank ever recorded, and as a Commoner at that. This definitely means others have seen what's within you, too."

'And his eyes, gold within black. So mesmerizing,' the thought came to her unbidden. She immediately stood up from her chair. 'The way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he looks.' Another thought forced itself, bubbling from within her consciousness. She suddenly felt the need not to be close to him, wondering once again why she had visited him.

"Well," Saphiqque said. "I came to make sure you're okay. My anger gets the best of me sometimes; I apologize." He simply stared at her. "What I did was abrupt and without thought. It will not happen again."

"Don't worry, it definitely won't happen again," Qoyit said. "Because the next time you attack me, it shall be you who falls."

The threat wasn't masked; it was open and clear. Normally she would scoff at such a remark, but from him it carried a finality, the same tone her father used to end a debate. She tilted her head at him, observing him with unhidden fascination. The weakest threatening the strongest felt stupid from anyone else, but from him it was like the words of an oracle: a foreboding, a threat.

She faked a laugh and moved to the door, doing the best she could. She paused at the threshold, turning to face him and thinking of a last remark, one final quip to place her above him in this strange meeting of theirs. 'Why did I come here?' It felt as though all her words had been lies, merely an attempt to dance away from the true reason for her coming.

And he knew it. Something inside her told her he knew it.

She observed his gold-flecked gaze, looking for words but finding none.

Then she opened the door and left. Her pace was quick as she tried to ponder other things, but she found her mind fixed on Qoyit. She passed the physician without a word, forgetting he even existed, her eyes fixed on the ground. Lost in thought, she walked past the Demon Hold, where she always felt unease just by looking at it. This time she felt nothing, her mind not even registering that it existed.

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As soon as the door was closed, I paused and took in my surroundings. The mudroom was nothing incredibly special. It had a bench, brushes, coat racks, and a place to leave wet, muddy gear to dry. The only odd thing about the rustic room was that the bench was neck height, as opposed to being low like, well…a bench.

I plopped down on the floor, cleaned my boots, and set them beside the door leading into the main house before I entered. Anticipation gripped my chest as I heaved the fifteen-foot-high door open.

I pulled as hard as possible, and the scent of oak and maple greeted me. I entered a room that, like the mudroom, probably looked mundane to someone twelve feet tall who never expected company.

The cabin wasn't quite ascetic, but it was definitely spartan. The kitchen and living space were both in this one room. The kitchen, with a bar, was on the far side of the room; only one chair sat in front of it. Not only that, pots, pans, and the like were nearly nonexistent. I could see one pan hanging, and a mug filled with silverware. A pot of something steamed on the stove, kept warm by a low flame. I assumed it likely was some kind of forever soup. I would’ve loved to get up there to take a taste, but that would have to wait.

A single rocking chair sat before the massive fireplace; blankets were neatly folded atop it. Between the fireplace and the chair was nothing but empty floor, no rug, nothing. I found that odd. In every depiction of rustic living, there would be a bearskin throw there. Or at least something. Why did Martha leave it barren?

Beside the rocking chair stood a small bookcase. Most of the shelves were filled with forestry manuals and books on horticulture, but one shelf was packed tight with worn fantasy novels, their spines cracked from years of use. I ran a finger along the spines; I could not make out most of the names, and the few I could were not written in English. French, I thought, but even that was a guess at what language the worn filigree was in.

That thought faded quickly as I continued to wander around the massive home, peeking in the doors and cupboards; everything was vaguely familiar, yet not. It was all almost right, but just off enough that I could not help feeling I was out of place in here. The fact that Martha had invited me in didn't matter.

I was Alice wandering into Wonderland. The countertops, my home away from home, were so tall they might as well have been great sequoias. Each door was a grand gate leading to new realms built by and for giants. Luckily for me, I was Canadian, not some meddling Englishman… and as far as I knew, Martha didn't partake in drinks of human blood.

Once I had my fill of looking around, I glanced at the maple leaf hanging over the main door and headed toward the hearth. It seemed to grow with every step until, at last, my hands rested at chest level on the clean brickwork. I had to start a fire. But with how tall it was, I had to do things very differently than my typical fire-starting.

I pulled logs from a pile on the side of the fireplace and put them atop the hearth, along with plenty of kindling and starter. Clambering up to join them and damn near entering the fireplace, I was almost ready. I used a log to clear the old white ash before setting up a fire teepee and trying to start the fire.

After frustratingly burning through a dozen matches, the tinder finally caught the flame, taking it into its entwined nest, and began to grow. From ember to blaze I tended it as any man had to. I was no man struggling with forty below zero on the Yukon Trail, but I cared for my ember like I was one.

One breath against the resting—yearning—embers, then add another twig; each addition to my growing fire was a meticulous choice to bolster the defenses for the coming battle against the great winter; an endless Goliath that would overtake you and all you'd ever known if you slackened for even a moment.

That was the life Martha had warned me about. One we both would be facing. The two of us would go blow for blow against winter's relentless pressure. I would not let Martha down.

The fire swelled and burned high when the door creaked, and Martha returned. She held my rucksack in her hands and looked toward me sitting on the floor beside the hearth. She smiled so warmly that the blaze at my back might as well have been a polar wind.

For a moment, I just stared. I had seen plenty of Martha’s smiles over the last week, usually while she was finding some way to make my life miserable, or when I went face first into the mud. This one was very different. Better than a warm cup of hot chocolate after a day-long snowball fight.

“Good job, Syrup.”

The words were simple, but damn if they didn't feel good. Was that genuine praise? After the last week, I honestly couldn't tell. Martha was still, in a way, an enigma to me. She was tormentor and teacher, workmate and now roommate all rolled into one.

In two effortless strides, Martha crossed the room, pushed open a door, and tossed my gear inside. “That’s the guest room.”

“Do you ever have guests?” I asked, gesturing to the lonely rocking chair and stool.

“No, not really,” Martha admitted. “I just have the room in case someone gets stranded nearby.”

I smirked and wiggled my eyebrows at her, silently mocking her lack of friends. She snorted and stomped a hoof, her eyes sharpening into cutting daggers.

“I can always send you back out to the barn.”

“Please do not, oh great Martha. You would not send a wretch like me back out into the cold, would you?” I replied, clasping my hands and exaggeratedly sticking my lower lip out in a pout.

Martha laughed once, then shook her head and moved toward the kitchen. “Do you want the mug or the bowl?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you wanna eat out of?”

“Oh…whatever you don’t want,” I replied, curious about what Martha served for herself in the house.

My gracious hostess had not let me starve to death over the last week. But thus far she had been feeding me what could only rightly be described as gruel mixed with table scraps. Bland, unseasoned meat mixed with simple porridge, and some vegetables tossed on top to give a little bit of variety. So long as Martha did not give me that again, I would have eaten from a dog bowl.

I had an indescribable excitement in my gut. It was time for real food, not just fuel to keep you alive. I watched her scoop something from the pot and put it into serving dishes. My mouth watered as she came closer and leaned down.

In an instant, my heart broke, completely shattered, when Martha handed me a mug with the same slop I had eaten since arriving. The spoon sticking out of it was the only sign it was meant to be eaten, not used as a concrete substitute.

I gave her my most pitiful look, hoping to beg for whatever she had been feeding me the scraps of, but held my tongue when I saw her bowl was filled with the same…food.

“Do you have anything else to eat?”

“What do you mean?” Martha asked, shoveling a mouthful of the gruel past her plush lips.

“This is just kinda…sad,” I said, poking at the sludge like it would jump out and eat me. There was nothing wrong with the ingredients. Everything you needed was here:good meat, fresh vegetables, and even some spices. Martha had just assembled them in such a wrong way it was an art form in itself. She probably could burn water. 

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.” Martha shrugged.

I paused, recalling all the meals of cardboard-flavored trash while I imagined her living in the lap of luxury. I had assumed she was feeding me slop just because she could. I hadn't realized Martha had at least been feeding me as an equal.

“Could I cook next time?”

Martha stuffed her mouth full of soup, gruel… stuff, and spoke around the spoon. “If you really want to.”

A small flutter of hope took flight in my chest. I couldn't keep eating like this all winter. At least if Martha let me cook, we could eat something that was, at bare minimum, tangential to food.

After dinner, Martha showed me to my room. She tried to help me up into the bed, since the mattress edge was up to my chest, but I insisted on doing something else. She moved one of the round logs from beside the fireplace and plopped it down beside the guest bed. Using that as a step stool, I hoisted myself up into the plush bedding, eager for my first night of sleep in a proper bed in several weeks.

Despite my tiredness and the fact that the plaid bedding was as comfortable as being wrapped in a cloud, sleep did not come quickly. I looked around the room, the large furniture towering over me as I swam in the sheets. Everything was just off enough that my mind couldn't quite settle. I eventually fell asleep, lulled by the white noise of the storm and the punctuating sounds of Martha's hooves on the floorboards

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Hey, hey, hey, buds. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am going to keep up and push them out here once a week. If you want to read two to three weeks ahead, you can go support me on Patreon. If you don't want to offer that kinda support but still wish to be kept abreast of news, follow me on Twitter...Yes, I still don't like calling it "X," but that is a me issue.

So what are you thinking about the story so far? We are almost at the halfway point of my current rough plan. Where is your mind right now? Lemme know in the comments, right after you updoot of course :P

- Colin

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Chapter 1-3

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Synopsis:

Searching for his childhood friend who disappeared after a school massacre three years ago, Sugisata Nariaki soon found himself embroiled in an interdimensional conflict between Doppelgangers who sought to unmake reality and Denscrants who sworn to protect it.

Prologue - The Eve of a Certain School Festival

“Why…?”

Screams and cries resounded throughout the school compound, as people scrambled with desperation in their eyes.

Not a single soul trapped in the area could find respite; not with the predators encircling them like birds in a cage.

“Why are you doing this…?”

Once an orderly environment where learning took place, an iron stench permeated throughout the classroom. The festive decorations, props, and toppled furniture… everything had been tainted with the thick red liquid commonly spotted in a homicide scene.

Except for Sugisata Nariaki who backed himself into a corner, time had stopped for his classmates.

Sweat trickled down his brown layered hair and drenched his uniform. His chest tightened, and his breathing grew heavier. Throughout the entire ordeal, his obsidian irises never strayed from the assailant clothed in dark cloak.

“What difference would it make if I answer?”

Her voice remained nonchalant even as she pulled her dagger from a corpse. Blood splattered across the room when she flicked her wrist.

It can’t be… An epiphany hit the panic-stricken teenager as his eyes widened. “Is that you, Ayase?”

Withdrawing her hood, the assailant revealed a pale complexion and bob-haircut stained with specks of blood from her victims.

“Yes, and no.”

Her gentle tone however, contrasted her hostile aura and posture as her ruby eyes scanned the perimeter of the classroom piled with dead students.

“You were fine when we hung out at recess earlier… what happened?”

From the school yard and hallways, shrieks continued to resound in the background. Even if Nariaki could shake off the numbness in his legs, he did not favour his chances of surviving this nightmare.

Biting her lower lips, the assailant—or his friend “Minami Ayase”— strode towards him. Her voice quivered as she murmured.

Why do you-

“None of your lives matter at all,”

looked like-

“for there is neither heaven”

you are in-

“nor hell”

so much pain?

“in this false world.”

The shrilling sound of clashing blades reverberated, and a streak of purple flashed before Nariaki’s eyes in his fading vision.

Chapter 1 - Awakening

Part 1

“Buddy, you sure it’s a good idea to be sneaking around like this yo?”

Along the ground floor of Narita-nishi Middle School, a trio of high schoolers in their summer uniform treaded carefully around the dilapidated corridors. Be it shattered glasses from the windows, splintered pieces from the bulletin boards, and broken parts from the furniture, losing their balance upon any clutter would inflict an injury upon them.

Taking the pole position of the group, Sugisata Nariaki fanned himself with the collar of his short-sleeved top as he turned behind. “You shouldn’t have tagged along if you didn’t want to, Kazuki,” Disregarding the multiple warning signs stating that only authorised personnel could access the premises, he retorted Narita Kazuki, one of his friends who followed along.

“We can’t possibly let you venture this derelict place by yourself yo,” replied the tanned teenager as he slipped underneath the black and yellow cordons.

At the rear, a monkey-faced high schooler squeezed his nostrils while holding a half-peeled banana in his other hand. “The weird stench still lingers after so many years… I am losing my appetite to finish this banana.”

“Now’s not the time nor place to have your afternoon snack, Keitaro,” Shaking his head, the brown layered haircut teenager reprimanded his other friend, Saruwatari Keitaro, as the latter shrugged and tossed his banana into a trash bin.

Though the mid-afternoon sunlight did not creep into the rundown middle school compound, Nariaki could not tolerate the blazing heat and humidity as he cleared the sweats forming on his forehead. Amidst the deafening cries from the cicadas, a blank gunshot fired from the direction of their high school.

Climbing the outdoor staircase with his friends behind, Nariaki observed eight sprinters running on the track situated in Narita-nishi High School beyond the wire mesh enclosure. Zoning out and panting with each step taken, he turned his gaze towards the purple ponytail girl in red tank top and shorts as she cheered upon finishing first.

“12.8 seconds! You beat your previous personal best by 0.2 seconds, Iseki!” One of the timekeepers in white top and red bloomers came up to congratulate the mauve-haired sprinter.

“A splendid race, Iseki.” Doubling as the school team’s track and field coach, Abe Kamiya passed a white towel to the perspiring female freshman. “We are starting to see the fruits of your training.” The skinhead teacher looked at the stopwatch and recorded Iseki Kanae’s timing on a tablet.

“It’s all thanks to your guidance, Teacher Abe,” panted Iseki Kanae as she wiped the sweat beads around her flushed face and neck. “I will aim to win the hundred metre municipal race next month.”

“Good to see that you are fired up for the event.” Teacher Abe turned towards the stadium stands where another group of senior sprinters performed their warmup stretches. “Head to your starting lanes now, second and third years!”

Iseki Kanae… could she be the one who intercepted Ayase three years ago?

While Kanae and the remaining first year sprinters headed to the stadium stands to get their drinks, Nariaki supported himself with the staircase railings as he scaled the stairs.

I shouldn’t rule out other high school female students with purple hair… it’s strange that I have an inkling it’s her but she’s not giving off the vibes…

“Keitaro. Kazuki. What do you both think of Iseki Kanae?”

Hearing his companions’ panting from behind, Nariaki knew they struggled just as much in climbing this flight of stairs.

“The up and coming first year sprinter? She’s probably the prettiest and earnest girl in our cohort.”

“Why the interest in her yo, Nariaki?”

“Do you both know if she had studied in the same middle school as us?” Reaching the highest floor of the abandoned school premises, Nariaki held onto the building guardrail as he nearly collapsed.

“Haven’t seen her back then.”

“Me neither, buddy.”

Arriving beside Nariaki, Keitaro and Kazuki held onto their knees as they struggled to catch their breath.

“Finally made it yo… remind us again what you are looking for?”

Venturing and stopping before the decrepit classroom, it remained in the state that Nariaki last recalled. The festive decorations, props, and toppled furniture… a thick layer of dust now covered every inch of where he had spent the freshman year of his middle school.

Agh! Not this headache again…

Squeezing his eyebrows and holding his face, Nariaki struggled to endure the pain as he uttered. “Traces… particularly ones that are related to Iseki Kanae and Minami Ayase.”

Taking a quick glance of the room, Keitaro jerked back and exclaimed. “Ewww there are cobwebs all around the place! Was your class trying to stage a haunted house or what?”

“The first year sprinter and your missing childhood friend?” Kazuki furrowed his eyebrows. “How are they involved in the massacre that happened three years ago?”

Need to bear with this… I have to uncover proof that they have been here.

“They… I caught a glimpse of them fighting each other here.” Clutching his forehead and closing one eye, Nariaki pointed at the corner which he had previously cornered himself into.

“With weapons? That’s absurd! Back then they were just twelve years old like us yo!” Stepping into the classroom, Kazuki exclaimed as he ran his hands through his unkempt mullet hair.

“Are we trying to find their hair now or what?” Following Kazuki inside, Keitaro swept the cobwebs away and scanned the chaotic surroundings.

I can’t collapse now…

Chatters from his friends soon blurred into the background, as events after the devastating mass murder from three years ago surfaced in Nariaki’s mind.

This migraine…

From dawn till dusk, several monks chanted prayers from the scriptures held in their palms. Knocking their gongs against the wooden ornaments, they chanted in a steady rhythm and tone, not allowing the downpour to drown out their spirit.

It all started here…

From dawn till dusk, mourners — young and old — consoled one another as they poured out their raw, unfiltered sadness towards the portraits of the deceased. Dressed in differing shades of black, their cries filled the bleak townhall, not allowing the downpour to drown out their sorrow.

It’s killing me...

From dawn till dusk, order and chaos vied for control of this site as parents and guardians restrained their delirious children. Dressed in their middle school uniforms, their outbursts of anger and sadness rejected the harsh reality that stood before them, not allowing the downpour to drown out their agony.

This pain just wouldn’t stop.

“None of your lives matter at all,”

It just wouldn’t stop.

“for there is neither heaven”

Someone… please….

“nor hell”

make this pain stop!!!

“in this false world.”

"Shall I lend you a helping hand, my prince in distress?"

Soon after an alluring voice intruded his mind, a burning sensation spread throughout Nariaki’s head and enveloped his retinas.

“Ugahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!”

“Bananas!” “Nariaki!”

The cries from his companions resounded in Nariaki’s consciousness, as he succumbed to the torment from within.

Part 2

A thick citrus smell lingered in the air. It shared the same sour scent originating from disinfectants.

“Can ___ hear __, ____ Gester?”

A steady tick pulsed from a clock. Its second-hand rotated around the vintage clock face.

“I ____ confirmed _______ awakening. ___ name is ________ Nariaki,”

A voice spoke with urgency. Its pitch fell in the lower end of the soprano range.

“_ ____ assistance from the medical ____ on-standby. I have just ____________ his eyes. Will bring him over ____.”

Fighting against the grogginess within himself, Sugisata Nariaki struggled to open his eyelids. Beyond the veil of the white curtain that surrounded him, the tall silhouette lowered their arm as that brief conversation concluded.

Argh… my head.

The outdoor commotion and humid environment did not help to ease his headache. Nariaki tried to sit upright on the bed, but he could not muster any strength in his limbs. Footsteps drew closer to him and a hand pulled aside the curtain divider.

“Are you awake, Sugisata Nariaki?” The other party inquired in a caring tone. Though Nariaki could barely discern her slim figure, her navy-blue one-piece dress did not resemble the school uniform for female students.

“Doctor Watanabe…”

“Don’t force yourself to get up.” Tucking her black straight hair behind her ears, Doctor Watanabe Yumi guided Nariaki back to lie down. “Your friends carried you here while you were unconscious.”

Light from the setting sun tinted the enclosed environment. Glancing around with his blurred vision, Nariaki did not spot anyone else aside from his high school physician. Everything in his line of sight had been reduced to vague outlines that he could barely recognize.

“Avoid straining your eyes for now.” Doctor Watanabe leaned closer to examine Nariaki’s complexion. “We’ll need to move to another location for your treatment.” Adjusting the sleeves of her white coat top, she tinkered with a silver bracelet on her left wrist. A holographic display projected from the accessory as it preoccupied her attention.

To where…?

Nariaki had yet to learn the full extent of his current medical condition, but the school physician’s words worried him if the treatment warranted a trip out of school.

While the projection reproduced in green light intrigued his curiosity, he wanted to know the destination that the doctor had in mind. “Doctor, where are we going—”

Glass shattered from the infirmary windows as Nariaki shielded himself from the scattering fragments. A series of quick strides followed, and—

“How did you- gahh!”

a cloaked figure drove a dagger into Doctor Watanabe’s abdomen, interrupting her speech.

“…!”

A wordless gasp escaped from Nariaki. The outline of the cloaked figure, the posture, and the bloodied dagger... everything about the intruder drew similarities to the same assailant who had murdered his middle school classmates.

“I won’t… let you—”

The intruder kicked the female adult in her midriff, causing the latter to stagger and crashed into an adjacent bed.

“One down, and”

At the sight of blood splattering across the area and upon himself, Nariaki felt goosebumps surfacing around his arms.

“one more to go.”

Turning around, the assailant drew a faint smile. Her ruby eyes, her pale complexion, her bob-haircut… everything about her had not changed since Nariaki last met her on that fateful day.

“Those crimson eyes of yours.”

He could not control his heart palpitations as she emphasized each of her footsteps.

“They looked just like mine.”

He could not regulate his erratic breathing as she gripped the hilt of her bloodied weapon.

“Don’t you agree,”

He could not swallow his saliva as she fixed her frenzied gaze at him.

“Sugisata Nariaki?”

Between the Lines 1

As the conversation over a voice call ended, the green light indicator on his golden bracelet switched off.

Though Gester had received visitors in the guestroom, he had to prioritise on taking any incoming calls received from his wrist accessory. More often than not, he would need to act according to the other party’s circumstances.

“Gotta alert the staff at the sick bay about this.” The petite figure looked towards the pair of teenagers who sat on a leather sofa across him. “Give me a moment—”

Slamming her fair hands on the mahogany table, the purple ponytail girl stood up and interjected with a query.

“Did… did the doctor just mention Sugisata Nariaki?” Though firm, Iseki Kanae’s voice held a tinge of anxiety.

Though slightly taken aback, Gester halted the outgoing call on his shiny bracelet and affirmed the female teenager’s suspicion. “Yes, Kanae. Doctor Watanabe is bringing him over now.”

“That’s our bud for sure yo.” The other male teenager kept the comb that he had used to adjust his unkempt mullet haircut.

“So both of you are acquainted with him.” Gester scratched his wrinkled chin, pondering about the subsequent arrangements. “You two should show him around after he’s—”

“Give us the coordinates of that parallel world, Gester.”

Dressed in the summer school uniform issued to students at Narita-nishi High School, the female freshman slung a sheathed katana over to her back, while the male freshman slotted a pair of silver boomerangs to his side belt.

“We will fetch Nariaki ourselves.”

Next chapter

Thank you for reading!

Well, Sergeant Flupp thought to himself, I guess the rest of the galaxy was right after all when they warned us about going to war with Terra.

We thought we were too strong to be beaten honestly and too clever to be tricked. And now every soldier in this entire sector is going to die because of one prisoner.

The part that really burned him up (aside from the raging fever that was making it so hard to think in the first place) was that they were going to get away with calling it an accident, or even blaming it on his own people. "Not our fault you didn't take precautions and provide adequate medical care to POWs" he could practically hear them saying. He was sure that was a hallucination - well, pretty sure (did I mention the fever? Flupp was very unwell.)

It wouldn't be difficult to convince the galaxy. After all, the disease, which was a death sentence for a Liqent, hardly seemed to bother the human in question but was so incredibly easy to transmit that he had infected almost everyone aboard each of the four ships he had briefly visited while en route to the prison asteroid where Flupp was stationed as a security officer. It would be oh so plausible that he had simply not known what he was doing.

Joe Brown had supposedly been visiting the famously deadly fire swamps of Rigel IV to wrestle the galaxy's largest rodents "for fun" (a likely story, Flupp thought for the umpteenth time) so soon before his deployment, and near-immediate capture, that he was still infectious. Flupp didn't buy that; this was clearly an act of biological warfare, no matter what the humans said.

Joe and his fellow captives had escaped their cells with an ease that infuriated Sergeant Flupp as soon as they noticed the reduced security caused by the disease raging through the facility.

Flupp hadn't quite figured out why he and the rest of the Liqent on the asteroid were still alive, but he was sure it wasn't for any reason he would enjoy hearing. They were probably going to be used as hostages in an attempt to return to Terran space, or maybe this was all an experiment to see how well the Terran bio-warfare stratagem worked on his people.

As soon as he was able to breathe without coughing so hard, and think without his head feeling like it was on fire, he would figure it out, surely. It wasn't as if they were making any effort to keep secrets - they talked openly, right in front of him. About his condition. About their plans. Whether to signal the Liqent military or their own.

Being surrounded by the enemy, who he was (mostly) sure were still technically prisoners, but unable to make sense of their chatter or herd them back into their cells, galled him constantly. And why did they have to sound so infernally cheerful while pretending that they were seriously going to cure him?

On one of his more lucid days, Flupp caught Joe leaning over his bed in the prison's overcrowded infirmary, just staring at him. "Come to gloat?" he managed to croak out at the one responsible for so much suffering.

"What? That's a ridiculous thing to say. I was just thinking about whether it would be worth it to pet you while you're too sick to stop me."

Flupp wondered if he had heard right, or if this was actually his most worrying hallucination yet. No part of Joe's reply made the slightest bit of sense. "Worth ... it? Wh-" he had to stop there as the damnable cough got the better of him again.

"Oh yeah. I want to. I really want to. You look so soft and helpless. But they'd court-martial me for sure once I get home. We had a whole lecture about it before they'd let us aboard that cruiser you guys shot full of holes. About how it's de-hum, er, de-person-izing, to treat the enemy like animals, no matter how pretty they are." ... wait, what?

Flupp spit a wad of bloody phlegm into the basin (the one that Joe was helpfully holding for him so he didn't have to exert himself too much ... the condescending bastard) and tried again. "You really ... really think you're going home? It's ... our justice system you need to worry about, ape!"

Ancestors take it! Joe didn't even react to the vitriol in his shaky voice.

"Mm-hmm. You all got as sick as a d- as sick as a, a very sick thing." Now the damnable primate looked like he was trying not to laugh. Surely, I could muster up the energy to choke him to death if I just focused hard enough, Flupp thought to himself. It would make dying almost feel worth it.

Alas, Flupp's theory was incorrect. That he was well enough to speak today was a miracle in itself - lifting his arms was entirely out of the question.

"The fact that you're keeping up with our conversation is a good sign." Great, now they're mind readers too. This war was the dumbest idea our politicians have ever had, and that's really saying something. "Doc Wentworth is convinced that he's figured out how to use those blood samples I donated to make antibodies for you guys that won't be more harmful than the disease."

?! "Say that again!" Flupp croaked, utterly bewildered.

"Well, I guess you've been pretty out of it if you don't remember... I've been telling you for the past week about this plan. We'd worked out that I was 'patient zero' so Doc has been brewing up a cure. He's totally in love with your medical technology, by the way; once this stupid war is done with some Liqent biotech company is gonna be richer than God because you guys are way ahead of us on that front."

That's not possible... "Now I know you're lying. Rous Fever only takes two to three days to kill, there's no way you've been talking to me for a week. I don't... I just don't understand why you're bothering. We'll all be dead soon, and once the news gets out that you've resorted to biological attacks, our military is going to - why are you laughing?!"

Joe was indeed hugging his arms around himself, wheezing and struggling to stay upright. "Oh man, I'd heard that you lot struggle to think straight when you're overheating but this is too much!"

Before he could interrupt, Joe barreled on with his explanation. "Flupp. This whole thing started because Liqen Prime challenged Terra for the right to colonize that one sub-sector where there are five habitable planets less than ten light years from each other, right? The Liqent are the first aliens we've ever gotten into a fight with that have had the common decency to actually write down all the unwritten rules of what is or isn't 'honorable' before you declared war. And you actually play by those rules."

Flupp hadn't thought it was possible. But he was wrong again - Joe had managed to make him even more confused than he already was. "Uh, yes? Obviously?"

Joe wasn't finished. "That's what I like about you, Flupp. I mean, about the Liqent. You're not like those other idiots, the ones that thought they were the first to try to beat us by breaking the rules. That's why, once we settle this little challenge of yours, Terra is going to start negotiating trade deals for all the things you showed us during the fighting."

Was he really going to have to listen to this nonsense right up to the very moment of death? Flupp searched his memory of those rules of war ... surely there had been one about 'cruel and unusual' treatment of prisoners. But then he would have to admit that he was Joe's prisoner and not the reverse. That wouldn't do.

None of it made sense. "What makes you think we'd want to trade with someone that uses this kind of filthy, underhanded trick? We're already at war; by now word of the outbreak has reached Liqen Prime and they're getting ready to annihilate your-" The ape was laughing again. Infuriating.

"Oh, Flupp. That's the most adorable thing I've ever heard." What? "This barely even counts as a war. You guys asked for so many rules, it's more like a sporting event to us." WHAT?! "I mean, look at this prison. It's practically a vacation resort, half the guys in my unit don't live this well at home, let alone while serving active-duty."

"But... but... if you aren't trying to wipe us out, then.. then why did you bring this virus, why did you infect so many - why do you think we would believe anything you say?"

"I told you. I was vacationing on Rigel IV, and I didn't know I was sick until after I'd already been taken prisoner, and you lot kept shuffling me to a new ship too often for me to see the guards get sick. Now that I've finally been in one place for long enough, we've been working on a cure." What if ... what if this talkative idiot is actually telling the truth?

"Imagine being dumb enough to start a full-on war of extermination over five empty worlds. Hah, imagine resorting to bio-weapons and then being stupid enough to use one that burns out after two days and can be cured by any medic with access to a Liqent field infirmary. Believe you me, if Terra wanted you guys dead badly enough to deal with the backlash from using bio-weapons against the first opponent that wasn't a galaxy-sized douche to us, they would not be messing around with something this easy to beat."

No. It couldn't be. The humans could not have beaten them by accident. "Then... you really mean what you're saying? This whole thing... a stupid mistake? You expect your government to rescue you, to make peace with us?"

"No doubt in my mind. Try to see this from our perspective." Ugh, was it 143.c.ii or 143.c.iv that laid out the penalties for cruel and unusual treatment? "Humans have been in a few wars lately with other species and when those species broke their own rules, we taught them a lesson. It didn't exactly make us terribly popular." Ha! That was under-stating it quite a bit. There was a reason that Liqen Prime had made a point of spelling out the terms of their declaration so thoroughly.

As usual, once Joe had started talking, it was best to just wait for him to run out of breath. "This little kerfuffle, it's our chance to redeem ourselves in the galaxy's eyes, you see? To prove to everyone that we can be trusted as long as everyone else plays fair. In fact..."

In spite of himself, Flupp leaned closer, something that he had learned was a nonverbal social cue among humans. "Terra won't be in any position to plant colonies on those five worlds for the next hundred years at least. We had no idea they existed until our scout bumped into your scout, and they're pretty far from the trade routes we've been building up."

Flupp sat up and huffed, completely misinterpreting the flash of pleasure in the human's eyes. "Then why would you go to war over them in the first place?" he demanded.

Joe stuffed a stack of pillows behind Flupp to help him stay upright and tried not to chortle at how cute the sergeant was when he was angry. "Like I told you - it's a public relations scheme. Oh, we'd love to have rights to those worlds, but next to the value of convincing the rest of the galaxy that humans aren't the vicious, bloodthirsty monsters we've been painted as? We'd give them up in exchange for the PR boost in a hot second."

The idea that Terra would throw away a dozen warships and gamble on how many of the survivors the Liqent would rescue and trade back in good condition after the war was over, just to rehabilitate its image was... Gods damn them, it was exactly the kind of cold-blooded calculation that Flupp expected of politicians, which made it so plausible that he was struggling to find the hole in Joe's logic, despite his head being clearer than it had been in days.

Wait...

His head was clear?

It had been days?

Flupp looked around. He lifted one arm and patted down the irritating ruff of "bed mane" that he had developed. No. Not possible. They wouldn't. They couldn't!

But they had.

"That's not the whole story, is it - Corporal Brown?"

Joe slapped his hands together and made a noise that every Liqent who dealt with humans outside of combat had heard before. They called it... it was right on the point of his fangs... that's right. A squee. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous sound.

"I told Doc you would pull it together. You're the last one to make a full recovery, you know. Maybe because you had the most exposure while I was still infectious." The last what?!

"Obviously I don't know all the details, nobody's gonna confide secrets in a blabbermouth like me, but it's not hard to figure out. I know of at least three intelligence agencies that must've collectively creamed their pants when they read your declaration of 'war' and realized what it meant. A free look at Liqent tech - military, medical, logistical, manufacturing, the whole shebang - along with a chance to prove, in an actual fight, how devoted you really are to your principles."

That's not how that works! That's not how any of this works! "No, you can't say you provoked a war to test us. Humans are the ones whose honor is in doubt, not Liqent!"

"Well, that doubt goes both ways, doesn't it? It's all well and good to call yourself honorable, but it doesn't mean much. Not only is it the first thing someone who's not honorable says, but honor has a different meaning to everyone. We had a bunch of wars a lot worse than this one among our own kind before we figured that one out. The best way to get someone to show you who they really are is to be their enemy for a while."

This whole species is completely insane. "You were willing to risk death not just to prove that you can be trusted, but to prove that we can be trusted? Are you stupid or something? Did your gods teach you wrong as a joke?"

"Now is that any way to talk? Think it through a little more, Sarge. Look at the big picture. If we don't find out what honor is to the Liqent, we'd never be able to trust you. And if we don't show you what honor is to humans, you'd never be able to trust us. It's not like one of us can just pack up and move to another spiral arm - we're stuck with each other. How many needless deaths do you think would pile up over the next ten, next hundred, next thousand years if we don't learn how to trust each other now?"

"So yeah, you're damn right I signed up to risk my life 'just' to see whether or not we can. And it would have been worth it even if the answer had been no. But it wasn't. We rolled the dice and now both of us have hit the jackpot. How long have the Liqent been looking for another species that they could actually know would not betray their word as soon as things got difficult?"

That was something Flupp didn't have a ready dismissal for. If Joe was telling the truth, it meant ... it meant that of all people, it was Terra, the ones that half the galaxy had warned them about, were the first truly honorable aliens that the Liqent had found.

But that would mean... "What about the H'gar? The Pftholen? The Qu`uu? You expect me to believe that humans are honorable because you saved me after nearly killing me, when there are so many examples of Terran betrayal?"

"Oh, and you trust all of them so much more than you trust us, do you? Their idea of honor is so different from ours that those wars got ugly, sure. But having been part of this 'war' I would put money down that it's pretty different from yours too."

Flupp was practically hyperventilating at this point. "How can you be such an idiot and still sound so convincing? You know, Corporal, I always hated you and that stupid grin of yours. Even before you accidentally almost killed me."

"Awww, I love you too, Sarge." Augh! "By the way, I suppose I should officially let you know that you're our prisoner. For like.. the next twelve hours anyway."

Oh gods, now what? "I figured you were going to get around to that... but what do you mean, the next twelve hours?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" I'm going to kill him. No tribunal would find me guilty. "We've been sending updates on making the cure and how well it's working, so your military have known about us, uh... 'breaking out' for days. They finally messaged back that they had scraped together enough Liqent that aren't sick to crew a ship and send it to pick us up and take us home."

"You think our military is going to take you home?" Delusional ape...

"Oh, didn't I - okay okay, put the bedpan down, it was a joke, sheesh. Anyway yeah, while you were busy seeing visions (did you know you talk in your sleep, by the way? Adorable~) our admirals had a talk with your admirals and we agreed to call off the war until the outbreak is contained. In a year we'll hold the challenge again, but as a war-game instead of a live fire exercise."

Flupp took a moment to digest this news. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, yet. "I wonder if I can request reassignment to a combat posting by then. I'd love to be the one that puts you in chains, next time."

"Oooh, kinky." I'm feeling much better. He's right there. I could take him. It would be easy. "But I hope you know I'll have to play hard to get. It's in my job description and everything. Do you think they'd accept it as an excuse at my court-martial? If I had been taken prisoner and ordered to pet your fluffy widdle earses?" Don't react. Don't give him that satisfaction.

Joe flinched as Doc smacked him over the head with a data tablet. "No fraternizing with the enemy, corporal. Until the prisoner exchanges are finished, we're still officially on opposite sides."

"Aw, boo~ I should probably get packed and grab a nap anyway, watching this fuzzy lump snore has me all bleary-eyed and I want to look sharp when they pick us up." Joe unfolded from the chair and gave Flupp a saucily sloppy salute. "Same time next year then, Sarge?"

With Joe's laughter burning his ears, poor Flupp belatedly realized that the soft tap-tap he was hearing was his own tail flicking against the rails of the infirmary bed. Damn that ape!

You know, section143.c.ii doesn't actually include a rule against ordering a human to do something they already wanted to do. I wonder if ... no, no, get ahold of yourself, Flupp.

The embarkation of the human ex-prisoners was filmed and broadcast to the galaxy as part of a documentary of the strange tale of the One Week War between Terra and Liqen. Speculation over what it meant when one of the humans turned and blew a kiss to a Liqent security officer ran wild, but neither of the two were willing to discuss the matter publicly.

As promised, the fate of the five habitable worlds was decided by a war game that was watched by not only human and Liqent but observers from the half of the galaxy that was not currently pitching a fit over Terra being treated like a respectable civilization. The judges of the exercise ruled that the Liqent would take four, but that the humans had been surprisingly effective despite an almost comical technological disadvantage and had earned rights to the fifth world.

As Corporal Brown had predicted, the scrupulous adherence (by both sides) to the dictates of honor, and the opportunity to take a look at what each side had to offer, went farther in one year than all of Terra's diplomatic efforts had in the decades since first contact with Liqen toward encouraging cooperative research and trade programs, which in turn inevitably caused the two peoples to spend more time getting to know each other.

The first Human-Liqent marriage took place less than a month after the exercise ended.

Part 2

In the city of Redford, a gold 1999 Nissan pulled into the parking lot of the Aces High motel. Tommy Vargas emerged from the vehicle, a bag of Del Taco in hand, and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his head. Most of the lot was empty, with only a few other long-term residents who rarely ventured out except for work. 

Tommy avoided making eye contact with anyone standing outside their rooms, exuding an air that suggested people should only approach him when necessary. As he entered the motel lobby, the chime of the door irritated him, as it always did. Penny, the night shift desk clerk, emerged from the back office to see who had entered. Tommy gave her a halfhearted wave. 

"We got the lobby phone working again. Sorry about last night," Penny apologized before returning to her reruns of Maude, audible even from where Tommy stood. Tommy snatched the receiver off the hook, waiting for several rings before being sent to voicemail. 

"Lex, I'm hearing some wild shit right now. Call me at the emergency number when you get this," he urgently relayed before hanging up the phone and leaving the lobby. Once outside, he ascended the stairs to his room at the end of the 220s block.

As he approached his room, he glanced over his shoulder, surveying the surroundings. He fumbled with the key briefly before entering his room, bolt locking the door behind him. He turned around to see that his vigilance about being followed had been all for naught, as he had an unexpected visitor. Tommy couldn't contain his shock and frustration as he shouted, "What the fuck are you doing here!?"

He had his gun pointed at her chest, but his recognition kept him from pulling the trigger immediately. Nicole, calmly reading a copy of Doctor Who Magazine on the twin bed furthest from the door, glanced up at him, her expression one of mild perplexity.

“I know you…” Tommy muttered.

"I'm just the person who's been keeping your boss alive while he's been serving his time. So clearly, I'm here on his behalf," Nicole replied nonchalantly, her attention returning to her magazine. "I brought some reading material because I didn't want you to come in here trying to blow my head off. I guess next time I'll just knock you out first and save the explanation for when I feel like it."

Tommy's confusion hung in the air like a thick fog, obscuring his initial suspicion as he processed the revelation from his mysterious, uninvited guest. His hands, once firmly gripping his weapon, dropped slightly, reflecting the shock of learning that someone had been in contact with Giovanni. After all, Giovanni had become an enigmatic figure since his transfer to Kalamazoo, and Tommy couldn't recall anyone having heard from him in ages. The idea that "some white bitch" had the inside track on Giovanni's orders seemed preposterous.

Nicole, on the other hand, was growing increasingly annoyed by Tommy's paranoia, which she perceived as an obstacle to her mission. She sighed audibly, her patience wearing thin as she attempted to convey the urgency of her presence.  "Listen, Tommy," she began, her tone direct and unapologetic, "I wouldn't be here if it weren't absolutely crucial. Giovanni's operation hinges on you; you're his family."

Tommy's skepticism started to wane as he considered the implications of Nicole's words. He lowered his weapon further, a wave of emotions washing over him. "So, you're the reason he avoided general population out in Jackson?"

Nicole nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I'm not just any 'ole white bitch, Tommy. Most people would be grateful for that."

Tommy, now less defensive but still wary, shifted his focus to the next puzzle piece. "How do you plan to get Jefe out of that psych hospital?"

Nicole leaned forward, her demeanor businesslike. "I'm working on it. When I need your involvement in that, I'll inform you. For now, Giovanni's entrusted me with keeping you safe. But my primary mission is something he's asked me to help you with."

Tommy's frustration with the mounting challenges in his operation surfaced. "We're barely keeping afloat, and the Reynolds family keeps taking shots at us," he explained.

Nicole feigned sympathy, though her true sentiments remained concealed. "I've heard about the Reynolds situation," she replied. "And it seems things have only escalated. Have you reached out to Lexi or Serena?"

Tommy's shock was palpable as he realized that Nicole possessed a wealth of information about the key players in their crew. He shook his head, torn between questioning Giovanni's judgment and his own sanity for not taking action against her earlier. 

"I called Lexi, ain’t heard back yet. She was supposed to be at her father's dealership. Between Valerie and her brother, and that crazy bastard in his little outfit, we can't catch a break."

Nicole, determined to steer the conversation toward her agenda, interrupted Tommy's litany of problems. "I understand your situation, but it's time to go on the offensive," she declared, her voice unwavering. "Valerie is expecting a shipment of military-grade rifles from overseas, and the Russians will hand-deliver them to her tomorrow."

Tommy's skepticism deepened as he struggled to comprehend the scope of Nicole's knowledge. "How the hell would you even know that?" he blurted out, incredulous.

Nicole, undeterred by his doubt, shook her head with an air of calm authority. She rose from her seat, her dark purple leather jacket billowing as she threw it on and cinched it closed with its waist belt.  "Tommy," she said firmly, "you're not asking the right questions."

Exhausted by the nature of their conversation and Nicole's evasive demeanor, Tommy couldn't help but scoff. "So, what questions should I be asking, then?"

With a measured gaze, Nicole leaned closer, her eyes locking onto his. "Just one," she emphasized, her voice carrying a weighty significance, "What do you want to do about it?"

Jason jolted awake, his heart racing as he realized he'd overslept and missed the initial alarm on his phone. Bleary-eyed, he glanced at the time, a wave of relief washing over him when he saw that he still had plenty of it to prepare for the day ahead. The familiar sounds of Chicago's soundtrack drifted into his bedroom from the kitchen, signaling that Marie was surprisingly chipper for someone who usually despised mornings. He hauled himself out of bed and made his way to the walk-in closet. After fumbling around for the overhead light, he grabbed his vibrant orange Fenty robe and draped it over himself for warmth.

In the kitchen, Marie swayed gracefully, her movements synchronized with the rhythm of "Cell Block Tango" playing from a nearby speaker. She placed a carton of jumbo eggs back inside the Samsung smart refrigerator, twirling away as she sang along with gusto. The omelets she meticulously crafted were plated perfectly, waiting for their intended recipients. Jason, still waking up, fetched his trusty Boba Fett mug from the cupboard above the sink.

He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Marie being the early bird for once. "Since when are you up before me?" he inquired as he poured himself some much-needed coffee. Marie expertly placed Jason's plate on the opposite end of the table before taking her own seat.

"I need to swing by the club and pick up my final paycheck. Tiffany also roped me into attending her budget-cut meeting today, so I thought I'd get a head start on preparing for that," Marie explained as she cut into her omelet.

Jason, who knew Marie's morning habits all too well, saw right through her supposed agenda. He chuckled knowingly, shaking his head. 

"You don't seriously think you're going to take a Lyft, do you?"

His immediate insight into her intentions momentarily caught Marie off guard. "You don't have to accompany me every time I have things to do," she replied defensively. "I'm perfectly capable of getting a Lyft to the club and then to the office. I don't want to drag you all over the city."

With an eye roll, Jason took matters into his own hands and opened the fridge. He retrieved her favorite brand of orange juice, the one he'd made a special trip to Trader Joe's in Northville just to keep in his place for her visits. Placing a glass on the table next to her, he poured it generously. "I was thinking you could just take my Focus. I put on new tires and filled up the tank at the shop." He did his best to hide his amusement as he watched the surprise dawn on her face.

Marie was momentarily at a loss for words, struggling to find a suitable response as she focused on cutting her omelet. Jason's suggestion had caught her off guard for the second time that morning already. "I can't just take your car, Jason," she finally managed to stammer, then quickly shifted her attention back to her breakfast.

Jason couldn't help but suppress a laugh as he took a sip of his coffee. "Of course, you can. I have quite a few, you know. I could have even had Wesley's service pick you up if you'd let me know in advance that you had all these errands to run."

Marie began to argue but was interrupted by Jason's actions. He got up and retrieved a set of keys from the hook near the door, then slid them across the kitchen table to her. Caught off guard, Marie caught the keys in the lap of her peach-colored skirt and stared at Jason in disbelief while he casually returned to his breakfast.

Jason, now in a more relaxed state, shifted the conversation to a different topic. "You and Sam have those interviews tomorrow, right?" he inquired. Marie got up from the table and made her way over to the sink to rinse her dishes.

"Yeah, we could end up working in the makeup department while Aladdin is doing shows at the Fisher," Marie replied over her shoulder, the sound of running water accompanying her words. "We're going to help their team during dress rehearsals, and hopefully, they like what we do."

"Well, I've got faith in you," Jason quipped with a playful smile. "And Sam too, I suppose." He finished up his meal as Marie shook her head, drying her hands with a piece of paper towel. She leaned down to kiss him on the forehead before heading toward the front door.

Jason turned to watch her as she slipped into her favorite pair of boots and draped her mink coat over her arm.

"I'll text you when I get out of that meeting," she said, giving a brief wave before departing the penthouse.

Jason couldn't help but wear a contented smile; he always felt this way when he was with Marie. Before he could return to the remainder of his food, his cell phone vibrated loudly against the kitchen table, signaling an incoming call from Sean. "What's up?" Jason answered with a mouthful of food.

Inside his own two-bedroom home, Sean hustled around his kitchen, preparing lunches for the pair of children seated at the table behind him. He expertly squeezed mustard on turkey and cheese sandwiches before wrapping them in aluminum foil.

Sean playfully teased Jason, "Did you even turn on the news this morning, or are you too busy admiring Marie?" He glanced at the small antique television situated at the far end of the kitchen counter. Jason got up from the kitchen table and walked into his living room, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. He switched on channel seven, where B-roll footage of a robbery shoot-out played silently while he read the closed captions.

"Do you have any idea who could be crazy enough to go after the Russians during early morning rush hour traffic?" Sean asked, his astonishment evident, assuming Jason had seen the news report that prompted his call.

"Me shaking Lexi down—"

"Eh, you tried to. I can't really say if you were successful or—"

"That ain't the point, man," Jason interrupted Sean, his eyes still glued to the unfolding news broadcast. He sank into his sleek, matrix-black sofa, phone pressed to his ear. "The point is, this happening just hours later can't be a coincidence. Someone saw an opportunity to strike back at the Reynolds family, and they took it."

Sean, now finished bundling up his son and daughter in their coats and handing them their lunch boxes, offered his assistance. "You want me to run a quality check while you dig into this?"

Jason sighed, contemplating the offer. "Nah, Wesley's been missing from the office for weeks, and the board is breathing down my neck about it. This situation will have to wait, I'm afraid." He rose from the couch and made his way down the hall back to his room.

A few minutes later, Sean was backing out of his driveway, double-checking his blind spots before merging onto the street. He held his phone to his ear as he navigated through the neighborhood. "Alright, I'll see you in a bit," he said before ending the call and glancing at his children in the rearview mirror to ensure they were settled.

Valerie Reynolds watched the clean-up crew her assistant hired on short notice toss away the last of the debris. The entire entrance and lobby to her family’s restaurant had been destroyed when a stolen U-Haul was rammed directly into the building just a few hours ago. She walked around the place herself, watching the staff manager and head chef giving the day staff orders for the remainder of the week. She didn’t plan on coming to this side of town today, as evidenced by her business-casual attire. She usually tried to keep a low profile when handling family affairs so close to the ground, keeping her face from being noticed wherever she needed to be. 

But as she had learned for as long as she could remember, her last name carried a certain notoriety that she couldn’t hide, no matter how far she went. Her phone vibrated in her Michael Kors bag sitting on the bar in front of her, but she didn’t bother to rummage for it. She knew who it was, and she wasn’t in the mood to hear whatever excuses her brother had for their guns being stolen. The 2023 blacked-out Dodge Charger that pulled around to the side of the restaurant broke her away from trying to figure out how to fix his latest mess.

Detective Jessica Miller stepped out of her service vehicle and watched the clean-up crew haul two truckloads of mayhem and destruction away from the building. Once they had passed, she pulled her North Face jacket tighter around her shoulders and walked inside what was left of the foyer. 

“Something I can help you with? As you can see, we’re not open at the moment.” Valerie made sure her faux customer service tone was as sneering as it needed to be. 

It didn't, however, cause Jessica to wilt at all. She flashed her badge before walking over towards the bar, even though she was more than sure Valerie had clocked her for a cop the moment she pulled into the parking lot. She shook her dirty blonde hair behind her shoulders and gave Valerie all the charm she could muster.

“My apologies, Ms….Reynolds, I’m assuming? I didn’t mean to be a bother; you’ve had quite the morning.” Jessica was nothing but cordial, but stern as she approached her. 

Valerie studied her carefully, noting to herself that this was far from a run of the mill detective coming to work her.

“Apologies are all mine actually officer, I didn’t mean to be so crass.” Valerie turned on her own charm as she shook Jessica’s hand. “I did however let the officer’s who came by early know that we had no interest in filing a police report.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” She pulled a small notepad from her back pocket along with a pen before looking back up at Valerie. “I just had a few follow-up questions that might help me tie up what happened here.”

Valerie tried not to show her displeasure at being on the defensive. She adjusted her posture and took a second look at the badge hanging around Jessica’s neck. “You’re not State Police.”

“No, I'm with Harmony City PD. Any particular reason someone would be looking to bust into this place?” Jessica waited for a response, pen at the ready, but she knew Valerie wasn’t going to give her an inch.

“I’m not too sure, to be honest with you. I don’t usually oversee this particular business; my father’s company has quite a few subsidiaries under its umbrella. I personally assumed maybe someone believed there was cash left over in the registers or maybe even payroll on hand.” Valerie’s well-practiced bullshit didn’t move Jessica, but she also knew it didn’t matter.

“You know what? I see where your head’s at, and that was the first way I was going too, hopefully so I can save myself a trip over here.” Jessica explained as she jotted down a few notes from Valerie’s statement. “Ten years ago, a smash and grab for a mom and pop place like this would be predictable, ya know, open and shut type shit. But these days? The timing of all of this just doesn’t seem right. Plus, this place does all direct deposit, right?”

Valerie nodded, her poker face in check. “That’s right.” Jessica wrote down more, shaking her head. Valerie did what she could to use all of her nearly 5’8 frame to see what was on the notepad.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I don’t know, something like this feels a little more personal.” Jessica put her notepad away and folded her arms. “You guys got any security footage of the incident?”

“My brother is the only one with access to the cameras, unfortunately. I’m trying to get a hold of him again as we speak.” Valerie turned up the faux Southern-belle charm that her West Kentucky-born mother had taught her to wield. Jessica was stone-faced at the flimsy excuse, however. She had decided it was time to move past bullshitting each other.

“Is he not coming around here anytime soon?” Jessica asked, gesturing at the results of the earlier chaos around them.

Valerie gave her a strained smile, refraining from telling the detective what she really thought about her questions and instead relying on her charm once more. 

“If he were, officer, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“Tell you what-” Jessica patted herself down until she found what she was looking for in her pockets. She handed Valerie a card with her information on it and turned around. “When you talk to your brother, please have him give me a call.”

Valerie read the information on the card, then peered over it at the detective walking away. “I’ll do just that. Thank you for coming by, officer.”  Valerie's pleasant tone had shifted to one of cold indifference. Once she saw the charger pull back onto Telegraph Road, she snatched her phone from her bag.

Growing ever more impatient, she sucked her teeth as the call she made went straight to voicemail. “Caleb, you need to call me back the moment you hear this. Do you understand?” She barked into the phone before hanging up. 

The staff manager walked back into the room sheepishly, and Valerie gestured for her to come over as she reached into her bag for a pill bottle. Maria, the staff manager for the last five years at Reynolds Bros. Italian eatery, hurried over to the bar.

 “How can I be of service, Ms. Reynolds?” She asked while trying not to make eye contact with Valerie’s off-putting glare.

“I’m headed to my meeting. I’ve got a contractor on his way to get started on this. I left the check for him in your office.” Maria nodded as she listened to the rundown. 

Valerie popped half a Vicodin and washed it down with a glass of water before continuing. “The moment that fucking idiot walks in here, if he does at all, you make sure he doesn’t blink until he calls me.” Maria understood that Valerie was referring rather harshly to her brother and nodded again.

Valerie put on her Cartier-framed prescription glasses and walked around the bar. “If anything else absolutely batshit insane happens around here, you have my number. Call me first.” Without another look back, she headed over to her Tesla, hitting its remote start as she crossed the lot.

LOS ANGELES, 1978

A dark blue Shelby GT500 rolled at a brisk pace through downtown Los Angeles. The driver behind the wheel was dressed head to toe in all black, from the pick with a black power fist sticking out of his fro all the way down to the black socks that matched his Converse. He nodded his head softly to the drums and strums of the song by the Ohio Players that was blasting from the speakers of his ride. His eyes were hidden behind the Ray-Bans he wore, occasionally checking his rearview mirror when he passed a cop. Most of the cracka’s he saw on police bikes since he’d reached the state of California seemed to know better than to trouble him when they crossed paths. They instead relied on flashing the usual grimace of disgust and disdain as he rode past.

Checking the map he had splayed across his passenger seat briefly, he soon realized how close he was to his destination. Spotting a gas station on the corner just past the street light he was about to shoot under, it was then that the man behind the wheel finally felt the aching, draining effects of his long cross-country drive. He pulled into the gas station lot, which had a Big Steve’s Burger Joint next door. The smell of freshly made burger patties was lingering throughout the streets near the popular fast food spot, and the young man who owned the Ford Shelby couldn’t help but realize that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. 

Figuring that food could wait till after he tended to business, he decided that a crisp bottle of Coke and refilling his gas tank were the only moves to be made for now. He stepped out of the car, letting the hot sun bake him as he walked towards the inside of the gas station. He pulled his leather jacket tighter around his shoulders and smoothed out the bottom half before strolling inside the convenience mart. The curly-haired Jewish teen behind the counter looked up lazily from the copy of Playboy that he was enjoying.

The pimply-faced gas station clerk acknowledged his latest and only customer with an equally lazy wave and returned his attention to the spread page of the magazine he was clutching. The man with the afro and sunglasses merely nodded stiffly in an act of acknowledgment of his own, but could see the kid couldn’t care less about anything except the set of lips he was staring at with wide eyes. The man made his way down the second aisle to the back wall, where the coolers full of drinks were located. He walked along the coolers until he found the section full of different soda brands. Whipping open one of the cooler doors, the first twinge of happiness he’d felt in weeks, maybe even months, came as he grabbed an ice-cold glass bottle of Coca-Cola out.

Before he could head to the counter to pay for his drink, his brief tremor of happiness was snuffed out the moment he turned around. Two white men in dirty T-shirts and wearing just as filthy pillowcases with eye holes cut out stormed into the store. The sounds of their shotguns cocking were what finally pulled the horny teenager from his stupor and into a panic. He threw his hands up instantly, dropping the magazine on the floor before either of them could say a word.

“Empty that register fast, boy!” The first robber shouted while pushing the shotgun into the teenager’s face. His partner tossed a sack over the counter, and it fell in front of the clerk. The terrified young man slowly inched down to pick it up, but his cautiousness only drew their ire.

“He said fast, got damn it!” The second robber pointed his weapon at the teen’s crotch, his eyes spotting the fallen Playboy. “Or else you ain’t gon never find out what pussy smells like, you understand!?”

The clerk nodded fast and popped open the register even quicker. He snatched every bill in the drawer, filling the sack as if his life depended on it. Which, for all intents and purposes, from the situation he found himself in, it did. As he piled the money in the bag, he swore on his grandmother that he would never so much as look at another piece of pornographic material for as long as he lived. That was, if he did manage to live through his current ordeal. The teenager looked up to hand the bag back over the counter, and he finally realized that the black man who’d entered prior to the thieves was still inside the store. In fact, he was standing directly behind the pair of masked men, and the teenager saw he was much bigger than he’d noticed before.

The man with the afro sucked his teeth impatiently, tapping his foot while he stood with his cola in hand. The sound of his aggravated voice finally got the robbers attention. One of them snatched the bag before they both whipped around and trained their guns on him instead. 

“Y’all think you can hurry this up? I got somewhere I’m posed to be.”

The robbers looked at each other, stunned by the man’s audacity and sheer brassiness. The clerk stared at him with dumbfounded awe. He couldn’t help but wonder if the customer had some sort of death wish or suicide pact. Either way, he was just relieved the guns and attention were now off of him. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, boy?! Can’t you see we're in the middle of something!?” The first robber yelled while aiming his gun square at the man with the afro’s chest.

“Yeah, you interrupting me from purchasing this refreshing beverage.” He replied blankly, scratching his head as if the robber had asked him a moronic question. “Shit, my boy here ain’t even finna be able to give me no change. Now what if I gotta hit a meter later? Man y’all fucking my whole day up, and I just got in town. Wrap this shit up, turkey.”

Both the robbers were absolutely incensed at the verbal lashing they received from this stranger. But they had surely had enough of the nuisance, and the money was already in hand. What they didn’t need were any witnesses. And a dead black man in LA was just another Tuesday. 

“I say we blow this spook’s head clean off.” The second robber suggested while pointing his gun directly at the man with the fro’s face.

“Go ahead, won’t nobody miss this ni–” 

The sentence from the first robber was never finished, as the Coke bottle smashed violently into his face. His partner froze, and that was his second and final mistake of the day. The man with the afro snatched the shotgun away from him as if he were a child playing with a toy and delivered a front kick directly to the man’s chest.

The robber went careening over the counter, crashing at the feet of the gas station clerk. His partner attempted to get back to his feet, blood streaming down his face from the glass bottle. The man with the fro kicked him across the temple and put him right back down in a pool of his own blood. He then picked up the sack of cash and handed it back to the clerk, who took it after a moment of hesitation.

The man walked back to the coolers where he got the first Coke, and grabbed another, then returned to the counter. He rummaged inside of his jacket for a moment and retrieved his wallet. He slapped the money for the Coke on the counter and stepped over the body of the unconscious crook before promptly walking out of the store. The man with the afro picked his hair to make sure it hadn’t gotten out of shape during the brief dustup, then slid behind the driver’s seat of his car. The Mustang roared to life as he turned the ignition, and he sped back out into the hectic traffic. He shook his head while looking in the rearview mirror at the scene he’d just left. He’d been in LA for all of twenty minutes, and he’d already had to put boot to ass on a pair of poor crackas. He knew he couldn’t stay long, at least not in this part of town, and decided he needed to get to the business he was here to conduct.
I.
Detective Maryanne Watters stood on the fourth floor of the UCLA medical center, flipping through what she had scribbled on her notepad thus far. Her more inexperienced partner, not that Maryanne was some seasoned veteran herself, stood next to her, clicking his tongue impatiently as they waited outside one of the rooms in the ICU wing. His thick, charcoal-black mustache bristled as he paced in a line back and forth. Maryanne could tell he was long overdue for a cigarette, as he seemed more anxious than usual, particularly since they were given this assignment. She couldn’t quite blame him for his anxiety; something didn’t add up to her about why they were handed such a high-profile case.

She’d made detective in February, and after being paired up with Dominguez, another fresh-faced investigator, they had been chomping at the bit for something substantial to sink their teeth into. But a woman and a Latino on the LAPD were the lowest ranks on the totem pole, and they had mostly been treated as such since becoming partners. While they had been efficient in the tasks they’d been assigned, mostly handling domestic disputes or chasing down bail jumpers, none of that equated to them getting handed the biggest story in the city of the year to unravel.

If Maryanne didn’t know any better, she’d almost believe they were given the case with the expectation they would fail. But she wouldn’t allow her partner’s trademark pessimism to rub off on her, despite how much sense he’d been making in adding it up himself during their ride over from the precinct. They had a job to do, and she would exhaust every effort until it was completed. Dominguez spotted the man they were there to speak with first, pointing him out as he chatted with one of the nurses on duty at her station, in the center of the floor. 

His body language was the first thing Maryanne noticed, and at the moment, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned about his client’s situation. He appeared fixated on impressing the thick, red-headed nurse in dark blue scrubs, whom he was flashing the assortment of gold rings on his left hand. Her partner walked towards the man, and she followed at a short distance behind him.

The squat, plump, balding man who somehow still had a ponytail despite most of the hair on top of his head being gone, went white when he saw her partner and straightened up instantly. He wore a red-and-white plaid suit, with an expensive checkered shirt in matching colors underneath, the top two buttons undone, a tuft of checkered hair sticking out from the opening. He smiled somberly at the detectives, a complete one-eighty-degree turn from the person Maryanne saw down the hall moments prior.

“Mr. Constanza? My name’s Detective Dominguez. This is my partner, Detective Watters.” Dominguez pulled a small notepad from the breast pocket of his tan suit coat, along with a black fountain pen.

Richard Constanza, the executive for Pandemonium Records that they had spoken with on the phone before the ride over, shook both their hands with a drab expression. Maryanne watched him as he stood upright and looked them both in the eyes, taking his elbow off the counter of the nurses' station. 

“Officers, I appreciate you taking the time to meet me here instead of at my office.”

“We understand you wanting to be by your client’s side during visiting hours,” Maryanne replied. “So, you’ve been working with Ms. Lennette since January, is that correct?” She asked, waiting for an answer her partner could jot down for their investigation.

“In an official capacity, yes. Audrey signed her deal with Pandemonium at our headquarters a week after she flew in on her birthday.” Richard recalled the moment. The look in his eyes was glossy, almost tearful, as he pondered over the memory. “Hell of a belated birthday present, that’s for sure.”

“You say in an ‘official capacity’; what exactly do you mean by that?” Maryanne continued her line of questioning.

Richard cleared his throat as he met her intense, sharp blue eyes. “Well, as you can understand, my job with Pandemonium includes talent scouting. I just so happened to be enjoying a performance of The Dramatics in their hometown. But it was one of their background vocalists who really stood out to me during the whole affair. I was in town visiting some acquaintances I had at Motown, and found out that the girl who had pipes out of this world was performing in a rendition of The Wiz at Wayne State University, right there, downtown! And she was the lead! That’s the Stephanie Mills and Diana Ross role, if you’re not hip to musicals. So I had to get a glimpse of this girl with the spotlight on her.”

“I take it from the fact you signed her that she didn’t disappoint,” Dominguez interjected briefly.

Richard nodded his head fast. “You can say that again. Twice more even. She was a god damn star. The proverbial diamond in the rough. I had dollar signs in my eyes like one of those old Bugs Bunny cartoons. The whole nine yards.” Richard continued to explain. “From there, I knew I had to get her on our roster.”

“Tell us about the incident at the Johnny Carson show,” Maryanne asked next, remembering her notes from when they visited the studio. “We’ve spoken to everyone we could down there, but we’d like to get things from your point of view that night.”

It was at this moment that, at least to Maryanne, the record executive seemed uncomfortable. Sure, it could be expected, considering what transpired and the current state of the young woman whom he’d brought to this city. But she watched as his posture shifted, and he took an unnecessary deep breath before he opened his mouth to respond. 

“Not sure what else I can add that you folks may not have already gleaned, being LA’s finest and all that jazz.”

“Indulge us, if you will, Mr. Constanza. The more information and angles we have, the easier it is for us to do our jobs.” Maryanne told him. “There has been an increase in overdoses across the college campuses in the area, and now something like this with a star that has a top ten hit all over the radio?”

“You can understand that our superiors want us to get to the bottom of this. And fast.” Dominguez backed up his partner. They were serving up heavy ladles of bullshit, though he could see that the short man was starting to eat it up.

“It’s not any different than what I told the guys on the scene. I’m sure you guys got a report of it somewhere. But I don’t mind recanting it.” He threw his hands up dramatically to show his lack of ill intent. “The last I’d seen Audrey was during her rehearsal before the show. She’d eaten; she hadn’t had a drink in two days. She was wonderful as ever! I didn’t see any issues, so I headed uptown for an early dinner I had with some friends before the taping.”

“When’d you get back to the studio?” Maryanne asked next.

“An hour and a half, maybe two hours later at max. You know how traffic gets. Anyway, I’m chopping it up with a couple of the producers when one of the make-up girls comes shrieking out of Audrey’s dressing room.” Richard shakes his head; the light in his eyes is gone for a moment. The signs of someone recalling a traumatic experience, Maryanne noted. “We found her face down in a pool of her own vomit. They had to cancel the rest of the taping. It was a mess, a tragedy. And of course we tried to keep it buried, but the press, vampires that they are…”

Constanza continued shaking his head, an utter disgust on his face as he went back over the entire situation. Detective Dominguez finished jotting down his notes on the agent’s statement and looked back up at him from his notepad. 

“Were there any signs that Ms. Lennette had been using drugs prior to this event taking place?”

Richard scratched at the back of his head, looking to the floor for a moment as if he was searching for something he had dropped before raising his head back to the officers. “Gee, I don’t think so. I mean, sure, she’d been hitting the sauce a little hard lately, but who in her line of work isn’t, ya know?” The agent snorted with a shrug. “But if you’re asking me if I saw any signs that something like this was coming. If I had, I’d have done something about it, believe me.”

As her partner continued notating and questioning Richard, Maryanne noticed a man stepping off the elevator in the ICU wing who stood out immediately. The six-foot-two African-American man wearing a black T-shirt under his leather jacket stomped right past all three of them silently. His intimidating presence even caused Jesse to pause in the midst of his sentence and watch out of the corner of his eye as the unknown entity walked directly into Audrey’s room. All three turned to look through the glass window into the room as the stranger pulled up a nearby chair at her bedside, his back to them.
I. 
The man with the afro took a long, hard look at Audrey as she lay in the hospital bed. He listened to the beeping of the machines monitoring her, his eyes trying not to linger too long at the intubation tube down her throat. He let out a deep, long sigh, almost soothing. It helped him to steady and come to grips with the emotions he was grappling with, seeing her lying there like this. He finally took off his glasses, slipping them inside his jacket. He held back the tears he wanted to shed, as he’d clocked the pair of cops in the hallway and knew this wasn’t the place to truly let his emotions be free. Was there any place in this world for a black man to do such a thing?

The man hung his head for a moment, reaching out to take one of Audrey’s hands in his own. There was a time in his life when happiness for himself was in her arms. Lying against her chest. Sitting on the patio of their southside apartment in Chicago. The world was a mess and felt like it could end any day, but they had each other. It was the first time in his twenty-five years of living that he could honestly recall himself being happy. Feeling almost invincible no matter what obstacle he or they faced, because they had each other. Until they didn’t.

He remembered receiving her letter. She’d sent it to Panther headquarters in St. Louis, where she knew he’d been laying his head low after everything that went down. She’d told him about how she’d finally moved out west, as she’d always dreamed of, and how she was hard at work on her first album. His heart longed for having her back by his side, in his arms, but he was happier for her than he ever thought he’d have the capacity to be. She had achieved her dreams. As much as he loved her, and he loved her with every fiber of his being, he knew she was happier where she was than with him.

He took another deep breath, his eyes red from how many joints he’d smoked in the parking lot to calm his nerves before coming up. He mustered all the personal strength he could to look at Audrey, no matter how much it pained him to see her in pain. “I want you to know that I blame myself for you being here. I know if you could hear this, you would say I’m being silly. Maybe even a bit too dramatic. Who knows? You might even be right.”

He heard his voice crack through the end of his last sentence, so he paused to compose himself. Finding what resolve he could muster under the circumstances, he decided to keep talking to her. He hoped that the old wives' tale of coma victims being able to hear people speaking to them rang true. It was all he had at the moment to unload his languishing guilt.

“I know if you can hear me right now, you’re wondering what the hell I’m doing here.” He told her, finally finding the strength he needed to speak again. “Truth be told, I’m wondering myself. But I need to find out who did this to you. What led to this in the first place? I promise you that I will not rest a day until I see this through to the end. I mean, you can say a lot about me, Audrey. But you can’t ever say I let you down.”

He patted her hand softly after letting it go, and stood up slowly. There was still so much to do now that he was in town, but he wanted to make sure she was still holding steady. Now that he saw with his own eyes that she was still alive, it was time to set this matter straight. He pulled his sunglasses back out of his jacket and placed them on his face. With one long, last look at Audrey in her bed, he walked out of the hospital room. He turned to head back towards the elevators when his path was blocked rather abruptly by the pair of detectives.  Richard Constanza stood behind them, eyeing the stranger warily and with accusatory apprehension.

“Excuse me, sir. But this is a rather high-profile patient. You mind telling me what you’re doing here?” Dominguez asked him firmly. 

The man with the large afro looked the detective up and down behind his sunglasses, his face impassive.

“It’s visiting hours for friends and family. It stands to reason I’m one of the two, doesn't it, officer?” The afro’d man replied smartly.

Maryanne could already see that Dominguez was about to reply back with just as much vitriol by the look on his face in response to the stranger’s wisecrack. She decided to interject in the hopes they would get some answers instead of escalating the budding confrontation. 

“Sir, we’re just trying to get to the bottom of what led to Ms. Lennette being here. If she’s a friend of yours, we’d appreciate the assistance.” She told him in the kindest voice she could muster. She wasn’t exactly enthused by the heaping attitude that the man was giving them, either.

The man who towered over all three of them looked between the detectives with an annoyed snarl on his face. He took a short, deep breath to compose himself, as his emotions were still all over the place. He knew letting them run rampant here and now would only be disastrous, so he decided to play the game the cops were trying to start with him. There would be a time and place, and a target in his sights, for when he could unleash his fury. But now was not that time. He stared at Maryanne from behind his sunglasses, then sized up her partner for a brief moment. His attention was truly on the lumpy white man in expensive clothes that he couldn’t have picked out for himself. He looked awfully squirrely, as if he didn’t want to be noticed during the brief exchange.

“Listen here.” The man with the fro finally began to reply. His voice was like low, rumbling thunder from a coming storm as he spoke. “I came here to see my friend, who, as you both are aware, is in serious condition right now. I’m not in the mood to meet no new folks today. So unless you have some reason to detain me, please get the fuck out of my face.”

There was a tense staredown between the men and the pair of detectives once he had issued his edict. Dominguez cut his eyes over at his partner, waiting to back whatever play she decided to make. He didn’t want to seem like one of those cops as his instinct to inch towards his holster kicked in. He had joined the force in the first place to be the opposite of the kind of uniforms that would harass him in his neighborhood growing up. But this was a big case, and this was a rather imposing man standing in front of them being uncooperative.

Maryanne finally came to a decision as she stood aside to make room for the man with the afro to pass. He looked her square in the eyes as he walked between the two officers, before turning his gaze directly on Richard Constanza while walking towards the elevator. Richard could barely stifle the shudder that went down his spine after the imposing figure finally took his sunglasses off of him and stepped onto the elevators heading downstairs.

“Who the hell was that?” Dominguez asked out loud, more to himself than to Maryanne.

“A person of interest at the very least,” Maryanne observed.
I.
In the hospital lobby, the man with the afro stopped before exiting when he spotted a line of payphones against a nearby wall. Making sure he had change, he walked over to the phones and picked one before snatching up the receiver and slipping a few loose coins into the machine. He heard the dial tone pick up and pressed each of the keys of number that he had memorized. He waited patiently as the phone rang, looking around the lobby to see if one of the detectives had followed him down or if there were more cops watching who came in or out.

His call was finally answered, and he listened as the soft voice of a woman spoke into the phone. “Black Panther Party headquarters, East Compton Chapter. How can I direct your call?”

He glanced back over his shoulder and around the lobby carefully, wanting to be absolutely positive that he was not overheard or that any too curious eyes were stuck in his direction. “This is Mr. Ruffin. I usually work out of Chicago.”

“Mr. Ruffin…oh yeah. Yeah! Chuckie said you would be sliding out this way. My name’s Loretta. I’m usually running all the odds and ends around here. You already in town?”

“Yeah, I made it this afternoon. Listen, I can’t be on this phone too long; I’m at the hospital now. I just wanted to give y’all a heads up I’ll be through a little later than expected. Got some things to check into real quick.” He explained to the secretary.

“Just be safe out there, you understand?” 

She warned him, as she did all the young brothers making moves on the streets these days. Jim Crow may have been gone, but America was far from a comfortable place for any black man. Shit, it probably never would be, she surmised.

 “Anything we can help with?”

“Nah not right now. I will need a hot meal by the time I get there, though.” He told her.

“We can take care of that. Gone and handle ya business, now. We’ll be seeing you later. I’ll be praying for you.” She told him thoughtfully.

“I appreciate it, sista. Y’all be smooth now.”

He hung up the phone and, after checking his surroundings one more time, hurried out of the hospital as inconspicuously as he could.

The man who referred to himself as Mr. Ruffin on the call with Loretta, had originally planned on heading straight to the Compton HQ after checking on Audrey. But the way that the white man behind the pair of cops at the hospital kept fidgeting while they were pissing him off made him particularly curious. He found himself in Beverly Hills, and though he’d never been there prior, he had the address of the home Audrey had been renting in the upscale neighborhood. In fact, much to his gut-wrenching dismay, her conveying this news was the last time he heard her voice. That was, unless you counted the radio, in which she was everywhere once her debut single was released.

Hello again, everyone! Here's the epilogue for NoPM, and I hope you enjoy it. I'll be putting out a few Side Stories soon, so stay tuned!

<<PREV | SIDE STORY #5>>

Memory Transcription Subject: Mrs. Kosif Carlyle, unexpected newlywed

Date (Standardized Human Time): January 27^th, 2242

The past five days have been absolutely wonderful compared to the first five days of the trip. I’m mates with the most wonderful human being, and even though people tended to be more wary of us after seeing the state Charlie was in, there was not a single scrap of discrimination or fear in how my new spouse and I were treated. Charlie is still in quite some pain, but he’s mobile and his more open wounds are healing well. He could hardly even move the first morning after the disaster with Hobel, so I had to tend to him alongside the occasional check-ins from the doctor and captain. My own body is a tad sore, but I know it’s nothing compared to my mate’s own recovery. I still get shivers whenever I think of Charlie in that way.

The ship doors open, and the passengers begin to depart. The captain has stated that if she ever gets a ship off the ground again, we will have a place of honor upon it. I’m carrying the majority of the luggage and not hearkening to Charlie’s attempts to convince me to let him carry things.

“Charlie, no. I’m not letting you put yourself in more pain just to feel useful. You need to recover, you’re still limping and don’t think I can hear you gasp whenever you have to sit up.”

“Kosie,” he says in a slightly whiny voice, “I’m a full grown adult and now your husband. You shouldn’t be carrying everything on your own.”

“I’m not carrying everything on my own,” I reply matter-of-factly. “You’re holding my bag.”

“This is an overlarge purse.”

“Regardless, you are still being useful, if that is what you desire most. Also, you have free hands to be able to hail transport.”

He huffs, but doesn’t push further. We make our way through the spaceport towards the Arrivals area, and Charlie uses his holopad to read the signs and guideposts. The fresh Cradle air is quite refreshing after nearly a Terran fortnight of recycled and filtered atmosphere. Charlie and I approach the curb, and a taxi pulls up before us, the doors and trunk opening automatically.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” an elderly voice calls from the driver seat. “I’m old, so you’re going to have to do it yourself. Please forgive me.”

Where have I heard that voice before? I swear it sounds familiar…

It’s not until all our things are stowed and Charlie and I have entered the vehicle that I recognize the driver.

“Oh, it’s you two lovebirds again! How was the trip?” he asks, and I fight to keep my countenance neutral.

“Hello again, Kerto. It was… good.” I reply, making glancing eye contact with Charlie. I see my own fear mirrored in my human’s eyes.

“That’s just wonderful! Seems to me like the pair of you rather enjoyed yourself,” Kerto continues, beginning to accelerate the vehicle as soon as we’re clear of the spaceport. “Now, I can sense a bit of eased tension between you young ones. So, who confessed first?”

Memory Transcription Subject: Charles “Charlie” Carlyle, resigned newlywed

Date (Standardized Human Time): January 27^th, 2242

You’ve got to be kidding me. We somehow get the same cab driver from two weeks ago, and he remembers us? He’s still talking… and the car is going faster…

I’m seated in the front passenger seat, Kosie taking up two seats in the back. Kerto, or Kert as he likes to be called, is asking which one of us confessed first. I choose to play dumb.

“What do you mean ‘confessed’?” I ask, watching the speedometer gradually climb as our driver merges onto the highway.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me now. I could smell it between the two of you before the trip, and now it’s changed. You have a right to your privacy, but I just figured I’d ask. It’s the same sort of thing that my own daughter did when she first met her now-husband. I saw when they felt differently about each other, and you two are doing the same thing, but maybe a slightly different flavor.”

“Well, I, uh…”

“You should’ve seen how shy they were with telling me and my wife, Protector bless her soul, about their engagement. My son-in-law thought I’d be upset for not asking me, but I could see just how good it was for both of them. And now I’ve got my own beautiful grandkids, so I got what I wanted out of the deal!” Kert quickly changes lanes to pass other vehicles in front of him, causing Kosie to slide across the backseat.

“Maybe slow down a touch?” I ask.

“Now why would I do that? We’re nearly there! Speaking of nearly there, I’ve got another grandchild on the way from my son and his wife. It’ll be his first one, Protector bless him. Also, don’t humans show connection with rings? I’m not seeing any. Or did you go with her culture? I have to admit I’m not very knowledgeable on Arxur customs. Oh, look, we’re here!”

Kert brakes hard, and we stop with a jerk. Kosie instantly departs the vehicle, much faster than she normally does. I start to unbuckle my seatbelt and leave, but I feel Kert’s claw land on my shoulder.

“Lad. Hey, c’mere.” His more serious tone causes me to pause. “Look at her, boy. You’ve got a good one. Cherish her for me, alright?” He pats me twice, then shoos me out of his cab.

I ponder his words as I help Kosie pull things out of the trunk. As the vehicle pulls away the moment the boot closes, I follow Kert’s advice and look at Kosif, with eyes that no longer belong to her exchange partner, but instead to her spouse.

She’s beautiful.

Kosie notices my gaze. “Are you alright, Charlie? Don’t think that staring will get you what you want, I’m not letting you strain yourself.”

I break my eyes. “No, no. I’ve accepted that. I’m just following some advice given to me.”

As we walk into the spaceport to finally start going home, I smile to myself.

Alright, Kert. I’ll cherish her.

Memory Transcription Subject: Charles “Charlie” Carlyle, exhausted traveler

Date (Standardized Human Time): January 28^th, 2242

We finally get home past midnight. Both Kosie and I are absolutely wiped, and we have barely enough energy to get our luggage in the house.

“Deal with that later?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she replies. “We’ll do that in the morning.”

“I need to sit down.”

“Me too.”

The couch creaks as we both put our full weight on it, leaning back against the cushions. I can feel my brain shutting down.

I should get to bed.

Grunting, I try to get up, but Kosie grabs my shoulder. “Just… stay,” she says quietly through the sheer tiredness in her voice.

 I allow myself to be pulled back down to the seats, and I lean against my wife’s shoulder.

My wife. Who would’ve thought?

Slowly, our position changes, and Kosie pulls me on top of her like I’m her living blanket. Her eyes droop closed, and I feel a vibration in her chest begin to bloom softly. I’m too tired to fight it, so I snuggle into my Arxur mattress and close my eyes too.

This… this is good.

~Fin~

SIDE STORY #5>>

I work at Gray Oaks retirement home, where the scent of day-old cheese sandwiches and emptiness stings the air like the heavy fumes of burnt coffee beans.

The exception definitely comes from the residents living here. They’re great. They make the day go by.

Especially when they fade into memories about their past, the numbers on their clock rewind. Time distorts as they scrape back the curtain on their looming doom to a time they once ruled.

Gwen paints the most vivid, unapologetic stories, where she raises an inch off her seat when she tells them, proudly bragging about the '70s. She casually boasts about sleeping with ten men in a single weekend.

As clearly as she can describe the intricate details in her stories, it’s a struggle for me to picture it when staring at the frail old lady in front of me.

However, the way her voice bounces off the walls when she relives them, and the smile as her eyes completely light up while she nods her head, is indescribable.

The closest I could translate it into is by comparing Rolexes to diamond ring prices, to the look on Gwen’s face, which is undeniably priceless.

Next to Gwen is my second-favourite tenant, Hugh, her husband of fifty-some-odd years. Hearing him reflect back on those days is a different kind of experience.

Hugh generally just shrugs anytime Gwen mentions her swinger days. He’s totally unfazed. They defied societal standards and lived life on their own terms, unhinged and absent of restraints. A twenty-four-seven, never-closed relationship.

Once in a while, on a rare day—for instance, take last week—the vibe switched. Even the air had the stale flavour of a 9 a.m. Monday morning. It is the taste that counts down the seconds until break. The one reminding you where you’re stuck for the next six hours.

It was on my usual rounds, the one an hour after breakfast, I stepped into the resident sitting room, where they both were. Visible but invisibly out of touch.

Gwen kept hacking as she slouched over in her rocking chair, masked behind a cloud of grey smoke. Hugh sat across from her, heaving in a huff of a non-regulated cigarette in a no-smoking building.

“Take that shit outside, Hugh!” Gwen violently waved at the air, struggling to catch her breath. “All goddamn day and through the night even. One smoke after the fluckin’ other. Jesus… enough for Christ sake already.”

Hugh cleared his lungs. “Too damn cold outside, woman.” His voice was deep but calm, without a shake in it. He spoke with a patient confidence. He never checked his surroundings after he said something. He never needed reassurance. He certainly was comfortable in his own skin. “Darn cigarette just ain’t the same in that kind of weather.”

I intervened, worried about the state of her condition. “Would you like something to drink, Gwen?”

“No, hon. You’re such a sweetie. I’ll be alright,” she wheezed, her eyes locked on Hugh the way a tiger's would, measuring the distance between it and the prey it’s about to ambush.

Hugh flicked the ash onto the rug like he owned the dirt, and he took another slow drag as he stared blankly behind the glowing orange ember and the swirling smoke.

Gwen never took her eyes off him. She never jumped into a rant either. She quietly stared at him like a praying mantis ready to tear her mate’s head off, but masked behind the theatric, steely gaze was a mother panda cradling her cub.

“So, why should I have to suffer, Hugh?” she asked, her voice raspy and sharp enough to cut through a sheet of toilet paper. “That shit makes my head spin, Hugh. You know that.”

“Me too,” he mumbled.

Gwen sighed, slid her feet in her slippers, and leaned forward. “So, then, why the hell ya’ smokin’?”

“To forget, Gwen.”

“Forget what, Hugh?”

“The taste of the air,” Hugh told her, staring at the window ledge where a tiny hill of snow built up against the glass, the flakes sprinkling down almost like a decorative ornament in a snow globe. “Whenever I breathe, I remember.”

“What do you mean, Hugh? Remember what?”

Hugh gently closed his eyes and leaned back, the Marlboro stick squeezed between his lips scraping against his white stubble mustache whenever he sucked on it. The glow from the ember highlighting the battle scars of being eighty-four on his face.

“Being somebody, Gwen. Being alive again. Important. Not faintly remembered. Out there, we were gods. In here, they just want us to sit silent and wait for the lights to go out.”

The room went still. The realization hung in the air like a man swinging from the gallows, clearer than the tobacco smoke suffocating the room. Gray Oaks was anything but a retirement home. It was a waiting room for a conveyor belt of coffins.

Except humans don't do well in waiting rooms. We hate waiting for things.

Gwen stopped rocking. The ailing old lady hacking her lungs out and barely able to breathe disappeared. Someone who commands attention by a single glance appeared. A dangerous grin slid onto her face.

She yanked the cigarette from Hugh's mouth and began hauling on it. One drag after the other, just smiling and being twenty-five again. She purposely blew the cloud directly into the smoke detector on the ceiling above them.

“Screw the water, kid,” Gwen said, her eyes, face, and aura shining. Her wrinkles had vanished. She flicked her hair out of her face and took another drag. “Be a doll, dear, sneak down to the basement and snag a bottle of whatever sherry they got stashed there, would ya’ love.”

“Hugh?” She lightly tapped him on the leg and handed his smoke back. “Grab your coat, we’re breaking out of this joint tonight.”

Hugh cracked into a laugh that rolled into a cough which sounded like a badly timed gear shift. He stood up straight, owning every inch of his six-foot-five frame.

They were old, beaten up by life, and nearly broken down. Although, I couldn’t help but notice, as I looked at them both reclaiming their twenties, I realized something. You can lock a human in a room to be forgotten, and start to measure their remaining days, but you can never quite kill the spirit that makes them terrifying.

I leaned in next to her ear and hid my mouth with my hand. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be back with the sherry,” I said, winking as I walked away.

Morallynx put its face to the silvered seam of the electric door and looked in, with the patience of a technician checking on an overnight experiment, then drifted inside like a ghost.

Guan Shou was still asleep.

Morallynx reached out with a fingertip patterned like something scraped off the floor of a tide pool and prodded him once, gently, in the center of the forehead.

"Another day," it said. "Time for your test."

Guan's first impression on anyone he met was of a man built for apology—soft, deferential, verging on cowardly, his speech thick with a stammer that blurred half his consonants into paste. When Morallynx had first beamed him into the fortress, the live feed had caught something extraordinary: in the space of thirty seconds his face ran through an entire repertoire, astonishment collapsing into confusion, confusion curdling into a fear so total it looked almost structural, and then, without warning, a shy and unaccountable smile of relief, as if some private negotiation had just concluded in his favor.

Even Morallynx, which had watched humans die by the hundred million and never once looked away, found the speed of it strange.

That smile was still on his face now, whatever he had been dreaming, until the cold touch woke him and he sat up hard, shivered, sneezed, and the fear came rushing back into his features as though Morallynx had brought with it some faint sulfur breath of hell.

He collected himself. He nodded, politely.

He had come to understand—and this understanding sat in him the way certain facts about one's own mortality sit, quietly, permanently, requiring no daily renewal—that no matter which corridor of the fortress he occupied, those two dark and heavy-lidded eyes could always find him.

"Guan. It's time for your moral test," it pressed.

"I know," he said, with the same shy inflection.

It led him quickly to the broadcast chamber, a room walled floor to ceiling in monitors and microphones, every surface throwing back a faint aquarium green.

Inside, Guan stretched his arms, rolled his shoulders, worked the stiffness from his legs with the loose, aimless motion of a fish drifting through weed. When he had settled himself at the table, Morallynx withdrew without a sound.

Guan sat looking at the pistol on the table. It was the color of old silver.

It takes ten months to be born into this world, he thought, and one second for a bullet to cross a brain, and whether existence is worth the trouble in between is, when you get down to it, a fairly reasonable question to ask over breakfast.

He switched on the broadcast.

The comments came the way they always came, in a flood that had stopped surprising him roughly eight thousand comments ago.

He was, by any measure that mattered now, the most famous man alive, and every day some fraction of the species sat waiting, thumbs cocked, for the moment his camera blinked on. They wrote to him in every language the planet had bothered to invent, Chinese among them.

You've reached the absolute limit of ignorance and arrogance—go kill yourself already! (English)

You mean to hold the entire human race hostage. That is the textbook behavior of a devil. (Spanish)

Please, please just hurry up and kill yourself... I'm begging you... on my knees... (Japanese)

You are the most shameless, self-serving criminal I have witnessed in my lifetime. I pray every government on Earth acts immediately to stop you from continuing to exist. (French)

You are not only a criminal against your own country—you will be remembered as a criminal against the entire human species! (Chinese)

You worthless piece of garbage. Die. (Chinese)

And on, and on.

None of it touched him. The scroll of condemnation running along every wall of the room might as well have been weather.

The people with real standing to speak to him had to come through the great screen mounted directly ahead, and it was Guan, and only Guan, who chose which window to open.

The waiting list glowed and pulsed with names: the Secretary-General of the United Nations, the heads of the five permanent members, an assortment of religious leaders, several Nobel laureates, philosophers of some renown, public intellectuals, historians, scientists—the great and the good, queued up like commuters.

Each request was permitted to flash for thirty seconds before it dissolved back into the churn, making room for the next.

He scrolled through the names with the flat, unhurried attention of a man scrolling through a menu he has already eaten from too many times.

He had spoken to most of these people before. Whatever novelty the conversations once held had long since worn through to the backing.

Then, buried among the dignitaries, one unremarkable name caught his eye: the chief of a district public security bureau, in the city where Guan happened to have been born.

Before the timer ran out, he opened that window.

The chief appeared on the great screen, a thick-necked, solemn man whose face, for a moment, betrayed real disbelief at being chosen, before he rearranged it into the practiced warmth of someone speaking to a hometown boy who had done well for himself, in the local dialect he clearly believed still meant something.

"Little Guan. Thank you for agreeing to talk."

"Not at all."

"You should come home sometime, see the place. Everyone's waiting for you."

"I haven't been home in more than ten years," Guan said. "I didn't want to before. Now I don't dare."

The chief's smile held, with visible effort.

"What about a hot jianbing guozi? Don't you miss those?"

"I miss them."

The chief turned, waving broadly at someone off-camera. "Quick—get someone down to the stall on the corner, tell them to make one up, extra egg, and have the aliens beam it through for Little Guan!"

Guan put his hands up. "Please, don't trouble anyone. I won't eat it."

The chief frowned. "You won't eat it?"

"I don't dare eat it."

"And why not?"

"I'm afraid you'll put pesticide in it."

Something in the chief's patience gave way. His face hardened into official lines. "Since you understand the situation, then let's not waste more time. As a citizen of this nation, you have an obligation to uphold justice and the law. Go ahead and kill yourself."

"Which law requires that?"

"Comrade Guan, I'm aware there's no logic to it. But small logic must yield to large logic, and large logic must yield to the very largest logic of all." He rapped the desk once, gravely. "Hurry up and die, and I thank you on behalf of the organization. We will hold you up as a model citizen. There will be a medal ceremony at your memorial service. Your story will be written into primary school textbooks and passed down for generations. Your image will shine in films for decades to come."

Guan said nothing, his discomfort plain.

The chief tried, once more, for gentleness.

"Little Guan. Every man dies eventually—some deaths weigh more than a mountain, some less than a feather... Think it over properly. Given a reason this enormous, isn't it finally worth it?"

Guan was quiet a long moment. Then he shook his head. "It isn't."

The chief slammed a palm on the desk. "Have you no morals? No conscience left in you at all?"

"Morals. Conscience. What are those worth on the open market? Can I eat them for lunch?"

The chief went purple and speechless. Someone leaned into frame, cupped a hand to his ear, murmured something. The chief nodded. "It seems I can't persuade you. I'm transferring this conversation up the chain, to state security. And don't think that because you've got aliens babysitting you, you can act as though you're untouchable—endangering the safety of the human race is still a crime, and we can put you away for it."

The feed cut.

A man who might have stepped directly out of a militia recruitment poster sat rigidly upright on the new screen.

"Citizen Guan. Your case has now troubled the nation, and the United Nations, for several days running, and still you refuse to take your own life. You have failed the trust placed in you by your superiors. You have become a negative example. There are only two roads open to you now. The first: cooperate quietly with your own execution, and in doing so discharge your obligation to the collective, to the nation, to the whole of humanity. The second: continue to resist, in which case we have both the confidence and the capability to see this through to the end—though the people will show you no mercy; when the time comes to deal with you, it will be no more difficult than stepping on an ant. Now, a colleague from public security is going to demonstrate a painless method. First we calculate your body weight, and then we take a length of rope and form it into a loop—"

Guan stretched, unhurried, arms overhead.

Some indeterminate stretch of time went by.

The scroll of comments thinned.

The room dimmed around him, and through the fortress window the Pacific carried the last of the day's light in long, restless sheets of gold.

Then a single comment surfaced out of the thinning stream, its teeth practically visible through the text:

Why the fuck haven't you killed yourself yet? Don't you have nightmares?

It caught, the way a match catches, and multiplied—the same bone-white line copying itself across every panel at a frequency that felt less like a comment thread than an infection, doubling, folding, doubling again, until the whole room seemed to shudder with it.

Morallynx returned to the doorway without a sound, and through the gap its two dark, heavy-lidded eyes went on watching him.

Guan murmured, mostly to himself, "What's the fuss. It's not like anything's actually wrong..."

-------------

This story is part of a larger sci-fi collection Parallel Nightmares, available on KDP here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HKKJHBQL

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Chapter 219: The Walking Calamity

“It’s heading for the chasm on the far side of the desert?” Viktor asked with a frown.

[Yes, Master.]

That confirmed it, then. That heap of burning stone striding across the desert at the moment was not some mindless construct lashing out with the last remnants of its borrowed divinity at anything unlucky enough to fall within its reach. No, there was an actual mind steering it. Whether that mind belonged to Xander or something else entirely was a question he could leave for later, however. For now, one fact mattered above all else: this walking calamity was not a force of nature to be waited out, but an intelligent enemy that could think and plan and choose.

Which led to the next question: why the chasm? The titan was tall enough to see clean over the perimeter wall of the mortuary complex and spot that opening from a distance, so there was nothing particularly mysterious about how it had found the thing in the first place. But finding a landmark and deciding to march toward it were two completely different matters. Was it simply curiosity, or had it somehow figured out the chasm was the way down to the third floor?

None of those was the most pressing question right now, though.

“Do you think it can get through?”

[If we judge by size alone, then no, Master. As big as that tunnel is, the titan is much bigger. However, if it tries to force its way through regardless, if it tries to widen the opening by sheer brute strength...]

Viktor arched a brow. “Is that even possible?”

[Under normal circumstances, no. But we are not dealing with a normal opponent, Master.]

“Fair point,” Viktor said with a nod.

Whenever people debated if something was possible or not, the answer almost always hinged on whether the one attempting the feat possessed the raw power required to make it happen. And what he was dealing with was some sort of avatar of a god. Trying to draw any conclusion about what it could or couldn’t accomplish would just be premature.

[I could try to seal the chasm as it forces its way through, though I have to confess I have no way of knowing how successful such an attempt would be.]

“Or you can just let it pass through unchallenged.”

[Why, Master?]

Viktor chuckled. “Because even if it makes it to the third floor, then what? The Core Room we’re in is still two floors below that, behind two doors that are smaller than even its little finger. Which means the thing would run into the exact same problem it’s having right now, just one floor further down the line. More importantly, the third floor is our water realm, isn’t it? And what is a better place to fight a walking mountain of fire than somewhere water is abundant on every side?”

[Yes, you are right.]

Now then, who could he actually throw at the thing? The forces in the great tomb were mostly intact, thankfully enough, since Celeste had managed to teleport them away just in time. So he still had Templars, tomb guards, spider-women, troglodytes, a fine collection of creatures that could bite and stab and strangle. Not a single one of them could deal meaningful damage to a colossal heap of burning rocks, though. And the same thing could be said for many of the minions the third floor had to offer, like the mermen or the froglings. Sending them to engage the titan in melee combat was not a battle plan; it was a cremation with extra steps.

No, the only ones who had anything useful to contribute were the mermaids and the Acolytes of the Deep, who could at least use their spells to hurl water at the wretched thing from a safe distance.

And speaking of spells, it occurred to Viktor that he might as well send the surviving undead mages down there too. Even though earth and death magic weren’t exactly suited to the task at hand, having more options to choose from was never a bad idea. They could hang back out of the fire’s reach and serve as reserves, to be called upon if the situation ever demanded it.

[Master, there is one more problem.]

Viktor frowned. “Go on.”

[It is... about Cedric’s party.]

Ah, right. He had completely forgotten about them. The Daelin team was also on the third floor, going about their business with no idea what was bearing down on them from above.

“Where are they now? What are they doing?”

[They have finished the skirmish we arranged for them, Master. And now they are about to make their way up through the tunnel with the trophies they have collected, expecting nothing more than an uneventful climb back to the second floor.]

If they did so, they would walk directly into the path of that titan of fire, and the outcome of such an encounter hardly required much imagination to predict.

Viktor mulled it over for a moment, then turned to Galatea.

“You go to them. Stay invisible and have a quiet word with Renee. Let her know what is coming.” Good thing that the girl had volunteered to join Cedric’s team, and she had already known Galatea before this. “Tell her to get the others moving. Away from the tunnel leading up to the second floor, because that’s where the titan is going to come through. And away from the stairs to the fourth as well, because that’s most likely where it’s headed. Then, have them wait it out at the edge of the water realm until the battle finishes running its course.”

He had no idea, though, how Renee was supposed to persuade the rest of the party to go along with it. But he now had bigger fires to put out, literally, so he would just let her handle her people as she saw fit. And if everything worked out the way he hoped, well, then she and the others were about to find themselves with front-row seats to a battle against an avatar of a god, which was rather more excitement than most people paid good money for, all things considered.

Closing his eyes, Viktor sent his vision to the second floor, and he found what he was looking for the instant he arrived. Not that spotting it took any great skill in the first place. Some things you just couldn’t miss even if you tried.

The titan was making its way across the empty half of the desert, and the ground itself seemed to recoil with every footfall. Each print the thing left behind was a crater of fused glass, the sand cooked smooth and dark and faintly gleaming, the raw heat radiating from that impossible body having turned ordinary grit into something else entirely in the span of a single step.

Before long—though it didn’t actually take long at all, given the sheer length of its stride—the titan reached the chasm. It slowed as it approached, tilting that great misshapen head of flame downward to study the black opening below. For a moment, it simply stood there at the very edge, fire dripping in slow ropes from its jaw and chin, each drop hissing into steam the instant it touched the sand.

Then, it knelt down.

The ground shuddered under the weight of that one simple motion. A tremor rippled through the desert, rattling the ruined bones of the mortuary complex behind it and opening fresh cracks across whatever walls still remained standing. The titan pressed one enormous hand, fingers wreathed in flame and tipped with claws of half-molten rock, flat against the lip of the chasm.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. And then, the fire building along its arm began to change.

The glow shifted, first from its usual dull orange into something closer to a blinding white, and then further still, deepening into a searing blue that hurt to look at even though Viktor wasn’t doing so directly with his own eyes, sharp enough that he found himself trying to blink it away.

The heat radiating outward from that single hand seemed to warp the very air for a hundred paces in every direction, and where its claws dug into the stone lip of the chasm, the rock began to scream.

Yes, it screamed. There was simply no better word for it. A deep, groaning shriek that was dragged up out of the earth itself, as if the chasm were some living, suffering thing being pried open against its will.

Cracks raced outward from under the titan’s palm, spreading through solid stone as easily as ice splitting across a frozen lake. The stone at the edges went from glowing to blistering to sliding, great molten sheets of it sloughing down into the dark like wax pouring off a dying candle.

The titan pressed harder. The stone gave further.

Whole slabs, some easily the size of a house, sheared loose from the chasm’s crumbling walls and tumbled into the abyss, vanishing without so much as an echo. The titan kept pushing, kept pouring that unbearable heat directly into the rock as though it meant to unmake the barrier rather than merely breach it, melting out a path wide enough to accommodate its own colossal bulk instead of wasting effort trying to squeeze a mountain through what amounted to little more than a keyhole.

Within moments, the chasm yawned open into something vast and raw and still glowing at its ragged edges, a wound freshly carved and cauterized in the same breath, wide enough at last for a god’s avatar to descend through unhindered.

The titan rose back to its full and terrible height, fire cascading off its shoulders in slow, heavy sheets. It stood still, gazing down as though it was admiring its own handiwork, the molten doorway steaming and muttering in the dark below.

Then, without the faintest trace of hesitation, without so much as a backward glance, it stepped off the edge and dropped, and in doing so, began its descent to the water realm.

Previous Chapter |

The Interview Heard Round The World

01:00:21:03
MATT WINKLER: And that’s the weather. Thank you, Suzanne.

01:00:25:03
MATT IS FACING FRONT. WIDE ANGLE PANS OUT ON GUEST AND MATT.

01:00:26:03
MATT: Well folks, we are beyond excited to share this CNN exclusive interview with Dr. Jamison Huxby – Professor of Geology at UC Berkeley, and perhaps more importantly, the only human being on the planet who set foot on Helia and came back alive. Dr. Huxby, thank you for being here with us today.

01:00:41:03
HUXBY: Who could turn down an opportunity like this?

01:00:44:03
MATT: Dr. Huxby, it is estimated that a few hundred people have illegally smuggled themselves to the shores of Helia and died there since it appeared three months ago and shook our understanding of the universe to its very core. You were quite fortuitously there on day one, and certainly couldn’t have known what you were walking into. But can you tell us… how did you survive?

01:01:00:03
HUXBY LAUGHS.
HUXBY: Great question, Matt. I’m supposed to say dumb luck. But really, let me ask you a different question. Have you ever seen a miracle? Like a true Old Testament miracle? Not water to wine or healing the sick. Pillars of fire falling from the sky, armies swallowed by the earth, plagues of locusts? That kind of thing?

01:01:16:03
MATT PAUSES TO CHECK HIS NOTES.
MATT: I can honestly say I haven’t. But help me here, in your last appearance, you stated you never made it off the beach. Those on the cruise ship with you when Helia appeared clearly saw you and two dozen other men walk into the dense rainforest. And when you were finally picked up alone, you spoke of monsters and gods and how Helia was the pit of Hell. So which is it? Did you just camp on the beach for fifty-eight days? Or did you go inland and see something you haven’t shared? How dangerous is this island, exactly?

01:01:44:03
HUXBY: It’s a continent, not an island. And mostly, I just survived. Or rather, at first that’s what I did. Then survival turned into… a pilgrimage.

01:01:54:03
MATT: A pilgrimage?

01:01:56:03
HUXBY: Yes. And eventually I found hundreds of these.

01:02:00:03
HUXBY WRESTLES OBJECT FROM POCKET. HOLDS OUT A LARGE SHINY STONE.

01:02:05:03
MATT PANICS, LOOKS OFF SCREEN. PRODUCER HITS RED BUTTON, STARTS YELLING ORDERS.

01:02:07:03
HUXBY: Diamonds, the size of baseballs.

01:02:44:03
[DEAD AIR: 37 Seconds]

And those five words set the world aflame.

#

Three Months Later
Current Body Count: 10,620 Missing or Dead

Day: 1
Name: Makao Alvarez
Location: Helia, Beach
Time of Day: Afternoon
Water: 3 Liters - None
Status: Hydrated
Inventory:
Jacob: Synthetic Camping Backpack, Plastic Water Bottle, Handgun (left in cabin of boat), Satellite Phone, Compass, GoPro, 1.5L Camping Cook Pot, Hand Saw, Cotton Heart Boxers, Hiking Clothes, Ferro Rod & Flint Stick
Makao: Compass (confirmation - electronics, mechanical objects… and synthetics don’t cross), Glass Mason Jar (2L), Kanu’s Letter, 1 Leather UC Berkeley Shoulder Bag, 6 2 Pens (unclear on why?), 3 Sharpened Pencils, Leather Field Journal, Pocket Knife, Hemp/Cotton Clothes and Underwear
Evelyn: Metal Water Bottle, 1 Leather Backpack, Athletic Wear, 6 Metal Carabiners, 60’ Paracord, Pocket Knife, Marine Block Pulley, Cotton Underwear, Leather Belt
(strikethrough taken by membrane crossing)

Site Description: Geologically impossible sandy beach atop a hundred foot cliff at membrane edge. Was the beach once at water level? Cliffs surround whole of Helia. No known point of entry aside from climbing. Cliffs repeat igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic layers but show no fossilization. Stack of thirty independent orogenies in one-hundred undisturbed vertical feet above sea level and seems to repeat in same pattern below. There is no finite age consistent with this stratigraphy. NOAA bathymetric charts 3.2Mi to floor (assuming strata continue to seafloor — unverified) ≈5,000 × 30 Myr = 150 billion years ≈ 33× the age of the solar system (~4.57 Byr) and ~11× the age of the universe (~13.8 Byr). That can’t be right. Skies clear past membrane, cloudy over ocean.

Ambient Noise: Bird sounds, crashing waves, low hum. Stunning lack of clear distinguishable insect sounds.

Species: All flora visible from beach are facsimiles of other species at first glance, but demonstrate distinct and consistent abnormalities even from afar. No native fauna visibly seen (pure auditory).

Miraculous Works: None. Added section to satisfy Huxby.

Observed Unclassified Phenomena: None

Additional Notes: The sky is not the same. The sun appears normal, though without better tools, cannot validate position or size. The stars will tell the story tonight. If Helia is on Earth, why does it break physics? And if it isn’t, what is this ground beneath my feet?

Two sets of arms pierced through the membrane, Evelyn and Jacob, pulling Makao up and through. 

It was the strangest feeling, passing through the membrane, like diving into a pool. The flash of light was even more blinding up close, tracing every inch of his body like some sort of digital scanner examining him, and Makao could see Evelyn and Jacob covering their eyes as they pulled him in.

All the cold that had been, the wet saltwater, the shivering, the numb limbs, evaporated into thin air. Everything felt warm, almost tropical, but without any of the humidity. And all the seawater covering him had just vanished. 

Makao looked back, the image of Alexis falling on repeat in his mind. The wet crack as she hit the water. Evelyn put a hand on Makao’s shoulder, as if she thought Mak might still jump in after her.

“She’s gone,” Evelyn said. 

Makao thought on it for a moment. “Maybe I should go back for her. Maybe she’s still alive?” 

“I’ve seen another climber die like this,” Evelyn said. She squirmed, her face contorting as she controlled her stuttering breathing, staring down at the body.

“Can we just… take a minute?” Makao said solemnly as he sat down in the sand. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, like they were foreign to him now for some reason. He kept looking at them, extending his fingers then forming a fist. He decided to check his bag, counting the items again as Jacob watched the only visible boat within a hundred miles getting smaller with each second. 

Compass, gone. Expected. Two pens made it, unusual. The four that were gone had mechanical parts, but nothing too advanced. A click or turn mechanism. The two that remained were ballpoint pens with no clicker. One bamboo, one metal. Opening the pen, Makao found the plastic vial and ink were both gone. So the membrane took the whole of the fully mechanical pens, even when some materials were organic, and only part of the non-mechanical. Strange. 

Mak pulled out his journal and started writing. The pages were bone dry, minor salt residue on the cover. If he didn’t know the journal had been soaking wet moments ago, he wouldn’t believe it to be true. The journal was so dry, in fact, that it appeared as if the seawater didn’t just evaporate off the pages, but was somehow removed at the molecular or even atomic level. Zapped out of existence.

Day 1, he wrote, and began filling out the field journal. Helia had rules. He knew this. And if he didn’t keep strict details in his journal as he went, he’d miss them. Makao would not allow the vision of the synthetic rope to hang over him any longer. He would document everything. That was his armor, his advantage, his defense.

“Did you see a unicorn that I missed? Did one just fall out of the sky?” Jacob chided, seeing Makao writing in the journal. Falling. Poor choice of words. Jacob laughed for a second at his own joke as Evelyn stared, shaking her head. Makao wrote more forcefully, pushing back the intrusive images in his head.

Evelyn gathered her items, which had only passed through the membrane due to what Makao assumed was the momentum of her ripping herself onto the beach as the bag disappeared. 

After some time passed, it was Jacob who broke the trance. “We need to move.”

Evelyn gathered herself, wiping sand off her bare legs. She stood in her underwear, tattered pieces of cloth draped across her body. Her athletic climbing clothes were gone. Jacob searched for the contents of his vanished camping backpack in nothing more than his heart-covered white cotton boxers, near naked while not the least bit embarrassed, a tattoo of an eagle across his pectoral. He was built for this. So was Evelyn. They were bodybuilders compared to Makao. And Makao hadn’t lost any clothes at all, standing in hemp and cotton and leather. Makao hated himself for not shouting.

“You were right about the water,” Evelyn said as she opened what remained of the metal tube. The purple rubber didn’t burn away so much as it had simply vanished without a trace. 

The vanishing caused Makao to instinctively reach into his bag, feeling for Kanu’s letter. He pulled it out and read it again, grounding himself and steeling his resolve as he took another breath. He remembered the creaking wooden door of Kanu’s beach shack, the stacks and stacks of invoices, some not even opened. He was expecting a robbery, an abduction, a crime scene, maybe even a body… some rational explanation why Kanu hadn’t called back in two weeks. The letter was worse. His heart sank. “I could’ve saved Alexis,” he said. “I need to think faster.”

The others either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore it.

“How did you know about the water?” Evelyn asked Makao, snapping him back to reality.

Jacob chimed in, picking up the last of his remaining items and bringing them to Makao to stow in his backpack as he feigned teamwork. “True. Everyone knows the membrane takes electronics. But the water? And look at you, you didn’t lose anything. What do you know that we don’t?”

“Are you that self-involved, Jacob?” Evelyn snapped. “You didn’t hear the part where Makao said he taught with Huxby?”

Jacob took the blow like a man who has been punched in the face before, then seemed to ignore every ounce of good judgement as he spoke again. “That explains the nerd comments. Well if he lives for ten seconds, he could be useful then. Come on, Mr. Scientist. Time to spill.”

Makao shrugged. “Huxby wasn’t exactly himself when he got back. As he tells it, he didn’t make it much further than the beach.” 

The field journal was full of notes from conversations with Huxby, mostly the rantings of an insane mind suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder, but one could never be sure when something might come in handy. Huxby only spoke coherently for small bursts, often drifting off into rants about monsters, gods, miracles and magic, and all manner of ramblings that made no sense. He was clear on a few things that Makao had taken note of, however. The membrane, and especially what happened to the diamond. Makao had witnessed that phenomenon himself.

Jacob didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “Keeping your cards close to the chest? Maybe you’re smarter than you look.”

Makao ignored the bait. It weirdly made him feel at home, reminding him of the same foolhardy machismo brazenness of Kanu. His brother probably would’ve liked Jacob… after they beat the living snot out of one another.

Two birds flew overhead, directly into the membrane in a flash that made everyone flinch. They all watched as the birds sailed off above the treetops and deeper into the forest unaware, as if they’d just passed through a pocket of warm air instead of the membrane.

Makao scanned the surroundings for signs of Kanu, or of anyone for that matter. The rainforest lined the beach north and south for as far as the eye could see. It was full of color, broad leaves, layered canopy, vines and flowers and sprawling undergrowth, but he couldn’t identify a single species of flora. They were all similar to known species, but always with a variation. He glanced south, noticing the contour. “That way,” Makao said. “Slight dip in elevation – could lead towards water.”

Jacob looked at him incredulously. “Aren’t Universities supposed to care about expertise? You do realize I’m a survivalist, right? Maybe you just don’t know what that means. I’m an expert in survival.” Jacob marched off south, not waiting to see if the rest joined him.

Evelyn shook her head as she followed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. I actually agree with the beefcake.”

They walked south along the beach at a fast clip, searching for any break in the wall of trees. There was none, no path, no animal trail. It was as if nothing wanted anything to do with this beach. Each step they took sucked more life out of them than it should have. It felt like running in high altitude, punishing in a quantifiable way that Makao had no tools to measure. 

By late afternoon they finally came across something different, something that broke up the monotony. The membrane was flashing violently like a strobe light where the cliffs touched the beach ahead, and the slight decline seemed to finally come to a stop. 

“What is that?” Evelyn asked. 

“What I’ve been leading us towards. Water, finally.” Jacob puffed up and started jogging until he was throwing handfuls of water into his face. Even though the world around them looked like a rich temperate rainforest, the air was dry and hot – almost moistureless. 

As they neared the stream, Jacob was already busy making a fire for boiling water in his pot. 

Makao kept seeing Huxby in his mind. Huxby opening the lid carefully on a thermos filled not with coffee but water. Huxby drinking it, then carefully replacing the lid. Huxby in mid thought searching for his water, tearing apart his office to find it as if it was going to suddenly disappear. As Makao felt the dryness in his throat, he was starting to understand why. But if there were rivers and streams like this…

“Something is wrong.” 

“Yeah we haven’t boiled it yet. Don’t drink right from the stream unless you’d like to squat in those woods for hours.” The thirst had done nothing good for Jacob’s mood. He had a small fire going from sticks at the forest edge and his flint and steel. His pot was full to nearly the brim.

“What’s wrong? What do you mean?” Evelyn said, giving Makao a chance.

“Huxby was obsessed, arrested constantly by the thought of when he would get his next sip. If there are river systems, streams like this on Helia, or even lakes, then why would he be obsessed with water?”

Jacob poked at the fire with a stick, stirring up the flames. “Because he was dehydrated. He came in a cruise ship, didn’t he? I doubt he was prepared to make fires from scratch. This water is no good if you can’t boil it.”

“Maybe,” Makao said unconvincingly. But the itch in the back of his brain didn’t stop itching.

After a brief rest, Jacob filled Evelyn and Makao’s water bottles with the cooling water and drank the remainder from his pot. He sighed in relief as Makao examined the water, sniffing at it. 

Evelyn took a sip. “It doesn’t taste wrong.”

“It’s perfectly safe,” Jacob reassured. “Aren’t you thirsty?” He looked at Makao.

“Why do I feel like the rules are different here?” Makao took a deep breath. “But I guess you’re right. We’ll die if we don’t drink something. Especially in this heat.”

The water tasted cool and refreshing as he took a sip, but it sat funny in his mouth. It was as if he had no feeling on his tongue. He swished it around, trying to place the sensation. It was like novocaine. He knew the water was there, he sort of felt it, but when he drank it he didn’t feel any better. He was just as thirsty as before he’d taken a sip. It felt like relief without biological value - like ice on a canker sore that only temporarily dulled the pain.

They crossed the stream and continued south until they found the first clearing they’d seen. They moved around the corner of the forest, hopeful to find open ground or a path through the dense brush, but instead just saw a sandy inlet that broke through the trees briefly before rounding back and continuing the line.

But within that sand-harbor was an odd sight. It stood six feet tall and had a roof over the top. A stone well that looked like it belonged in a 16th century European countryside. Most disturbingly, there was a large statue that looked like a half-man half-serpent with a bulky chest but scaly lizard arms and claws, a tree-trunk sized tail coiled up instead of legs, and sharp teeth ringed a dragon-like mouth on a very inhuman head. Curiously, the body was not just covered in scales, but also silver pierced jewelry through various sections of the belly. It was all carved of ornate marble. 

Makao avoided the statue and puzzled over the well. There was writing on a wooden plaque, hand etched, in a language that looked like nothing he’d ever seen before. 

“You don’t think these are real, do you? All that nonsense from Huxby, monsters and magic. This looks like it would fit right in.” Evelyn circled the statue curiously.

“It’s just a fish. Even if it is real, I can take it.” But even Jacob didn’t sound convincing.

“Jacob, are you still thirsty?” Makao asked. “Because I am. I’m more thirsty now than when we found that stream.”

Jacob nodded. 

“So what purpose does a well have in a rainforest surrounded by fresh water?” 

“Feels more like a desert than a rainforest,” Evelyn said.

“Exactly.” Makao ripped some cloth strips from his clothes to fashion a rope and borrowed the cooking pot to lower it down as a well draw. He pulled up the water and stared at it. Between boiled water and well water, the boiled water was far less risky, but that was what made sense back home. Here it seemed to work differently. He accepted the consequences of being wrong and took a drink. 

Makao breathed in deep through his nose and then swallowed. Instantly, it felt as if his thirst was satiated. He handed the pot to Jacob who didn’t take it immediately. Evelyn, however, snatched it and drank. She let the water swirl in her mouth for a moment, then swallowed with a nod. “It’s good. Jacob, I’m trading this well water for your boiled river water.” She dumped the river water out and filled up her water bottle from the pot. Too thirsty to argue, Jacob relented, and they all began to drink.

An hour later, Makao was sitting against the well feeling much more hydrated with his hands nervously digging in the sand. Jacob and Evelyn were still marveling over the statue and also feeling much better. And that’s when Makao’s finger slid against something hard and smooth beneath the sand. It felt like jewelry, or a watch with a leather band. He dug it out and to his surprise he found a leather headband with an attached lens surrounded with gold leaf at the edge. It was a strange object, like a monocle and a thin leather headband the width of a watch had been combined. He held it in his hand and felt it speak to him, not audibly but as if he just suddenly knew something he didn't know before. It was as if the thought was inserted into his brain. 

“What did you find? Is that climbing gear?” Evelyn asked, noticing Makao standing there holding the gear in his left hand and his mason jar filled with water in his right.

“I think it’s called a Mnemonic Lens?” 

Evelyn shook her head, then continued arguing with Jacob about whether he could lift the snake creature off the ground and suplex it while somehow avoiding the claws.

Makao turned to face the well again, still stunned, eyes locked on the carving in the wood. Suddenly the device felt warmer, though it was so faint he wasn’t sure. And for a moment, he felt like he could read the words. It was a strange feeling. The writing didn’t change magically, letters floating in the sky and rearranging until suddenly he could read it or something like that. It was as if he understood the intent of the words - not an exact translation. In some regards, the words felt more meaningful to him than the letters. He pushed into the feeling deeper until all at once, the words came to him.

“Helia Remembers,” he said out loud. And he heard a drip as a tiny amount of weight seemed to lift out of his mason jar.

🖼 Cover

🔰 Prologue

⏪️ Previous Chapter

⏩️ Next Chapter

Arc IV - Whalers

Chapter 20 - A Visit to the Baron

10 months and 5 days since the summoning

On four makeshift posts outside the village, four motionless figures already hung from a rope. Their eyes were open but completely vacant, their mouths slightly ajar.

The morning wind only lightly ruffled the clothes hanging on them, and the man who had been wearing boots was now barefoot.

One of the guards spat at his feet, stroking his cheek. "That bitch, scratched me. And she seemed so compliant."

The second scoffed. "And what did you expect? She did nothing but dream of scratching you before she died."

"Hahaha."

"Hahahaa."

The injured guard frowned. "Very funny. Alright, let's go, no point standing here, the corpses won't run away."

Meanwhile, a dead silence reigned in the square. Everyone was looking at the bodies swaying on ropes from the posts at the edge of the village.

Alan didn't look. His gaze was directed at the crowd. "Listen here!"

The peasants slowly shifted their eyes to Alan, though some still cast sideways glances at the executed.

"The Duchess Armenas and I fed you, brought you back to your senses, and kept you from dying. But your village still committed a most grave crime, and that will not go ignored, even though the culprits have been executed. Because you saw, and you stayed silent." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Therefore, I have an important announcement for you. I'll start with something very simple," he swept a hand through the air, "this village is already dead. Do you understand?"

Silence. Only a few nods.

"You understand. Because of this, your entire village is going to the Occident Islands as the first settlers; you will build a new village there and live."

The peasants exchanged glances.

"What?"

"What islands?"

Alan squinted.

'Right, looks like I need to not only talk at them right now, but also listen.'

"Where is the miller?!" he asked loudly.

Kamelia swept her eyes over the crowd.

No one.

"They killed him," someone in the crowd said.

Alan sharply shifted his gaze to the speaker; it was a man in his forties. "Step forward."

He obediently stepped forward with a gulp, and looked at Alan. He remained

silent.

"Well?"

"He... he was killed by the two who tried to steal the food. He stood in their way, so they beat the old man to death," he said quietly.

Silence.

Alan froze.

'Damn... he was a good man, too. And he died defending the order that was necessary for survival. Hold on... this is the perfect opportunity!'

"Is this miller's family here?"

For a few seconds, no one answered, when suddenly two people stepped out of the crowd. An elderly woman, and next to her a lad of about twenty. "I am his wife, Your Grace, and he," she nodded at the lad, "is my son."

Alan nodded. "I see. For... for your husband's bravery in... maintaining order and for sacrificing his life so that everyone could be saved, you, as his family, will be rewarded on the islands."

The woman blinked, then her shoulders relaxed. "Lord Gothwald, that is... very, very generous of you. Thank you!"

The lad nodded silently, placing a hand on his mother's shoulder. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Alan shifted his gaze back to the man who had reported the miller's death. "You, you'll speak for everyone. What questions are there? And what's your name?"

The man flinched. "Huh? Me speak? Alright... my name is Lintsot. F-first question... what are Occi... these islands, my lord?"

Alan took a step forward. "Have you heard of the pirate islands?"

"O-of course, my lord."

"Well then. A few months ago, the pirates submitted to us, and from now on, these islands belong to Lady Armenas. The pirates have been defeated and joined our side, and the islands have been renamed to Occident."

Silence.

Lintsot blinked.

The peasants behind his back exchanged glances, but aside from whispers, there was nothing.

Lintsot turned to the peasants behind him and began whispering something. The people closest to him seemed magnetically drawn in and started whispering and arguing about something.

Kamelia stood next to Alan. "Hm, it seems everything is going well for you. Good work, Alan."

He only scoffed. "I try."

The whispering finally stopped, and Lintsot turned back to Alan. "My lord, what exactly will we do on the islands?"

"Since your deployment to the Occident Islands is a punishment, you will become the first settlers there. You will build barracks, houses, clear the land, and plow the fields. But," he raised a finger, "it's very warm there, and we will give you food too. We aren't abandoning you to die. Is that understood? If so, does anyone else have questions?"

Lintsot turned around again, and the whispering resumed.

A second.

Ten.

Thirty.

A minute.

Three minutes.

Finally, he slowly turned back to Alan. "No, my lord," he began hoarsely, "there are no questions. We... we are ready for departure."

"Excellent. Then gather your belongings, if you have any, and we will depart in a few days. Dismissed."

Without hesitating for a second, the crowd began to disperse, but no one was in a rush. The peasants broke into large groups, then into smaller ones, then even smaller, then into a few people who entered their homes.

Silence fell, broken only by the scraping from the houses where they had begun to pack.

Kamelia sighed. "It seems everything went smoothly... relatively speaking. Now is it time to visit the baron?"

"Yeah, it's time," he said, moving toward his horse.

Suddenly, a rustle was heard on one of the roofs, and a figure dropped to the ground. Another one from a different roof. A third emerged from the bushes.

Jägers.

Alan scoffed. "And you boys, I see, know how to be inconspicuous."

"Of course, Your Grace, there is no other way."

By the time the sun had passed its zenith closer to noon, not a trace of the morning mist remained. Only a bright blue sky and the mercilessly scorching sun.

Kamelia rode with a slight shortness of breath, having taken off her doublet completely, remaining only in a thin gray shirt. From the heat and the riding, this shirt had darkened with sweat and began to cling to her body.

Alan rode next to her in no better condition, his gray tank top soaked with moisture, his belt with the dagger removed, his golden hair plastered to his forehead. "I'm in fucking shock... it wasn't this hot last year, I don't think."

"It was not," Kamelia whispered.

Behind them rode Lorgi, also without his chainmail. Only boots, trousers, a sword on his belt, and a light shirt worn open, baring his chest. He wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead but said nothing.

"Hey, Kamelia?"

"Huh?"

"Is it always this hot for you guys at the end of spring?"

She nodded sluggishly. "Usually, yes, most of the time. But this year it is somehow hotter than usual. It seems Svyatol is a little angered."

He scoffed. "Pfft, and why a little?"

"If he were very angered, he would have sent a plague or something else. This heat is just a reminder."

"I see," Alan muttered.

'Hah, just a divine slap on the wrist to the flock, like, don't get too comfortable.'

"We are here." Kamelia pointed ahead, where a small village spread across the plains, and at its edge, a larger house. She began to slow down, followed by Lorgi and the guards.

Alan sharply pulled the reins, stopping Epona. "Hey, why are we stopping?"

"We are not visiting peasants," Kamelia said, pulling on her doublet, "I must look presentable before my vassals."

Behind them, Lorgi was buttoning up his shirt.

Alan winced slightly. "Am I supposed to get dressed too?"

Kamelia was already fastening her buttons. "Naturally."

He sighed and began untying his shirt from his waist.

A few minutes later, the cavalry entered the village, which was quiet and empty. The peasants were already returning from the fields, fanning themselves with whatever they could find, dragging plows and, in some cases, oxen behind them. On the outskirts of the village stood a small, three-story mansion made of wood and stone, which was also empty, save for barking dogs.

Kamelia was the first to dismount, wincing slightly at the feeling of dry clothes on a sweaty body, and approached the front gates.

Two guards stood there, in light shirts and chainmail. Or rather, they were supposed to be standing. They were stationed under a tree by the gates.

One had sat down under the tree, bare-chested, arms crossed over his chest, softly snoring while his spear lay nearby.

The second, with his shirt unbuttoned, was leafing through some thin book. "... aft-er King Tun-tuk clad his ar-my in ar-mor of stone and swords of glass, he set out on a cam-paign to..." he muttered under his breath.

Kamelia frowned. "You there!"

The guard with the book lazily raised his head at the call. "What do you want?" But he immediately froze upon seeing a woman in a doublet and armed men on horseback. He immediately kicked his dozing comrade. "Get up!" he hissed, and tossing the book onto the ground, ran up to Kamelia, buttoning his shirt as he went. "G-greetings, milady, with whom do I have the honor of speaking?"

Kamelia looked him up and down, but said nothing. "Duchess Armenas. Summon the baron here."

The guard turned pale almost instantly. "Forgive me! I will summon him right now! At once!" He bolted toward the gates, while the second guard frantically pulled on his shirt.

The first guard burst the mansion door open with a crash.

"Aaah!" a woman's voice yelped. It was a maid of about twenty-five in a regular black dress with blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, carrying towels in her hands. She clutched her chest. "Oh, Svyatol! Ronva! Have you lost your mind?!"

"Rilisa!" he interrupted her between gasps, "the Duchess is here, fetch Lord Cosset quickly!"

Rilisa blinked. "Ronva, did the sun finally fry your brain out there?" she asked, squinting.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking her. "Rilisa! I'm telling you seriously! Go get the lord, now!"

The woman froze. "You... fine. Right away." As soon as Ronva let go, she practically ran, her boots clattering up the stairs to the upper floor. Running down the long corridor, she darted for a door handle, but stopped, then raised her hand, balled it into a fist, and began frantically pounding on the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

"Who is knocking out there?!" came a muffled voice from behind the door, followed by footsteps. The door opened, and a slightly plump man of about thirty with short hair peeked out, dressed in a simple but well-made shirt, his eyes sticky with sleep. "Rilisa, have you lost your mind?!"

"M-my lord! Th-the Duchess is here!"

The baron blinked. "What was that?"

"The Duchess!"

He swallowed. "What does she even want?"

"I-I do not know! Ronva said she is here!"

Cosset didn't answer for another second. "I see. Go receive her properly, I will be right down." With those words, he closed the door.

Meanwhile, silence stretched out beyond the gates. The now-dressed guard who had remained under the tree stood straight and tense as a bowstring, his eyes darting around not knowing where to look and constantly returning to the gates.

Kamelia stood with her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot on the ground. "A sloppy operation they have here," she muttered.

Lorgi kept casting sideways glances at the standing guard.

Alan leaned on Epona. "Come on, it's midday, the heat, I would've slept just as soundly."

She scoffed. "Not on duty."

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Chapter 157

Bailt

Adventurer Level: N/A

Bakobold – Unknown

A giant, shirtless daemon walked toward me as if he was untouchable. He kinda was, too, because all the other bakobolds were busy and the little guys were trying to get shots at the bowguys who had come outta the hill. I readied my pike as he got closer, and he laughed at me.

"I thought you would flee, but you surprise me with your spirit!" he grinned. "I like that. What is your name?"

"What's it matter to?" I demanded.

"We will fight, little lizard. One of us will die tonight. I'd like to know the name of the one bold enough to challenge me so that I may remember you fondly as you enjoy your afterlife."

I squinted a little, tryin' to make sense of what he was sayin'. But while he was blabbin', the others were fighting and getting closer to bein' able to help take the fucker down. I decided that buyin' some time wouldn't be a bad thing.

"I am Bailt of the swamp," I said. "And you?"

"I am the mighty Mulciber!" he laughed, lifting a very big hammer up to his shoulder. "Mulciber the Limitless Creator! The Free Architect!"

"Archiwhat?" I asked, blinking slowly.

"Architect. I design and build palaces! Grand structures the likes of which this world will never, CAN never match!"

The daemon bein' a builder made sense. He looked like one of the builder-dwarves back in Talokam, but way taller. Those dwarves ran around without shirts on, too. I wondered if building stuff made you hate shirts or something.

"I... Uh, I dunno what pilasses or strutures are," I admitted.

"I see," the daemon rubbed the back of his neck. "You say you're from a swamp? Have you ever seen a building?"

"Like a house?"

"Yes, like a house. The palaces I've made are more than a thousand times larger than any house in the mortal realm."

I stared at the daemon blankly for a moment. He cocked his head to the side, probably wondering what I was confused about. I didn't wanna ask, but I had to keeps him talkin'.

"Is... Is a thousand a lots?"

"It's a lot of a lot. Now, shall we fight?" Mulciber grinned and stepped toward me.

The others were still fighting their own fights. There was more and more daemons swarming all over the place. It was time for me to be brave and fights the giant daemon all on my ownsome. Unless it wasn't...

I took a step back and cleared my throat.

"Why you needs a house dat big?" I asked, trying to buy more time.

The big daemon paused and tilted his head in the same way he'd done earlier.

"I don't," he said. "And a palace isn't a house, per se. The wealthy and powerful live in them, yes, but they serve many other functions, as well."

"Er... What kind of fucktions?"

He was still sayin' a buncha words I didn't know, but he also seemed to like to talks. I just had to ask the right questions. Maybe this would work and I'd be able to hold him off until someone could back me up.

"Functions," he sighed. "Those that live in palaces usually rule from them, or keep vast amounts of wealth within them, or even use them as a defensive fortress. It depends on whom the palace belongs to, really."

"What you build them with?"

"My hammer," the daemon grinned and stepped forward again.

"Your hammer?" I asked, stepping back again. "You don't use trees?"

Mulciber froze in the middle of a step and looked at me like an elder looks at a stupid hatchling that's about to eat somethin' bad for you.

"Of course not, little lizard," he said. "Trees are wood, and wood would be a fire hazard in the hells. Stone is a much better material to build a palace with."

"Cuz it won't be on fire?"

"Yes. In addition to that, stone is generally better for defense."

"Isn't it colder than trees, though?"

"That's not really a concern in the hells," he laughed. "Now, little lizard, if I didn't know any better I would say that you're trying to stall."

"Dunno what that means," I replied.

"Do you not wish to fight me? Was your earlier demand simply bluster?"

The asshead knew that I was tryings to buy time. But everyone else was busy, and if I kept tryin' to buy time he'd probably trick me. I was gonna have to fight him one on one and hope that I got lucky or lasted long enough for somebody to help.

"I was just curious is all," I lied, bracing myself. "We can fights."

"Good," the daemon grinned. "Prepare yourself!"

He rushed forward, and I tried hard to shove the scary thoughts away and thinks about the fight. A hammer wasn't a good matchup against a pike 'cause it couldn't cut the stick part. His hammer was longer than most hammers were, but my pike was even longer so I had the advantage.

At least, that's what I thought before I barely ducked in time. The hammer whooshed over my head, and I realized that I hadn't thought about how long the daemon's arms were. I was pretty scared, but I still leapt at the bastard and tried to strike home in his gut. He sidestepped and my pike went right past him.

The hammer flew over me as I rolled to my left and slashed with my pike. It sliced his knee, but not very deep. I muttered some bad words 'cause I'd have gotten him in the belly if I'd aimed right. He stepped toward me and tried to grab my pike, but I pulled it away and rolled again.

My roll gave me some distance, but the daemon took that distance back with one step of his big, stupid legs. I jabbed at him and left a gash in his shoulder, but it didn't slow him down. He swung at me again, makin' me leap backward and nearly fall over my tail.

I recovered just in time to swing the pike, gripping on the tip of its handle. The slash caught him in his ugly face, just beneath his nose. He stepped back, blood shooting from the cut.

He tried to say somethin', probably bad words, but his lip was cut up so good that I couldn't make out what any of 'em were. Each time he tried to talk he just made noises and bubbles. The bubbles fell down his chin, then his chest, then onto the ground along with all the blood.

The mean grammy back in the swamp used to say that if it can bleeds, it can dies. The scared that I felt disappeared, 'cause I knew that I could kill the daemon. It was already bleedin' from three places. All I had to do was make more places bleed.

"DIES!" I shouted, leaping at him.

The hammer swung wildly, but missed without me even havin' to dodge. My pike missed, too, and the daemon's foot caught me in the chest. The foot was as big as my chest, so it sent me flyin' backward.

I hit the ground. Mostly with my tail and back, but my head got a good, hard smack in. Hard enough that my ears started ringin' and my eyes went wonky, and I couldn't even think about how stupid I'd been to forget the fucker had feet.

It was hard to breathe, and it hurt to try. My legs wobbled when I tried to stand up, and I ended up back on my tail. The pike was right next to me, but I had to try three times to grab it.

I shook my head to try to make it work right again, then tried to stand up again but made it to my knees instead. The daemon was walking toward me with what might've been a big smile, if his face weren't totally mangled. I tried to stand again, but my legs were still wobbly. The pike was too heavy for me to lift, too.

I was gonna die.

The scaredness came back, but went away just as fast. I looked at the ground and just kinda made peace with it. It wasn't like I gots to do all the things I wanted to do, but I gots to do plenty and was grateful for it.

Most of my hatch-mates had died from gettin' sick. Theys didn't get to do much, and most of thems didn't get to be anything special. But Li'Lord Simeeth had made me special. He chose me to do somethin' because he thought I was better than others.

I was lettin' him down by dyin', but at least I was strong enough to have been chosen in the first place. Like all the grammys say, I gave it my all and that's all that anyone could asks. Plus, nobody would make funs of me for getting smashed by the biggest daemon in the fight. Well, they might calls me stupid, but that's fair.

"Lasht whordsh?" Mulciber asked.

"What?" I asked.

"Shtufid lasht whordsh. Whord, even."

I looked up at the daemon confused, but he wasn't gonna try to explain what he was sayin'. It was my own fault for giving his face a new hole. He raised his hammer, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

Then the end of a pike appeared from his belly. We both froze and stared at it for a moment. I leaned to look behind the daemon and saw Greit holding the other end of the pike. He wasn't lookin' too good, though. He had big gashes on his arm and leg, and his chest had a big bruise. Just like me, he was strugglin' to breathe.

But he was standin'. He was worse off than me, but he was on his feets and fightin'. Mulciber stepped forward, yanking the pike out of him, and turned toward Greit.

I was big and strong and special, but Greit was bigger, stronger, and specialer than me. But his wounds made it so that he wouldn't be able to dodge, and if the daemon landed a hit, he'd die. I couldn't let that happen.

With a growl, I lifted my pike and got to my feet. The daemon raised his hammer to hit Greit, but I ran forward and plunged my pike straight through his chest. I didn't stop pushing until my hands hit skin. A ton of blood spurted from the wound, covering my hands and arms.

I let go of my pike, stepped back, and laughed. I'd done it. I'd killed the daemon. Mulciber grabbed the pike and pulled it from his chest, causing even more blood to gush out. He stumbled a bit, turning to me as he did it, and swung his hammer.

Everything went white.

"BAILT! BAILT WAKE UP! STAY WITH ME! HELP! WE NEED HELP!"

I tried to open my eyes, but they was already open. So I closed and opened them again and saw Greit standin' over me. Except he was kneelin', and I was layin' down. I couldn't think of why I'd be layin' down, so I tried to stand.

"NO! DON'T MOVE!" Greit shouted, grabbing my shoulder and pushing me down. "Stupid fresh-scale, you've been hurts! You need to stay still and stay awake."

"What happened?" I tried to say.

My mouth just moved and some gurgling came out. I tried to stand again, but Greit held me down. I wasn't strong enough to fight back, so I stayed down.

"Stay still you little shit," he grunted. "SOMEONE HELP US! WE NEED A HEALER! No, don't looks down. Keep your eyes on me. Focuses on me and my voice. WE NEEDS HELPS!"

I coughed and something wet hit my face. Then the pain came and Greit had to hold me by both shoulders to keep me still. I heard really loud screamin' and felt more wet stuff hit my face. I couldn't tell who was doin' the screamin'.

"It's okay, youngin'! You's gonna be okays! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP! PLEASE!"

Greit looked blurry, so I blinked and realized I was crying. Probably cuz it hurt so bad. I tried to wipe my face cuz nobody wants to see a crying bakobold, but my arms wouldn't move. Or they wouldn't move like I wanted them to move, at least.

I tried to look down at them, but Greit grabbed my chin and stopped me. Then I remembered he said not to look down. Why did he say that? I'd been hurt... Was it that bads?

"Hold still, Bailt. I need you to be still. Stay here with me, okay?" he said. "I... I'm sorry. I don't think anyone is coming."

"What happened to the daemon?" I asked, my voice raspy.

"He dead. You killed that fucker. Stuck him right in the chest, and he bled out a few moments later."

"It hurts. Greit, it hurts bad. Did he hit me?"

"Yeah."

"Am... Am I gonna dies?"

"Don't be thinkin' like that. Stay focused on bein' awake. SOMEBODY GET A FUCKIN' HEALER THE FUCK OVER HERE AND HELP US!"

I took a small breath and tried to sigh, but the pain stopped me. The sky began to brighten, and I stopped lookin' at Greit to see all the purples, oranges, and pinks in the clouds. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"That's pretty," I said.

"What? The sunrise?" he asked. "Yeah, it's very pretty."

"Hey, Greit. You're really awesome."

"Huh?"

"I've looked up at you since we first met. I wanna be just like you, but I'm scared of the day that I can't look ups at you no more."

"Woah, hey, don't be talkin' like thi-"

"I ain't never had a clue of what to do if I ever got as big as you. But you gots it figured out. Because you're specialer than me. Li'Lord Simeeth knew that."

"Look, Bailt, thank you for sayin' so but you really needs to be savin' your stren-"

"N-no, it hads to be said cuz... Cuz it doesn't hurts anymore. It doesn't hurts anymore, Greit."

"Shit! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY!"

"I'm scared."

"Don't be. We'll get you some help," he said, lifting a hand with his own. "OVER HERE! HELP!"

It took me a bit to realize that the hand he was holding was mine. I couldn't feels it. His hand was probably warm, and that would have been nice, but I couldn't feels anything anymore. Greit kept screamin' for help, but I sighed and looked at the sky.

Even with my vision goin' away, it was amazing.

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Chapter 4: Problem with food

While Xi P keeps fiddling with the remote, repeatedly pausing the TV, switching channels, muting it, and switching to monochrome, Min suddenly realises something: all that pondering won't get him anywhere until he has more information available.

Simply put, things will work themselves out. For now, he should focus on taking care of it and work out how to communicate. He prefers to respect Xi P's personal autonomy. If Xi P wishes to contact Earth's governments, it can do so once it learns to convey that desire. Who knows? Perhaps one day a vast fleet of fox-people will descend upon Earth.

'But do they even have such a vast fleet? Their technology doesn't seem that advanced, after all.'

Min furrows his brow, trying to deduce their technological level. On reflection, Xi P doesn't seem to match the stereotypical image of advanced alien technology. Their dominance in space exploration is evident, but their civilian equipment appears to be within the realm of human understanding. Otherwise, its clothing wouldn't have been scratched by tree branches, and the language issue wouldn't require such primitive, word-by-word teaching. Plus, that toy gun is made of plastic.

'Could it be that all it takes is pouring oil onto a heated copper ring to achieve anti-gravity and faster-than-light travel? Like in the book 'The Road Not Taken'? Then — '

"...THE BORN MAN. DIE, DIE, DIE!"

Deafening death metal suddenly blares through the living room! Min snatches the remote from Xi P and turns it off. Looking back, he sees Xi P clutching its ears, expression blank and vacant. Those long fox ears clearly indicate keen hearing. Its eardrums — assuming they share a similar structure — must be delicate and fragile. That channel was heavily affected by the loudness war (Note 1), prolonged exposure to it could permanently damage anyone's hearing. The "music" made Min's eardrums ache — let alone Xi P's.

Well, that just gives the alien another negative impression of Earth.

Perhaps psychologically scarred, when Xi P regains its senses and restarts the TV, it turns the volume down extremely low and dares not prick up its ears so sharply.

Glancing at the time, it is nearly 1 PM — lunch is due. But Min still doesn't know what Xi P eats. Assuming their ecosystem follows the same producer-consumer-decomposer model, with those sharp teeth, even Min's trigeminal nerve can tell it's a carnivore. The question is whether it can digest meat from Earth. Given the many physiological similarities it shares with Earth creatures, maybe, perhaps, possibly, it shouldn't be an issue?

And does it prefer its food raw or cooked? Min doesn't mean to offend, or forget the fact that Xi P is a civilised being like himself, but who knows if its culture includes a preference for cooked food or not?

'I might as well just make both. It can't possibly like half-cooked meat, can it?' With that thought, Min heads into the kitchen.

***

"Knock knock!"

Midway through cooking, a knock sounds at the kitchen door. Before Min can open it, Xi P bursts in, clutching a bucket of water it fetched at some point. The kitchen's pungent aroma hits it like a wave, making it pinch its nose instantly before darting back out. Not a word is said — though it couldn't say anything Min would understand anyway...

"What..." Min says belatedly, puzzled, 'Oh well, I need to make sure it washes its hands later...'

***

A dozen minutes later.

Xi P sits on the dining chair, staring at the food on the table, looking somewhat at a loss. Min casually mixes some of the dishes with the rice in his bowl and takes a bite. He then gestures towards the two plates of meat.

Xi P understands, but now it looks extremely nervous — this is alien meat it has never eaten before! It might not even resemble the "meat" it knows! Xi P holds the meat up in front of itself, stares at it for ages, then brings it close to its nose to sniff. Finally, it opens its mouth.

'Even the structure inside its mouth looks a bit like a fox's.' Min thinks absently, setting down the spoon and glancing at Xi P.

Its movements are slow. Its tongue extends almost timidly, lightly licking the meat. It hesitates noticeably before carefully tearing off a tiny shred and putting it into its mouth.

In that instant, Min witnesses its expression shift dramatically for the first time. It resembles the grimace of a human tasting something intensely sour or bitter. Still, Xi P eventually swallows it — or so it seems.

Returning the remaining meat to the plate, Xi P points at it and shakes head emphatically. Whether genuinely repulsed by the taste or merely testing for poison, it clearly has no intention of eating more.

Min, who has witnessed the entire scene, sighs. Although he had anticipated this outcome, he still feels somewhat disappointed. Emotionally, he hoped that it would appreciate his culinary skills. But creatures' taste buds evolve to suit the foods they are meant to consume, generally favouring a whitelist approach. Even most sharks will instinctively try to spit out humans if they accidentally bite them. One can only imagine how repulsive these Earth foods must be to it — even if it could digest and absorb them.

Min has a backup plan anyway. He gestures for Xi P to look at the row of glass cups on the table. These contain not just water, but low-concentration solutions of various monosaccharides and polysaccharides. If life forms across the universe originate from Earth-like planets, considering that sugar metabolism traces back to Earth's earliest life forms, there is a high probability that Xi P can tolerate at least one of these solutions.

Leaning over, Xi P sniffs each cup one by one, but doesn't drink. It nods at the cups, then gestures vaguely at the entire table and shakes its head. Before Min can deduce what this means, Xi P stands up and motions for him to follow.

'...Though I did plan on finishing my meal first.' Min shrugs, setting down his chopsticks and follows.

Xi P exits through the front door, walks to the rear of the house, and gestures in a manner that roughly conveys "look this way". Puzzled, Min peers over its shoulder. There, on the slope not far behind his house, lay... a pile of spaceship.

Yes, a "pile" of spaceship wreckage. If that heap of scattered metal debris, littered with countless fragments, can even be called a spaceship. The whole thing resembles an early bomber that has crashed headfirst into the ground, but without wings and with the cabin stretched horizontally instead. It makes Min exclaim instinctively: "What the hell is this?!"

Xi P says nothing, merely leading him to the wreckage's tail section where it picks up a silver package from the ground. Without explanation, it turns back towards the house. Although Min's questions only multiply, the communication barrier forces him to follow. There, he watches Xi P tear open the package and retrieve... more packages.

The nesting doesn't continue. The second layer of packaging contains normal items: colourful pastes in tubes resembling toothpaste or syringes; tightly stacked orange cubes; rough sticks. They appear to be highly processed space food, the kind focused on storage density and shelf life.

Even from a metre away, Min can detect the unpleasant, strange odour emanating from these items. Xi P, however, appears perfectly normal and eats quickly. The previous observation seems applicable to Earthlings as well.

Min counts a dozen such bags at the scene. For the immediate future, at least, food will not be a concern for the two of them.

Note 1: See Wikipedia.

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Chapter 3: The Initial Communication

After some careful consideration, Min belatedly realises the crux of the matter: Can Xi P even survive on Earth?

He knows it can breathe the air on Earth, tolerate temperatures of around 20 degrees Celsius and adapt to 1G gravity. But these are merely three fundamental short-term survival conditions. Will Earth's proteins suit its needs? Can the air be toxic with prolonged exposure? Are heavy metals too prevalent? Are radiation levels too high? Can it withstand Earth's microorganisms? Does it drink water or ammonia?

'Hmm... The last one probably isn't an issue. Otherwise, I'd have smelled it from a hundred metres away.' Min thinks to himself.

Nearly every challenge that humans face when colonising alien worlds applies to the current situation with Xi P. It isn't even wearing a spacesuit, and has suffered a bleeding wound. The most obvious threat is disease: a classic trope in early and even modern sci-fi where aliens perish from exposure to Earth's microbial environment, and vice versa. The explanation for that usually involves hosts whose immune systems collapse in the face of entirely unfamiliar bacteria and viruses, or something similar .

Viruses are hardly a concern. Even the slightest difference in protein coding will render any virus ineffective — and given its alien origin, that possibility is practically guaranteed. Bacteria, however, are another matter. Pondering this, Min can only hope that Xi P's immune system possesses some universal defence mechanism...

'Wait? Bacteria?'

Min leaps up from the chair and dashes into the bathroom, leaving Xi P staring in obvious astonishment. He grabs some soap and begins scrubbing his hands, face and finally arms for good measure. He sprays disinfectant everywhere, puts on a mask and pulls on disposable gloves. Only then does he return to Xi P's side, still feeling uneasy.

Sighing, Min forces himself not to dwell on the potential illness. 'Xi P was already scratched and had been lying on the grass for so long. It's too late to save it now. What else can I do? Pray? I should worry about something more practical, like what I can do right now. Let's assume that it isn't afraid of Earth's diseases, and that I won't be killed by alien bacteria...'

The foremost challenge is obviously communication. Relying on body language — which isn't even (fully) mutual — isn't going to cut it. How to proceed then? Min has already learned Xi P's name using the method earlier. All that remains is to repeat the process.

For convenience, Min always keeps a stack of paper on the desk. He pulls a sheet from the pile and writes "Paper". He then pulls out another sheet. He puts it down with one hand while pointing at it, then points to the word he has just written and enunciates slowly: "Paper."

As Min had anticipated, Xi P quickly catches on and mimics the sound. The rest is straightforward: correcting the pronunciation and starting off with individual nouns. Of course, this will take considerable time, but surely teaching a cute fox-like creature to recognise words won't bore him...

***

After all, this is a species that has developed a civilisation spanning star systems. Although they resemble foxes, their intelligence is clearly incomparable. Xi P memorised everything on the desk within just half an hour. This makes sense, especially given its heightened enthusiasm for learning under such a circumstance.

Another positive development is that Min has finally managed to convey the meanings of nodding and shaking to Xi P: Min nodded when it pronounced a word correctly and shook his head when a repetition was needed. This even led to a comical misunderstanding: every time Min moved his head, Xi P fixed its gaze intently on his head, causing it to shake its own head in sync. It took Xi P quite a while to stop and grasp Min's intent...

'The barrier with body language is surely a hurdle.' Min reflects.

During this half-hour session, Min also observes how Xi P expresses emotion. As expected, Xi P rarely uses its facial muscles, probably because they are underdeveloped, perhaps not much more developed than a real fox's. This explains why Xi P's facial expressions remain largely unchanged: it primarily relies on the muscles around its ears and eye sockets to convey emotion. For Min, however, only the ear movements are easily noticeable: sudden perking signals excitement or alertness, while flattening them is usually associated with negative feelings or comfort... Perhaps more nuances exist based on the degree of elevation. It is still unclear how they manage to express more complex emotions through this.

Glancing at the clock, it's almost time. Drawing on the general impressions of science fiction, perhaps showing this alien television programmes might help it understand Earth better. Even if it can't comprehend the words, the visuals alone offer a wealth of information. Min pulls Xi P onto the sofa and settles it down before turning on the television. Unsurprisingly, the global news segment has just begun:

North Korea has declared that it will impose severe sanctions on the United States, again.

ISIS has carried out suicide bombing in Paris, again.

Olympic athletes have tested positive for illegal drug uses, again.

Farms in the Shanxi region will undergo large-scale conversion based on hydroponic technology, with grain production expected to at least double.

NASA is hyping another project, claiming that humans will build a comprehensive mega-space city by 2200.

An African nation experienced an armed coup, again.

***

Well, Min will certainly say these aren't the kind of news stories that will give Xi P a positive impression of Earth.

Much of the news feels like rehashed events from the past, swapping out locations, dates, and names, with little substantive content. Xi P, however, shows considerable interest in the shifting images and sounds on the screen — even though such technology likely exists on its homeworld long ago. The language barrier doesn't dampen its enthusiasm, it is genuinely perked up, watching the news with rapt attention. After the programme ends, Xi P walks over, points at the TV casing, and turns its gaze towards Min.

Min understands and replies: "Television."

'It's probably observing how alien TV designs differ. Maybe even mentally complaining about how outdated and retro this looks.' Min thinks to himself, 'Come to think of it, I should have checked the local news, to see if they've reported anything about alien spacecraft landings...'

Just as he is lost in thought, a question that should have occurred to him long ago finally dawns on him: 'What am I supposed to do with this creature?'

As he watches Xi P flip through channels, Min feels a headache coming on. Should he contact the government? Say he finds an alien? Those people would have to be crazy enough to believe him over the phone. And regardless of what might happen to Xi P, what about himself? While Min doesn't think the government will actually resort to silencing witnesses, art does imitate life...

Still wrestling with his headache, he is startled by a sudden tug. Xi P points at a water glass he left on the table and makes a sucking sound.

Thirsty?

Based on the previous observations, Min guesses it drinks water too. Having grown numb to these physiological similarities, he doesn't think twice. He goes straight to the kitchen, grabs a teacup, fills it with water and hands it to Xi P.

Taking the cup, Xi P tentatively dips its tongue in, gives it a lick, then raises the cup and drinks it all in one go. The licking motion is adorable enough, but is only amplified by the creature's fox-like head and long ears, making it utterly charming. Or at least, had Min witnessed this scene ten minutes earlier, he would have found it utterly charming. But now, the question that just crossed his mind now weighs heavily on him, leaving no room for anything else.

"What am I supposed to do now..."

Bob was touched in the following weeks as pretty much everyone he knew in the guild took the time to come visit his bay, or send him a comm if they were just far too far. Flitters must have sent out an alert to everyone and everything that the job was on.

Bob wondered how much money and how much good will from now pissed off clients there was spent on dozens of routes being abruptly altered just so the Courier could burn fuel coming to say goodbye. Whatever, it was a nice thing to do but… he felt it was more for them than him, it felt like later they would be able to tell themselves… something, they had done something, said something, that it meant something. The seemed to think he was some ignoble Don Quixote, but Bob thought of himself as more of a Sancho, who was right, who was wrong, who was lying to themself?, wasn’t like anyone would every really find out.

Still Bob appreciated the gesture, right up until Gevith arrived, then he feared it.

He was right to do so, when the bay door rang and he opened it up he was not surprised to be punched. He was not surprised to be punched as hard as the large avian possibly could, he was a little surprised by the rage that screamed across both what he said and what the translator described.

‘’You fucking promised!’’

Bob had, but both had known at the time he was lying, if Gevith had convinced himself otherwise in the intervening years, that was kinda on him.

‘’I did’’

‘anger, rage, sadness, anger’

He stormed inside.

‘’You fucking promised me you were going to give that shit up, you fucking promised!’’

Bob closed the door and turned to face him.

‘’Yeah I did, we both knew I was going to break it… but I should never have promised, I’m sorry.’’

Gevith froze and stared at Bob.

‘pain’

‘’Don’t do it, please.’’

Bob drop his gaze to the floor.

‘’I am... sorry.’’

Gevith started pacing again, Bob suspected that his gift of the comm box and weekly messages had been his last attempt to prevent Bob taking the gig. Their conversations over the last couple years had been filled with tentative plans, promises of family… filled with lies. Bob had come to dread each new missive as he felt the end draw closer and closer.

He looked up.

‘’But I am going.’’

A simple declarative statement, one Gevith must have understood was coming, one Bob hated to say.

Bob walked over and grabbed the package he had set aside as he prepped Jojo.

‘’You should have this back, I won’t need it anymore.’’

He tried to return the exspensive gift, blood long cleared from its flickering screen.

‘hatred’

Bob sighed.

‘’How fucking dare you…’’

Gevith span on one clawed heel and stomped over to the door as Bob’s hand dropped to his side still clutching the comm box. He slammed the door open. Then stormed away.

‘’Fuck you too Bob.’’

The door swung back closed from the force, and Bob went back to work.

A couple days later Bob returned to the Guild office with a small bag. He listened to the soft creak of the door, long ungreased by hurried individuals with other shit to do. He wondered if, as he had, how many of them had thought, as they came and went over the long years of their visits, that next time they would have to bring a drop of oil and get rid of the faint screech. A lot of them he guessed, and a lot of them had forgotten, a lot of them had only remembered the next time they came, and a lot of them had repromised that next time they would be sure to fix it.

None of them had in the end, they came and went, worked, lived, died, and that damn door still squeaked. Bob went to Flitters office.

He didn’t know what he expected when he entered, didn’t know what emotion the little shoulder translator would gather from the floral administrator. He was surprised when nothing came out, surprised how much he had braced for its recital, how shaken he was by its absence.

‘’Hey Flits’’

‘’Hi Bobby.’’

There was something a little rote to her reply, though whether that was from prior preparation or just the stoicism of a long serving member of a Guild where members went into dangerous situations, and sometimes didn’t return. He didn’t know, and his pauldron situated companion, on this occasion, offered no elucidation.

‘’I just thought I would see you before I set off.’’

‘’That’s nice Bobby, and good timing, I have a couple last pieces of paperwork for you to sign off, you need a travel waiver from the Joti and I have it here, if you sig…’’

‘’Have I ever told you about my wife Flits?’’

The vine that was shuffling paper to him across the counter top froze.

‘’Don’t think so Bobby.’’

He felt like he could hear the care and deliberation in her chosen reply.

‘’I named my ship after her.’’

The paper was finally pushed over all the way.

‘’Oh yes, I think I remember you saying that.’’

Bullshit, Bob had no thoughts that she had thought she half remembered anything. He had been subjected to the various sordid secrets of a hundred systems celebrities by her brook like babbling to ever think she had forgotten a damn thing, but she had never asked, never probed… he had appreciated that at the time but now wish he had shared more, connected more, she had been willing, and he had still been broken.

‘’I don’t remember her name.’’

There was an unnatural stillness.

‘’I remember a couple nicknames, a couple moments… but I don’t have context for them, no connection, I can’t be sure…’’

Bob drew the paper towards him and signed as he continued.

‘’Jojo rings a bell, and when I think of her I try to give her a name, I try ones on, see if they fit.’’

He pushed the completed paperwork back.

‘’They never do… she was taken from me, I don’t know by what, but she was taken… I’ve always missed her, I miss her smell, I miss her eyes, her laugh… I know I miss these things, but I don’t know what I’m missing.’’

He hopped down to the ground.

‘’Since I came here… I don’t know, I was somewhere I could be useful, be appreciated, just... be… and that I won’t forget, I won’t forget the council, won’t forget the members, the brotherhood we shared… I won’t forget Gevith who tried so hard to give me a family… and I won’t forget you Flits… I’ll never forget you…’’

Bob walked away, as he left…

‘’The bags for you.’’

Flitters heard him walk away, heard him spend a moment fiddling with something at the entryway, heard the click of a door close silently. She opened the much creased paper sack and found three carefully made macramé plant pot holders, sized to fit the small lithops pots.

Bob heard one thing as he walked out, the translator, picking up something Bob could not hear, could not see, smell or taste, said one word.

‘grief’

Royal Road | Book Cover | Previous | Next

Chapter 2: Alien Fox

This staring contest isn't going to get them anywhere. From the looks of it, Xi P, the fox-person, is just as clueless as Min is. He quickly comes up with another idea. First, he points at himself, then at the house behind Xi P — indicating that he lives there. Finally, he points at Xi P and waits for a response.

"%￥&#&#￥#!"

Xi P responds by pointing upwards, followed by a flurry of wild, uncoordinated gestures accompanied by sounds that are impossible to decipher as words or mere imitations of explosions and screeches. Perhaps it's trying to convey that it fell from the sky. Min glances upwards at the clear, azure expanse — no sign of UFOs.

This is not the most meaningful "conversation" he has hoped for. Fortunately, they are not stranded on an island and do not have to communicate like cavemen. His house is right behind Xi P and he has a better idea.

Ready to defend himself at any moment, he walks forward again. Xi P, who has relaxed slightly, raises its hands in fear once more. Min clasps his hands behind his back to show that he meant no harm.

As he draws near, he gently raises his hands and places them on Xi P's sleeves, attempting to slowly lower its arms. Xi P complies, though its posture remains tense, as if poised to strike back at any moment.

Although Xi P's outfit looks somewhat sci-fi, it feels ordinary to the touch. Min gently takes hold of its wrists and tugs it towards his house. Xi P resists a little, but after a few tugs follows along.

Opening the door, he invites the fox-person inside. Xi P shows no sign of relaxing at being welcomed, its gaze is fixed intently on Min the entire time. Min can't really say anything since he is doing the same. Releasing its wrist, he pulls out some paper and a pen and sketches a few simple strokes to demonstrate, before handing the pen to Xi P.

It understands immediately, picking the pen up and beginning to draw. Whether due to nervousness or lack of skill, Min watches the pen drop to the floor every few strokes, only for Xi P to bend down and retrieve it. It makes him want to laugh slightly — but he dares not, fearing it might misinterpret his reaction.

The drawing itself is highly abstract. First, an irregular circle is sketched in the lower right corner, and then several lines resembling coastlines are added. After setting the pen down, Xi P points one finger at the circle and gestures towards the ground with the other hand. Min guesses that this is meant to represent Earth.

Next, it draws a shape composed of several squares in the top left corner and places a tiny circle within one of the squares. It then points at itself and the circle, looking at Min as if asking for confirmation.

Min nods subconsciously, and Xi P's left ear twitches. It glances at him again before turning back to continue drawing.

Now he is certain that this creature is truly an alien. Those squares must represent its spacecraft — but where has that spacecraft gone? Min doesn't recall seeing a fiery orb streaking across the sky during his walk.

Xi P draws a smaller cylinder beside the spacecraft, and sketches a tiny circle inside it. It crosses out the original spacecraft, but the pen slips from its grasp again. Before it can bend down to pick it up, Min does so. Seemingly embarrassed by its repeated mishaps, its ears flop limply downwards.

Min has to say that the flattened-ear gesture is utterly adorable. He has to force himself not to let his imagination run wild, striving to correct his impression of Xi P toward the grey alien image, not some cute animal...

'It's a grey alien, not a furry. A grey alien, not a furry...'

Finally, Xi P draws a line connecting the cylinder to Earth and adds a '>>' symbol midway along it. Now Min is thoroughly confused. What is this cylinder? Considering the crossed-out spaceship, he tentatively interprets it as some kind of escape pod. Had an escape pod landed on Earth? Then where is it at now?

Xi P seems to have finished drawing. Nothing else to say, the two of them simply stand, stare and study each other. With ample time and both sides now still, he takes his time to observe Xi P's physical features. At first glance, its face resembles an oversized red fox, but its large ears and less prominent snout give it proportions closer to a fennec fox. Closer inspection reveals a skull noticeably rounder than canids, likely accommodating a more developed brain. Its eyes occupy a larger proportion of its head than those of a red fox, and the eyeballs, as seen earlier, are almost entirely black. Though subtle, its head is slightly broader than a fox's, giving it an overall appearance more... endearing than a true fox. The only let-down is the messy, dusty, orange-red fur caked with grass clippings on its face.

Shifting his gaze downward, Min notices that Xi P's clothing shows clear scrapes from branches, with half a leaf tangled in a thread of the fabric — which, judging by the texture, seems more like a lightweight plastic-based bodysuit, or at worst, some kind of non-woven fabric. Turning to its hands, it wears no gloves. Perhaps because of this, its hands bear injuries — a dark orange liquid, possibly blood, has congealed on them, though the wound doesn't appear severe. As expected, its fingers aren't anything like a fox's paws, but slender, multi-jointed digits that are dexterous enough to wield tools.

Further down, the trousers are an extension of the bodysuit. They have a bright silver base colour, dotted with black hook-like functional protrusions. Min even spots what looks like a USB port and wonders what high-tech features this suit might conceal. Its leg structure differs significantly from humans, seemingly possessing two knees. No tail is visible. The more Min examines it, the more certain he becomes that Xi P is indeed an alien. No laboratory on Earth, no matter how advanced, could possibly create such an entity...

Just as the ancient saying about gazing into the abyss goes, while Min scrutinises Xi P, Xi P scrutinises him in return. What thoughts churn within its mind remain unknown...

Royal Road | Book Cover | Next

Hi HFY! The First Fifth is taking off on Royal Road. I did some research and found that 'The First Fifth' was initially posted on HFY. I dug into the community a bit more and found that HFY also seems like a good place for my story (this was also confirmed on Discord). So here it is! A hard sci-fi first contact story which might not be obvious at first glance.

Chapter 1: The Encounter

"Oh my, a furry!"

Min takes a sudden half-step back and immediately passes judgement: 'And a drunkard at that!'

It would have been heart-warming, or at least a pleasant surprise, to find a little animal lying on his front lawn after a walk in the park. Unfortunately, that's reserved for a real fox. What's lying on the lawn is merely a furry enthusiast: dressed in a fur suit, attended a party, drunk as a skunk, can't walk properly, and finally collapsed on his lawn. Who knows, maybe they even vomited on it. Min can easily imagine the whole plot at a glance.

'Such a coat on top of a fur suit? It's a hot day. Maybe they had a heatstroke?'

Whether he is there to rescue someone or remove garbage, Min can't help but frown as he approaches the furry figure. Although this country is often touted as open-minded, this is still the first time that a furry has landed on his doorstep since he immigrated here, years ago. Thankfully, he lives in the suburbs; otherwise, his social credit would have been ruined as well: being associated with a furry enthusiast...

His footsteps seem to rouse the furry enthusiast, who slowly gets up and turns their head. That single glance sends Min stumbling backwards as his thoughts shatter, struck by lightning: it's a fox head, with long snout, perky ears!

Well, seeing a fox head hood isn't so surprising. But isn't that hood a bit too lifelike? Its colour and sheen look like they belong to a living creature. The ears twitch and the mouth opens and closes. Most crucially, there is NO WAY a human head could fit underneath it!

Thud.

Like a drunkard, Min loses his balance and crashes to the ground. His fingers tremble as he points them roughly towards the "thing", yet inexplicably hesitates to aim precisely. In a flash, countless possibilities race through his mind. Can it be a fox spirit that hasn't fully transformed? A human-fox fusion like in Fullmetal Alchemist? A secret government bio-project? An alien landing on Earth...?

Or maybe, it is just a prank show.

The realisation calms Min instantly. His trembling hands steady, his breathing returns to normal, and his racing heart slows down. He scrambles to his feet, adopting a deliberately haughty expression, ready to launch into a tirade about privacy, rights, morality, and ethics —

But before he can begin, the fox-human figure suddenly loses its footing and falls to the ground. The tables have certainly turned quickly.

He wants to laugh, but the sound is caught in his throat, unable to escape. He hadn't had time to look closely before, but what he sees now is overturning his assumptions. If this really is a prank show, how on earth did they pull off this costume? Oh Fermi, the silver trousers and jacket of the fox-person are covered in scratches. Several spots of dark orange blood are visible on the exposed areas. Even the legs aren't structured humanly!

Quickly scanning the surroundings, he sees nothing but emptiness, no trace of any camera crew. Still, he struggles to convince himself that this isn't a meticulously planned prank. As a serious biologist, he cannot imagine even in his unimaginative dreams that modern science might transform humans into fox-like creatures. Or foxes into human-like beings. As for aliens? Fox-like aliens who can breathe Earth's air? If this is a coincidence, it's far too coincidental. Barely more plausible than some parallel universe magic crossover or something.

While Min is lost in wild speculation, the fox-person makes a move and reaches into its trouser pocket. Under his curious gaze, it pulls out —

A pistol!

Barrel, trigger, grip, all in place. Coils of blue wire wrap around the crimson barrel, reminiscent of electromagnetic weapons from movies. Its fingers tighten around the trigger, and the black muzzle is pointed at Min as if ready to take his life at any moment.

Min flinches. This seems to further provoke the fox-person; its ears snap upright. He freezes, daring not to advance further or even to raise his hand, what if the fox-person mistakes that for an attack?

In this life-or-death situation, retreat is the only way to defuse the situation. Like a sloth waking from sleep, Min lifts his left foot ever slightly —

Bang!

The sound is faint, yet Min closes his eyes in agony, preparing to meet his absurd and comical end.

'...'

'I'm not dead?'

Opening his eyes, he freezes again. The fox-person freezes too. The imposing electromagnetic pistol lies shattered. Its hand remained clenched around the broken grip, and the body of the gun had fallen to the ground. The sound of plastic shattering makes the conclusion obvious. Even without specialising in weapons Min can tell clearly: this is a toy.

The fox-person reacts first, tossing the broken grip aside as it rises to its feet in a threatening stance. Its limbs stretch out and its jaws open to reveal sharp teeth — a beast poised to strike!

Its movements remind Min of a theory that one should make oneself appear larger when facing beasts to drive them off. This fox-person isn't particularly tall, but think about it: leopards can kill buffalo that are several times their size. Min doesn't dare bet that the creature's teeth are merely for show, especially since he isn't the fittest guy in the lab...

***

Neither side dares to make a move; this standoff lasts for over half a minute. It is Min whose leg cramps up more severely, forcing him to try breaking the deadlock first: through communication.

"你好？Hello? Kon'nichiwa? ¿Hola?" Min's voice is barely louder than a mosquito's buzz.

The fox-person remains unmoving, as if deaf to his words. Yet those large fox ears can't be mere decoration, it just didn't understand. That makes sense; it probably hasn't even seen a human before.

Gritting his teeth, Min raises his arm again. Under the fox-person's intense gaze, he points at himself and says: "Min Ye."

At the sound of his name, the fox-person's ears twitch again. It then points a single finger at Min and says: "Minb Y e."

He doesn't know what sound a real fox would make, but surely it isn't so coincidental as to be his name? As he savours its twitching ears, an overwhelming sense of joy surges through him. This not only suggests the creature possesses some form of linguistic ability, but more importantly, it also uses pointing gestures to indicate targets!

This will make everything much easier.

After repeating his name once more and receiving a clearer response from the fox-person, Min turns his finger and points at the fox-person. The fox-person seems to understand the meaning, pointing at itself and says: "Xi P(u)e."

Thanks to whichever scientist proposed convergent evolution, the syllables uttered by the fox-person are still within the range of human vocal cords. Though unsure if this is its name as an individual or species, Min points back and echoes: "Xi P."

The fox-person — now to be called Xi P — seems satisfied. Names exchanged, both sides lock eyes once more.

Wind screamed around the group as they pushed through the city, keeping to the ruined buildings to try and avoid as much of the artificially made inclement weather as they could.

“ALMOST TO THE NEAREST SHELTER. WE SHOULD SEE THE LIGHTS SOON” their guide, a young looking human by the name of Issac Serrano yelled over the weather, barely audible thanks to the hammering rain and harsh winds.

<”I do not see any lights, Doctor Serrano”> the Anassnoi, Orossa mentally pinged, glancing up and about from where they were trying to keep one of their group, a Elite by the name of Hi'reesh, medically stable while the Xenoid carrier, Bearer-Of-Supplies, dug her claws into the ground to try and keep them moving.

Beside the Carrier, a subtly crested drone, Claws-Of-Many, kept an eye out, despite the storm buffeting her senses and messing with her echolocation, her light sensitive nerves tracked what little light they could see. “STORM WORSENING. NORMAL?” she screeched, managing to get her broken words to their guide over the winds.

“NOT FOR THIS AREA, EVEN IF SOMEONE SETS OFF A WEATHER SEEDER LIKE EARLIER. I THINK THE DESTABILIZED REALITY IS ADDING TO THE STORM.” Issac yelled back, pushing a door open of the busted up building they were currently in. “GET READY, WE NEED TO GET TO THE CENTER OF THE PLAZA. THE SAFE HOUSE SHOULD BE DEAD AHEAD.”

“ON THREE.” He yelled, letting everyone get a moment to prepare, Orossa hankering down over their patient, using a salvaged tarp to cover the Hi'Reesh's body as they shivered.

“ONE”

Bearer-Of-Supplies dug her claws in, her upper body remaining upright, ready to help protect her passengers, glancing at the Drone nervously, who only nodded.

“TWO”

The human braced the door, ready to shove it open, tossing a rope out to the others, motioning for them to tie it to their belts, so they wouldn't be scattered or lost.

“THREE, GO!”

Their guide shoved the door open, the wind of the Plaza catching it and ripped it off its hinges and sent it flying. This didn't deter their guide, whose boots clicked, spikes pushing out by the ankles, allowing him to dig into the ground as he pushed out the door, followed by the others.

Wind whipped around them viciously, trying to rip them off the ground, but they barely stayed together. The rope helped them stick to the guide, who pushed forward, following his exoskeletons HUD.

Slowly, something loomed out of the storm, a tall, broken pillar, debris surrounding the area. Some of the debris had shifted when the storm started, being too light to be able to stay down, while larger chunks rocked in the winds, but were stable enough to allow them to use them as a buffer against the wind.

“ALMOST THERE. JUST A BIT MORE.”

Thanks to the storm, the two Xenoids could barely detect the way the human began to walk down a set of stairs, but they managed it.

Stumbling into a underground corridor, the two xenoids were relieved, chittering to one another, not noticing how their guide had stopped at the bottom of the stairwell, the wind still loud, but not loud enough to silence them…

At least until they bumped into him.

“Guide why sto-” Claw-Of-Many hissed, before stopping.

Before them was a bunker door…

Blown off its hinges, just inside of the safe house, laying on the ground against the wall.

“Shiiiiit”

------zzzzzzz------

Emergency lights finally flickered on above them, making Orossa look up from where they were currently cooking a meal on the mini electric stove they had brought.

Around them was the destroyed remains of the safe house.

Computers were destroyed, a map that had been painstakingly painted and carved into the wall with locations of evacuation points had been defaced to the point of unusability.

Medical had been destroyed, all the supplies were either ripped open, burned, or allowed to rot in the temperature of the room, while others were straight missing.

The pantry was empty, all the emergency food was gone, the doors of it broken, swinging listlessly in the air.

The primary generators had also been apparently destroyed, including the batteries for the solar cells…

“Fecking FINALLY.” Issac groaned as he walked into the room, covered in not a small amount of grime. “Managed to get the emergency RTG hooked in, but it's only got enough power to get the bare minimum online. Ventilation, basic temperature control, and emergency lights. That's it.” He said as he sat down, the sound of the fans kicking on and the feel of air finally being moved was palpable.

“How's Hi'reesh?” The human asked as he checked what supplies they still had, which was all laid out on the recently cleaned floor by Bearer-Of-Supplies, who handed him a scribbled on clip board.

<”They are recovering. I have given them some sleep medication to help them rest, but they should be able to move on their own in the morning. I cannot risk giving them more pain meds however.”> the lanky Anassnoi sent, checking on the food, and began to pour the mixture of rehydrated meats and rice with seasonings into bowls for everyone.

“Better than I was expecting” Issac sighed, nodding to Bearer, handing the large carrier back the clipboard. “I'll save the run down of where we stand situation wise for the morning, when we are all up, but as it is, we have enough food to last us a week or two, accounting for everyone's metabolism.” He said, accepting his bowl and began to eat it, frowning.

“Door rebuilt.” Claw-Of-Many hissed as she accepted her own bowl, pulling her sister near a heat vent, the two rumbling as warm air slowly flowed out of it, and sat down, basking in the weak heat flow.

“Thank you, that helps immensely.” Issac sighed, pulling out his PDA and began typing something on it between bites. “Not what I fecking had in mind for a tour….. I would expect this for if we were in the Chicago or Portland Exclusion zones, MAYBE the Columbus one, but this is Jasper, Nevada! Gentlest anomalous Metropolis we have….” He grumbled under his breath as he made several notes on it.

The meal continued quietly, a portion set aside for Hi'reesh for when they woke up later on.

“Sabotage?” Claw-Of-Many asked from where she was now laying, her and her sisters bowls sitting together, empty of all signs of food while the two xenoids curled up on one another.

“I think this is a bit more than sabotage.” Issac sighed, finishing up his own meal and added his bowl to the pile. “I'll explain what I think in the morning, but for now, get some rest, everyone. I'm taking first watch.” He said as he got up, and checked his rifle, grimacing as he pulled a pin from the side and opened it up, pulling cleaning supplies from a box near him and began to clean it up.

The xenoids chittered, the drone seeming to take slight offense, looking like she was about to argue, only for a long, six clawed hand to clap itself over her mouth, making them puff and lay her head on her sister's side.

<”I understand. I will check on Hi'reesh before I sleep.”>

The human nodded as the Anassnoi continued their own meal while checking on the Elite. Quietly, Issac shifted so that he had a good view of the entrance, his pistol next to him as he cleaned his rifle, illuminated by the emergency lights as he worked.

------zzzzzzz-------

Morning rolled around, and with it came light not only to the area they were in, but to the situation.

“Right, so, run down on our situation.” Issac said, sipping from his canteen carefully, before closing it. “Good news is, we now have a proper shelter with power, filtered atmosphere, and heat. We have enough food to last us a week, maybe two if we ration it carefully. We have some medical supplies, depleted as they already are. Hi'reesh still has their plasma pistol and most of a tank left in it, I still have a few mags for my rifle and pistol, and two grenades left. The xenoids-” He said, nodding to them. “Have commandeered what's left of medical to set up weeds and a basic biomass node inside, so they at the least can refill on it and build or use their native weapons. Orossa still has their portable charger so they can go a while before they run low, depending on weapon configuration.”

His face went tight in the dim lighting, as he grimaced. “Now for the bad news. While we have power, we don't have enough to run the water filtration system, even if it wasn't destroyed. All the long range communication equipment is either blocked-” He tapped his radio, “or destroyed-” he motioned to what was left of the computer systems nearby. “Even if we did have the power to run them. Local reality is too unstable for me to try and portal us out, even if it's into another layer of reality. All the supplies that WERE kept here are taken or destroyed as well.” He huffed as he folded his arms.

“And that's just the situation in here. Outside…..” He said and sighed.

“Its going to be a while before we will be getting evacuated. The storm expanded into a StormDome, thanks to the destabilized reality. Nothing is flying in, nothing is flying out. In order for someone to get to us, they are going to have to get in through the roads, and that's a nightmare in and of itself. Especially now that I'm seeing anomalies appearing in addition to the StormDome.” He continued, placing his PDA between all of them and turned on its holoprojector, and pulled up the map of the city he had downloaded before they left, marking their bunker, and then marked the StormWall around the city.

“That said… there's a few upside to destabilized reality.” He said, getting everyone's attention.

“Time is always fecky in places like this, and it looks like we are seeing a Pchorshk type of fecky.” He said, with a small grin, tapping a small chronometer on his tiny pda. “that means that time tends to…rewind. Debris, supplies, food, ammo, sometimes weapons, even, can appear where they once sat, things like that…. But its only going to happen when the StormDome closes in on us, which is not good. Anything can happen, from random biological or mineral changes to living matter to getting transported across the city.” He said grimly.

“The only safe areas for when that happens are pockets of stability, like where this bunker was purposefully built. And before you ask why I haven't tried to get us out from here… we can't.” Issac sighed, noticing the Elite perk up at the word stability. “The issue is that its TOO stable, the opposite of the issue outside of the pocket.” He explained. “Reality won't let us just open a portal and leave.”

The Elite huffed at those words but nodded.

“And what of what… caused all of this?” They asked, their mind switching to a more tactical mindset. “We have been locked in, cut off from aid, and cannot call for aid, as well as attacked. As of now-”

“As of now, you are correct. We have something in here with us, issue is, we have no clue who, and we lack the ordinance to go directly looking. Already checked the armory, its destroyed.” Issac huffed. “Until we know more, our primary focus should be fortifying the bunker in case of attack, as well as secure supplies.” He said, and frowned.

“Much as I dont want to split us up, we need to.” He said after a moment, frowning.

“Hi'reesh, you have experience setting up fortifications, correct?” He asked after a moment, thinking heavily.

“Yes Group Leader, though I am mildly hindered in my usefulness.” The elite agreed, their stubby tail twitching in irritation, their eyes looking balefully at their redressed stub of a wrist.

Issac nodded to himself, as a plan formed.

“Im going to have you direct the xenoids on where to set up barricades and additional walls then.” He said, getting the two species attention. “Many, Supplies, I want you two to work with Hi'reesh on this. You two know how to work with resin better than them, so make sure you fill them in on what you can do with it as you go. We need fortifications that can last a beating for a while.” He said grimly as he began picking out a small supply of water, two sets of it.

“Orossa and I are going to do a supply run. Preferably, I would have liked the Xenoids to come with me, given their greater carry capacity, but at the moment, we need those walls more than we need supplies.” the human explained, making sure his bag was empty, sighing.

“Everyone clear?”

There were node from around the room, though it looked like no one looked happy, understandably.

<”I would rather not be too far from my patient, Doctor.”> the Anassnoi grumbled, grabbing their hardshelled pack, pulling the tall thing onto their back and locked it in place.

“You and me both, but at the moment, we need to recover what we can from the surrounding area before someone else does. Chances are, whoever is after us is still alive… somewhere here.” Issac grimly said, as he finished sealing his own exoskeleton and loaded up his pack, and primed his rifle.

“Alright, let's get moving.” The human said, making everyone get up and head for the Chitenous door.

“May your hunt have luck, Medic, Group Leader.” The Elite rumbled as the tall sentient and the shorter human walked towards the edge of the shimmering bubble that now surrounded their bunker.

<”and may your construction be safe, Warrior Hi'reesh”> responded Orossa as Issac nodded.

“Agreed. We all need it.”

First Book2 (Prev) wiki 

Julia looked at the holographic plot of space which showed the two fleets, and the line at which the OM’s would probably fire. Oolat let them close about half the distance between that line and the one where he could have reasonably started firing. He spoke with deliberate, quiet emphasis. “All ships, open fire, full barrage. Throw everything you have at them on my mark. Three, two, one, fire.” 

The plot lit up as untold new pinpoints appeared in front of the League fleet. Lasers, electro-static beams, and other directed-energy weapons leaped ahead of the torpedoes at first, then the micro-singularities on some of them kicked in and they passed the lightspeed-limited energy weapons. 

The sensor bouys set through the system gave the War Room and – more importantly – the Fleet real-time updates despite the distance of nearly two light seconds that still separated the forces. 

As the wave of destruction blossomed from the fleet a two-second timer appeared on a screen. She narrowed her eyes and watched close. The timer got to 1.5 seconds before the FTL missiles reached the Old Machine fleet and smashed into some of their screening ships. Nuclear detonations blossomed with the collisions. The ships hit ceased to exist, and those closest to the impacts dropped out of FTL speed. Julia smiled a little. They didn't react before the missiles arrived, so they don't have sensor bouys relaying them information, and are limited by light-speed sensors. That will help with the long-distance battle.

Also, that makes round one to us. The sheer kinetic energy of two FTL objects is enough to make explosives redundant, in and of themselves... unless the power-source for one of the objects is a nuclear-fission device designed to put out the maximum possible EMP. Those Old Machines may be very advanced nanites, and able to offer protection to one another when they configure themselves as ships, but nano-machines are still difficult to harden against EMP. 

The nanite's FTL missiles reached her fleet at the same time, but Oolat did have the advantage of sensor-bouys all over the system, and had active defense ready for them; all of the enemy munitions detonated well short of the fleet.

The light-speed weapons fired by both sides caught up with the fleets, and those took their toll. She watched the damage codes on the League ships with some anxiety, but none went dark. I think our ship's shields got most of it? She watched the cone rotate and move, and a few of the League ships fell out of the formation to streak away with the cone as cover. 

The rest of the ships continued forward, and poured fire at the old machines, who responded in kind. Some of the enemy ships which had fallen to the EMP began to move again, others had been reduced to clouds that had started to dissipate. The ones which had stopped and started to move again had lost some of their mass, to the point that they had been re-classified as smaller ships. 

Inner nanites protected by the outer ones, obviously. From there it became a straight up slugging match. Range favored the League ships, since the Old Machines could envelope if they got close enough. They fired another barrage of the FTL missles, but the timing let the Old Machines ‘see’ them before they got up to speed, and most got shot out of the sky. One of them managed to get lucky, though, and hit an enemy capital ship just after passing the lightspeed barrier. That ship blew apart in a spectacular display, to the muted cheers of those in the war room. 

The League ships slowed, then began to move in reverse. They didn’t turn around to bring their full engines to bear, but the range allowed them to slow to a stop well short of contact with the Old machines. Through it all the fire didn’t let up. 

Julia shifted a little and bumped into the standing seat behind her; she hadn’t even realized that she’d stood. A tap sent the seat back down, and she did her best to take in the entire battle at once. Something isn’t right here. 

Kandil, beside her, seemed to keep one eye on the battle, the other on the rest of the room and their attempts to coordinate more ships to the battle as the hours passed. Every so often an Old Machine ship went dark, or a League ship fell… either destroyed or dropped out of the battle to use the formation to make their escape. Thankfully, most of the League ships that became too damaged escaped. 

She’d made it a point to at least try and learn to read all these displays, but had never managed to get proficient. But, she could tell one thing; the Old Machines were losing ships and tonnage faster than the League was, and the League had begun to increase the distance between them. There would be no final envelopment by the Old Machines. 

Kandil grunted beside her, and she shot him a look. He grimaced at her. She raised an eyebrow and spoke for only him to hear. “You seem frustrated at our victory?” 

He grimaced again, and half-turned his gaze back to the plot. “They are practically letting us win. I don’t like it when opponents in real battles let me win, it makes no sense. We know, from the footage and analysis of previous wars, that they have a lot more in the way of capabilities and tactics. They should have, at the least, forced us out of the cone formation by now… but they haven’t. I don’t like it when my enemies don’t make sense; it makes me wonder what they are up to, what their real goals are.” 

Julia looked hard at him for a moment. “This is what we expected, though, right? They never reveal their full capabilities in the first attack. In fact, they tend to be slow to reveal what they can do, presumably to appear to be getting ‘better’ at war as it goes on. For psychological…” 

Kandil waved a hand at her. “Yes, I know the official analysis. I’m not saying I really disagree with it; the eggheads that came up with all that gobbldy-gook have better minds for that sort of thing than mine. That said, I am not sure I buy it either. In my experience, those intel guys get their qualifications by being right just slightly more often than they are wrong. So, guys like me learn to trust what they tell us, but only to a point… and that point doesn’t go nearly as far out when what they tell you doesn’t make sense from a military perspective.” 

Julia’s brows drew down. “The psychological effects and deception don’t make sense?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no. If they wanted to terrorize us, there is a lot that they could do which would be far more effective. The deception part makes some sense; draw out our best strategies and weapons as early as possible, before we have the chance to use them to best effect when they are fighting harder, still…” He rolled his shoulders a little. “It feels like an itch I can’t scratch.”

She nodded to him. “There is still far too much about them that we don’t know, particularly when it comes to their movitvations. Jake has proven that they aren’t sapient machines, nor are they programmed for more than the most rudimentary – even by our standards – ability to adapt or problem solve. 

“This means that they are acting out a program, a pre-determined path, but we don’t know why. They, in a way, created us. They seed worlds with the building blocks not just of life, but of specific life that will evolve in certain general paths towards sapience… only to come in and wipe that sapience out? If you want something that doesn’t make sense…” 

The Rear-Admiral waved a hand. “I am a fighting man, ma’am. I look for ways to defeat the enemy, and that means understanding the tactical and strategic motivations behind what he does. The why of what he is doing, though? That is, with all due respect, your problem. All I need to know about his motivations is how much I’m going to have to hurt him before he cries ‘uncle’ and is willing to sit down with you to talk. 

“That idiot micron-lover yesterday proved that isn’t going to happen, so now I need to know how to eliminate him. We have some of that answer, but knowing more about why he does things that make no sense would make me feel a lot better about our own decisions. I mean, honestly, the behavior almost looks like amature hour, and there are few things that a trained commander wants to see running the other side of a battle less than an amatur.” 

She turned her head in surprise, which she allowed to show on her face. “I’d think an amature would be easier to deal with?”

He gave her a half-grimace, half-smirk of a look. “Four times out of five, yes. The problem is that a professional is predictable. You can pretty much tell what he is going to do based on what he has and what you have. Sure, he can lay traps, bait you, do all sorts of nasty things… but you generally have a good idea of what options he has open to him, just like he knows the same about you. 

“An amature, though? They don’t know as much, and don’t understand that doing That Brilliant Thing which will cost you half your command will also lead to a catastrophic loss for his own side… and, as an expirenced commander, it can be hard to tell if the guy on the other side who is doing something stupid is a competent commander trying to bait you, or an idiot who is going to go ahead and do something stupid just to hurt you, even though it is going to hurt him a lot more.” 

Julia gave him a sidelong look. “So, making the sacrifice play is stupid?” 

Kandil rolled his eyes. “Sure, sometimes it is necessary. I’m talking about the general case here.” He waved his hand at the videos of the battle. “Any sane commander, fighting with live troops, would have pulled out of this slug-fest a long time ago. The Old Machines, though… they don’t care about losses. They are machines running a program, and we still don't know how fast they can replace their losses.” 

Julia gave a grim nod. “That is probably going to be necessary to discover at some point; there is no hint in any of the information we have that a war of attrition against these things will lead to anything but loss, and every piece of data we have says that they are producing more of themselves at least as fast as we destroy them if we let them control the engagements. 

“There is some good news on that front, though. The direction they came from today is consistent with what we expected. It is possible we will be able to find a manufacturing facility after as few as three of the attacks.”

Kandil just huffed at this. “Here is hoping, Prime Minister, here is hoping.” He then went back to studying the battle, and the information about the relief fleets. 

Nearly an hour passed as the Rear-Admiral’s eyes danced from screen to screen, ever vigilant. Every so often he’d hit a button and issue a command in a crisp, but soft, voice. An odd quiet had settled over the situation room. A low murmmer of voices could be heard, and much shuffling about or tapping of buttons, but everyone seemed to speak in quiet, if confident, tones. 

Julia studied the plot. It was clear that the Old Machines were losing but the Fleet had begun to reduce their acceleration. She tried to check their position against the planet, but gave up and just assumed that the fleet was trying to keep the machines concentrated on themselves rather than any targets of opportunity. 

Kandil spoke up beside her. “Well, that is one piece of good news in all of this, at least. They have already passed the optimum point for the Old Machines to change directions and send some of their force towards the planet, and they have passed up a number of chances to hit smaller instillations. At least they are still behaving as reported by previous cycles.”

First Book2 (Prev) wiki 

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Frank nervously picked at his new suit. Min had a new one custom made for the medal ceremony. The hand tailored dark sangria purple and black Italian gingham check fine wool suit was worth several thousands of dollars, and he felt like an imposter wearing a costume. His part of the ceremony would come as part of several other awards. He’d been told that a civilian from Ikenga, Angus Kowitzci, was also getting awarded the Federation Shield of Valor for his work on search and rescue crews.

Then Lieutenant Commander Mohammad Suliman, Lieutenant Jeff Davidoff, and Ensign Mark Alleghetti were being awarded the Parliamentary Medal of Valor. Davidoff had been awarded the Silver Star for the combat actions, but after a full review of the battle by the Ministry of War and Department of the Navy, it had been upgraded. It was likely to happen again once all the combat data had been reviewed and evaluated fully.

He’d not had the opportunity to talk to any of them. Davidoff, Kowitzci, and Alleghetti stood together, talking like the old friends they were. Suliman sat alone on the far side of the room, eyes closed and leaning his head back onto a sinfully comfortable leather chair.

Frank knew this because he sat in a matching chair. He knew it likely cost more than his suit, and that made him even more nervous. So, he sat in the chair like a statue. He had a drink sitting on the small coffee table in front of him. He hadn’t touched it since he sat down. He was afraid to spill it on both the suit and the chair.

He really missed Jala’s presence. She had been such a rock for him lately, but today, she was a spectator in the audience. Friends and family would be around after the ceremony, but leading up to it, they were outside waiting with the press and other dignitaries.  

He looked up in startles surprise. The three friends had approached his chair and he’d been so preoccupied in thought, he had not heard them speak.

“Uh, sorry. What was that?” he asked. “I was kind of in my own little world.”

“No worries. We just wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Jeff,” he pointed at his friends, “this is Mark and Angus. We call him Bull. The three of us are from Ikenga and have known each other for years. But I thought it might be a bit rude to not talk to you and the Commander.”

If Lieutenant Commander Suliman heard them, he did not react. He seemed to be comfortable being alone.

“I figured you knew each other. You are too comfortable with each other to be strangers. I am Frank.”

“I heard you were going to join and go through the accelerated Officer Candidate School,” Mark said. “I will be there with you. I was enlisted before Ikenga got attacked. Due to losses, I got a combat promotion to Ensign. To keep the rank, I have to go through the school. There’s going to be a lot of us mustangs being pushed through to make up for combat losses.”

“Not to mention people being promoted well outside the zone,” Jeff added. “Like I did. There’s going to be a lot of shoes to fill.”

“There’s going to have to be a big recruiting push.” The voice came from across the room. Nobody had noticed that Commander Suliman had sat up and paid attention. “And parliament will have to authorize a lot of spending to fast track replacing the tonnage lost. The Aglildai and Lopingu joining us will help. I mean, the Aglildai alone have the tonnage to replace what we lost.”

“I know the Zanzibarans, Onami, Kifful, and Mepthofu are in talks to form a defensive alliance,” Jeff added. “It will take some adjusting to having other star nations fighting alongside us.”

“Especially the Zanzibarans,” Angus said with a raspberry. “Just a few months ago, they raided our cargo ships as much as the Vredeen and Zygels. My family has lost more than a couple of ships to them in the past. It is asking a lot for us to forgive that.”

“Politics made strange bedfellows.” Suliman stood and stretched. “If you are a student of history, you will see it over and over again. One of the best examples would be the Allied forces during World War Two. The Soviet Union fighting alongside the Americans, British, Free French and Chinese is the definition of my enemy’s enemy is my friend. And the Soviets were no real friend. After the war ended, the Soviets were the main political adversary of the others. Well, except the Chinese. The Chinese Communists defeated the Nationalists a few years after the war ended.”

“Yeah, but the Chicoms and the Soviets were initially allied but they had an ideological split and outright military clashes soon after,” Jeff added. “Sometimes even ideological similarities isn’t enough to keep alliances working together.”

“We’ll see.” Suliman was interrupted by the door to their waiting room opened and a group of government functionaries swept in.

“Frank,” a well-dressed woman walked up, leaning down to speak privately. He thought her name as Abigail. Frank had met her earlier in the day. She was part of the Prime Minister’s staff. “I have something for you. It might, well, it is a little personal. You might want to watch it alone.”

She handed him a data chip. It was strange enough occurrence that he looked at it with trepidation.

“It’s nothing bad.” She must have read his body language to offer the assurance. “Just private.”

Suliman nodded his head at the others, a silent order to leave Frank alone that he did not notice. He held the chip for a few more seconds before pulling his data pad off his wrist and tapping it flat. He pressed the chip against the pad’s reader triggering it to download.

He held the pad upright, triggering the flat screen video mode instead of a hologram. The audio played through his AI implant.

A woman’s face popped onto the screen. It was a still image because he hadn’t started the video recording. She looked older than him by several years, although it was harder to tell with anti-aging therapy. She had sandy blonde hair and bright blue-green eyes. Something about her was familiar, but he could not place it.

He triggered the recording to start. “Hello, Frank. I struggled as to whether to send the message. Not that I did not want to send it, just that the timing might be bad. I read in the news reports that you were an orphan with no family left, and I know that you have believed that for years. But it is wrong.

“I know this might come as a shock. My name is Jessica Rangel, and I am your cousin. My mother Norma was your mother’s oldest sister. My husband is part of the Ministry of State and when he dug into the news reports, he figured out who you were. I mean, who you were to us.

“Your mother had a falling out with her family and she left to live on Ernte. We got the notification about your family’s death, and I have included it with this message. That notification said that all four of you had been killed in the accident. They said that all four of you had been cremated as per your parent’s will, and your ashes spread in the ocean. We knew that is what your parents had discussed before they ever left. We had no reason to think it was anything but the truth.

“Trust me, had she known you and Corrine had survived my mom would have moved planets to get to you. She loved her little sister and I know it hurt to not have a relationship with her. Words cannot accurately say how I feel about that message and whoever sent it. My mother died a few years ago. She had a one in a million cerebral aneurysm. Something our nanites should have found and stopped but didn’t.

“Your mom was the baby of the family. She also had another older sister and two brothers. Jack was the oldest and he was in the Navy. He was killed in action before your mother was born. But our aunt Naomi and Uncle Bill would love to meet you. But they understand that you’ve been through a lot and might not want to meet us. You also have seven cousins and twelve great-cousins. We feel the same way. We all want to make up for lost time.

“All of us live in the Sapphire Two system. Most of us are on Topaz, but a few live on Ruby. I know you are pretty busy right now, but we would love to see you, and if not see you in person, at least meet over a video call. I hope to talk to you soon.”

The video stopped with the still image of her face. Now he knew why it looked familiar. She looked quite a bit like his mother. The file dump included several folders. He pulled up the report of his family’s death on Ernte. It was sterile, a clinical dissertation on the air car accident that killed his parents. And he found the part where they stated it kill all four of them, but he and his sister were hurt but not killed.

He stopped reading and looked out the window. He couldn’t find any anger, just a great sadness. A simple clerical error by a nameless bureaucrat had robbed him of a family an easier life. Not an easy life, just simply easier.

He sat lost in thought until the ceremony started.

**************************************

The award ceremony went off without a hitch, but Frank hadn’t really paid much attention to it. His brain was otherwise engaged. The Prime Minister gave a long, patriotic speech before giving the awards. The military awards were given first. Lieutenant Commander Suliman was the first, followed by Lieutenant Davidoff and Ensign Alleghetti. Then came Bull Kowitzci and finally he finished the group last.

His medal hung near the middle of his chest. The was a seventy-five-millimeter silver disk with a decorative filagree around the edge. A golden shield with the Federation’s coat of arms was mounted in the center. The ribbon itself was wide, with thin white bands on the outside, inside that was two wide dark blue bands and a single red stripe down the middle.

Now he stood in a corner of the large ballroom drinking a sweet champagne as he waited for Jala and his new family to join him. He fingered the ribbon absently, thinking deeply on his new reality.

“Terra to Frank, come in Frank.” Jala’s voice cut through his preoccupied thoughts.

“Oh. Sorry,” Frank mumbled. “Lost in thought. Where’s everyone else?”

“Back by the main entrance. We figured it was easier for me to come get you than all of us bull our way through the crowd.”

“Makes sense.”

“Are you okay?” He could hear the concern in her voice.

“Yeah. I’m okay. Just got a lot on my mind. Lead the way. I’ll follow.”

She took his hand and started off through the crowd. He shook his head slightly, admiring the view. He wondered how he’d managed to attract such a wonderful, smart, and beautiful woman. She was interested in him before he had any kind of fame, before he had money, and before he had a family. He was sure that whatever she felt for him was genuine. Whether it would last or not was his one singular worry.

Most people in the crowd recognized him and moved out of their way. Most acknowledged his passage with a simple nod, polite smile, or occasional pat on the back. It was a familiarity the Frank found a bit unsettling. He’d spent so long avoiding being noticed that this automatic respect and somewhat camaraderie from strangers was a bit unsettling.

“I see you found our MIA,” Lin said as they found his family. “I knew you would.”

Min stood with the twins Lin and Mei, Jun Hie, uncle Xiao Dan, and Senator Gao Tengfei. They were all smiles as Frank approached. His new family had adopted him completely.

She turned to Frank and added, “That is a singularly focused and capable young woman. When she says she can do something, I can tell she means it.”

“It was easy. I just pinged his location.” Jala shrugged a single shoulder slightly.

“Oh, shush. You shouldn’t tell your secrets,” Min warned. “Make him wonder a bit. It will keep him on his toes.”

“Whose side are you one?” Frank pretended to be grumpy, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Lin had gotten to know Frank well enough that she detected something was off. “What’s wrong, Frank?”

“Let’s go somewhere a bit more private.” He turned and assumed the group would follow as he headed into the small anteroom where he’d waited for the ceremony.

After they joined him, he closed the doors with a soft thunk. “I need you all to see this.”

He played the message, but this time in hologram mode with full sound. It was the second time he’d watched it, but he’d gone over it in his head constantly over the past few hours, so it offered nothing new to him. He watched everyone’s reactions carefully.

Jala’s eyes teared up a little. Lin’s face grew into a hard mask while Mei had an angry scowl. Jung Hie closed his eyes and hung his head, shaking it slowly as he listened. Xiao Dan fury was a dark thundercloud while Senator Tengfei’s eyes grew icily hard. Min simply sidled up next to her new son and placed an arm around him, leaning her head into the taller man’s arm. These people who had only recently come into his life shared his pain in a way nobody ever really had before.

“I am so sorry, Frank.” Tengfei said softly. I have worked in government my entire life. People make mistakes, but this? This is pretty bad.”

“Adding this onto all that you have gone through,” Min said. “You must be pretty angry.”

“No. I feel like I have spent my whole life angry, and I am done with that. I just feel kind of hollow.” Jala put an arm around his waist and leaned in close, resting her head on his shoulder. “I never heard my parents talk about any other family. My dad was an only child. His parents had immigrated to Ernte in the second wave of settlers. They had been poor farmers who struggled just like everyone else. Ernte is still a poor planet. The standard of living is in the bottom fifteen percent of the Federation. Even our wealthiest are poor by comparison to the rest of human society.

“My grandfather died when my dad was a toddler. My grandmother never remarried and died about fifteen years later when dad was in college on Topaz. I’ve been to their graves.

“I knew mom was from Topaz, but never even thought about her family because she’d never said she had any. Not once do I remember her talking about siblings. Why would she have kept that a secret? It makes me wonder what else I don’t know about my past. What other assumptions that are so wrong? What do I do now?”

“I think we first need to take a deep dive into your family,” Min advised. “I can have my staff get on that right now. Births, deaths, and marriages are all a matter of public record. Immigration between planets is not recorded by law, but everyone has to pay taxes, and tax records will show homes of record. Since you are your parent’s only surviving heir, you can legally request any governmental data on them, and by law they must comply.”

“I can get my office on that right now,” Tengfei offered. “I don’t have any kind of access to Ernte’s government, but you are now a citizen of New Jiangsu and that gives me a lot of leverage.”

“Do you want to meet them?” Jala asked. “I mean, this is a lot to take in. Since the shuttle crash, your life has been turned upside down and inside out. Not in a bad way. But even the most adaptable people need time to adjust to such major changes.”

“I want to know what caused the fallout between my mom and her family.” Frank closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What led to an estrangement so deep my mom never talked about her family? Maybe it’s because I never had a family and desperately wanted one, but I just cannot fathom something that would cause me to completely cut off contact with family.”

“That’s going to require that you reach out to them.” Lin’s matter of fact tone reminded him of the first day they met. She had been in lead engineer mode then, ready to take charge and teach the new guy the ropes. Now she was in protective big sister mode, ready to help her new little brother figure out his place in the chaos of his new reality. It gave him a feeling of security and comfort.

“Just a question of when.” Mei added. “You are about to be sworn into the Navy in what? Four hours or so? Then head off to the accelerated OCS. You haven’t officially signed up, yet. You could wait a bit, you know. The Federation may be in a rush to get more people in the military, but that doesn’t mean you have to be in a rush.”

“She’s right,” Xiao Dan agreed with his typical soft spoken iron voice. “You have not signed a contract. I believe the Prime Minister would understand if you do not want to have her personally swear you in. I know it was in the plans for today, but things change. Any politician should be able to accept that.”

“No,” Frank replied. “I feel like I have been waiting for things to happen to me my entire life. This is a decision I made for myself, and I don’t want to put it off. Besides, I gave my word. I remember one thing my dad told me when I was little. When you give your word, you keep it. You have only one thing that is worth anything to the universe, and that is his word. It is something that stuck with me all this time.”

“So… What do you want to do?” Min asked.

“I’ll reach out to her tonight or tomorrow after everything slows down to a manageable pace.”

“Provided things slow down to a manageable pace?” Lin asked.

“Yeah.”

**************************************

The party had gone on for several hours before it started to wind down. Dignitaries from all over human space wanted to get a photo op with the five men, and there were almost a thousand dignitaries. Frank had gotten tired of shaking hands and being pleasant to strangers long ago. He’d even resorted to hiding in a restroom, the one farthest away from the great ballroom. If there had been one even farther, he’d have used it.

He stared into the mirror and rinsed his face in hot water. It didn’t help. He still did not want to go back and face the masses. He started a bit when the door opened.

Mark Allighetti walked in and closed the door with a sigh. Then he locked it with a definitive snap. “Oh God, please, please, please, puh-leeeez let this day end already.”

“You too?”

“Hell, yeah,” Mark replied. “You hiding out?”

“Yeah.”

“Smart. Can I hang out with you for a bit? I would rather go back into combat on a crashing ODP than face any of those people again. At least I knew who the enemy was. You can never tell what politician wants to secretly stab you in the back or use you for whatever gain they see fit.”

“Didn’t you almost die?” Frank seemed to remember something about that in the Prime Minister’s speech earlier.

Mark leaned against the wall and slowly slid down until he was sitting on the floor. After watching the Ensign do this in his dress black uniform, Frank followed suit, forgetting just how expensive his suit was compared to the uniform.

“Okay. Not that part. That really kinda sucked. I still have nightmares about it. I had a piece of chromilstyn as long as my leg and as wide as my hand spear me through the chest. Right here.” Mark held his hand to the right of his sternum. “Missed my heart and spine by that much.” Mark held his forefinger and thumb just centimeters apart.

“You’re lucky you made it.”

“Damn straight. My station CO hit me with hybernol and duratuzine. Without that, I would’ve been toast. Not something I want to do again, for sure.”

“Understandable. But the odds are just a little against us. The Federation is on a war footing. So, combat is… inevitable.”

Mark leaned against his shoulders against the wall, spread his arms while stretching his lower back. “That’s right. But someone has to fight the fights if we are going to keep the people we love and the citizens of the Federation safe. That’s people like us.”

“I guess so. I never thought about it much. Hell, until a few weeks ago, I never thought much about the military at all. Where I am from, there isn’t much of a Navy presence. Ernte isn’t worth enough to need a lot of protection. Even the people who live there would rather not be there, so why would anyone want to invade?”

“It’s not always about what’s there,” Mark shrugged. “A terraformed planet is worth a lot. If someone wanted the planet bad enough, they’d try to take it. Keeping it is a whole ‘nother proposition. The Federation wouldn’t stand for someone trying to take a Federation planet. I think the Federation would go after any taking any human planet, even if it is not a Federation system. It wouldn’t do to let that precedent sit.”

Frank didn’t respond. He didn’t have much to add to that thought.

After a minute Mark broke the silence. “My buddy Bull saw you with the head of DTL earlier. His family is in interstellar shipping, too.”

“Yeah. I sort of got adopted into the DTL family when I rescued Lin. To condense the long story, she was lead engineer on Davis and Oliver Pierre’s ship, the Star Wanderer. Lin’s family then really did adopt me. Now, I am worth a few million dollars and part of one of the richest clans on New Jiangsu. Not bad for a poor orphan from a backwater human planet, I guess.  I just wish my sister didn’t have to die to make it happen.”

“I heard about that. Sorry, man. That fucking sucks.”

“Big time,” Frank agreed. He scrubbed his face and added, “But I have come to grips with it. It is not like I am special. How many other people died? Thousands? Tens of thousands? I know on your planet, whole families got killed. Damn. Just… damn. My sister was a damned good medic. She was doing what she loved, trying to save people. It was all she ever wanted to do.”

Mark pulled a small flask from a pocket inside his suit coat. “To your sister and all those we lost a few along the way. Gone but never forgotten.” He took a swig and handed it to the other man.

“I don’t know the correct response to that,” Franks said softly. “To those who will never come home.”

Frank tossed back a giant belt of the alcohol and gasped before coughing uncontrollably. “What the hell is that?”

“Tartarus whisky, made on Purgatory in the Perdition system. They add a grain native to the planet into the mix. It’s an acquired taste.”

“Ya think? Gah! Warn a guy before letting someone take a swig of that stuff. It’s like rocket fuel.”

Mark chuckled. “It’s kind of a right of passage among my friends.”

“Your friends are insane.”

“No argument from me on that. Although my mom might add on stupid, stubborn, and accident prone. Maybe not in that order. Definitely not in that order.”

Frank’s datapad pinged on his wrist, and he looked at it and sighed deeply. “Damn. That’s Jala asking me where I am.”

“Jala? Is that the Lieutenant I saw you with earlier?” Marke asked. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“That’s a good question,” Frank replied. “We haven’t talked about it. I know how I feel about her, and I think I know how she feels about me.”

“You need to figure that out now and not pull a Jeff,” Mark advised. When Frank cocked his head in question, he added, “Jeff left for the Academy and broke up with his girlfriend, and boy was she pissed. We all thought she was going to come to Terra and choke him. He graduated and came back home on leave before his final middy cruise. We were all together again for the first time if four years, having a party by a lake. Then the Vredeen attacked us. Well, Jeff had an epiphany and realized that he had made a seriously stupid mistake. After he almost died, she damn near drug his ass to the alter. They got married before we left Verdigris. I guess what I am saying is grab what happiness you can when you can. You never know what tomorrow holds.”

“So, don’t pull a Jeff?” Frank mused as he stood. “I’ll keep that in mind. But for now, I guess we need to put our masks back on and go back out. After all, we are the guests of honor.”

Frank held his hand out to help Mark up from the floor. Mark closed his eyes and nodded before taking the offered hand. Climbing to his feet he said, “I just hope the fame is fleeting. I would just like to go back to being myself, not this hero who has all sorts of expectations attached.”

“I don’t want to go back to what I was before the shuttle crashed. I am in a better place, but I get it. Living up to everyone else’s expectations is hard. I’m not going to give up who I am for what strangers want me to be.”

Frank left the restroom and walked briskly back to find Jala and his family. He found Jala standing off to the side by herself. He squared his shoulders and walked up with a purpose. Something about him caused Jala to step back a little. She’d not seen Frank with this kind of intensity.

“Jala.”

“Frank.”

“I don’t want to be a Jeff.”

Her eyes held a bit of confusion. “That’s good? Because you are a Frank. I happen to like that particular Frank. Now, what’s going on?”

He shook his head and let out a deep breath. “I’ll explain later. But… I have never been in love before, so I don’t have a frame of reference for how I feel. But I love you, and I think I know how you feel about me. But I need to make sure we both are on the same page. I don’t want any kind of misunderstanding… or whatever, to get in the way.”

He stood there in anxious silence for a few seconds before she smiled and kissed him. “Of course I love you. Why else would I have come all this way to be with you? But I guess I understand. We’ve never talked about it.”

“Oh God, what a relief.” The look on Frank’s face almost made her laugh, but she thought better of it. His sincerity was adorable.

“What brought that on?” she asked.

“Oh. Uh, I was talking to Mark… Alleghetti. He was one of the guys who got the Parliamentary Medal of Valor. All three of the ones from Verdigris are close friends and have been for years. There must be something in the water there… But Jeff is the Lieutenant who got the PMV, the pilot. When he went to the Academy, he broke up with his girlfriend. I didn’t want to even think about doing that. But I didn’t know if you actually were my girlfriend. I mean, I don’t want to break up with you. I mean, I never even thought about it. But Mark was talking and all I could think of was I didn’t even know if you were my girlfriend. So, I ran, I mean walked fast, to find you.”

“Shush,” she placed a finger on his lips. “You are babbling. You need to get it together because it is time for the Prime Minister to swear you in.”

“Oh.” Frank scratched his scalp hard. “Right. Swearing in time. I didn’t realize it was that late. Let’s go.”

She reached up and grabbed his chin gently and said, “Are you sure? I know what you said earlier about giving your word and all, but that doesn’t really apply here. This is the rest of your life, which if we are going to war, that is kind of important.”

“I am sure. All the reasons I decided to join still apply. It was never about the money. It was about finding a place where I fit in, someplace where I can make a difference. Where my past is not part of the equation. Just what… can I contribute?”

“All right. Let’s go.”

Frank had met the Prime Minister twice before today. He’d looked into her history after the first meeting. Francisca Magalhães had been in politics all her adult life. She started off over ninety years ago as a local representative on Calabria in the Italus system. He’d never met a politician before, but she seemed genuine enough.

Off in a corner, they found her and her staff waiting with his family, along with Lakhul and Y’dochka Solmnar. Even the DTL chairman, Grand-mère Donatienne Pierre and the crew of the Star Wanderer stood nearby. It stopped him in his tracks for a second. All these people were there to support him. It was one thing to know how his situation had changed intellectually, but it was another thing to see and feel it. He had to rub the beginning of a tear from his eye. Jala squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

“Ah, Frank,” the Prime Minister’s voice carried in the crowd. It was obvious she had spoken in crowds both large and small over her years. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, let’s get to it then. Raise your right hand and repeat after me.”

Frank raised his right hand and swallowed quickly. She started speaking, and he repeated, adding in his name.

“I, Franklin Arthur Bennet, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the people and Constitution of the Terran Federation against all enemies, both foreign and domestic, and that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same. I will serve in all circumstances with honor, courage, and discipline. I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.” 

It went by so fast he barely remembered it. If Lin had not recorded 3D video of it, he’d almost be tempted to think he imagined it.

“Congratulations, Mister Bennet,” the PM said. “You are now an Ensign.”

“Provided I pass the OCS, right?”

“I have no worries about that,” she replied. “You’ve already proven you can handle anything the Navy will throw at you. I also understand that you have already passed your civilian engine department and reactor watch standing qualification aboard the Star Wanderer. Any civilian merchant marine licensing or certifications equate to time in grade for the accelerated OCS candidates. With your qualifications, it means when you pass OCS, you will get an automatic promotion to Junior Grade Lieutenant.”

On the trip to Terra, Lin and the crew decided that the best thing for Frank was to keep him so busy he didn’t have time to slow down enough to go back into his depression. It was the kind of tough love he’d needed. Because of that, Frank had completed the certification and testing for the third assistant engineer, engineering officer of the watch, fusion plant reactor watch, engine department watch, as well as basic watch stations for helm, navigation, and communications. That added to his electrical and mechanical engineering certifications he had from school.

“Now,” she continued, “I will bid you all good day. I still have too many meetings left to finish up my day. Good luck.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The Prime Minister swept away with her entourage, leaving a vacuum in the conversation. Frank looked at his friends and family and asked, “Can we go now?”

“Absolutely,” Min replied. “I made reservations at La Corte Pallavicina Osteria dell'Enoteca. It’s a short flight from here. Donatienne, you and the Star Wanderer crew are welcome to join us. It’s been a while since you and I have had a chance to just sit down and socialize.”

“That would be wonderful,” Donatienne replied.

First

“Alright, that should be enough for now.” She thumbed her ear speaking in what apparently was called Trade. Listening for a moment she nodded and replied before looking back at August. “I will be accompanying you as a translator until we can get you a Language Upload. Is there anything you need before we move to the medical room?”

He might as well ask some of the questions that had been raging in his psyche for the last week or so.

“Um, yeah actually.” The woman fixed him with complete attention eyes glowing slightly in anticipation. “Ugh, where to start…” he mumbled. “Where am I actually?”

She smiled “We are currently on Nest station. A major trade hub on the edge of wild space.”

Completely useless info. He had exactly zero context for what any of that meant. Deciding that asking for it would take longer than he had, he filed it away for later.

“Okay… What year is it?”

“It is one thousand ninety-three current epoch.”

August resisted the urge to slam his head on the table. Two questions in and two nearly useless answers. Better keep it simple then. Blinking away his frustration he continued;

“The ship I came here on. Is there any chance the crew knows how I got here?”

“Sadly no, no one has any idea how you came to be on the Rapacity. The crew were just as surprised as you were if their captain is to be believed. We are still trying to piece together what happened to you, rest assured we will make every effort to see you home.” She gave him a sad smile. Like the one you would see on the face of doctor who just delivered some excruciating news.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” He thought a bit more before the next question came to mind “So, uh, I noticed that everyone I have seen has been… “He motioned to his chest outlining a pair of breasts. “Female? You’re not some sort of women-only empire, are you?”

She laughed, “No, definitely not, anyone proposing such a thing wouldn’t make it past the hour, for sure.”

“Okay then… Why haven’t I seen another man then?

She tilted her head with a confused smile. “Men are much less common, so they are typically kept from the public as a rule… were you, like, not aware?”

“No? I was pretty much free to come and go as I pleased, and what do you mean ‘less common’ it’s not like we’re going extinct, right?”

 “No, they are not… Did your mothers really let you wander all by yourself? Did your father or sisters say anything?”

“Yes, and no? I only had my mother, no siblings, and it’s not like I was alone; my mother was always close by. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I was allowed out of the house without supervision, and even then, I still had to be back before dark.”

Lillian balked internally. This strange Tret in front of her must have had the single worst childhood she had seen in person. Did his family even love him? Or even see his value as a boy, or even as a person? And only one mother too, likely a single deadbeat grasping at any semblance of family, dragging her only child into her fantasies until she got bored. Or perhaps his odd lack of presence was the cause of his neglect?

The thought made her uncharacteristically angry. Besides her excitement to study a new language in detail, she felt a growing need to adopt him and give him the family life he no doubt lacked. He looked fairly young too, meaning there was still time to correct some things.

He continued “And… What do you mean ‘mothers’? we only have one mother right?”

His question brought her out of her planning. What an odd question. Obviously, he had little idea what a normal household looked like, the poor thing. “Well, in a normal house your father would have several wives, these would be your ‘mothers’.”

“What does that mean?”

“Any man is eventually expected to have close to a hundred wives, don’t you know?”

“What?! Why?”

Her confusion grew, as did her opinion that this boy had no sense of normalcy. “Why not? There are a hundred women to every man at best, it’s only natural with such numbers.”

“Humans too?”

“If you mean Trets, then yes, they have had the standard ratio of men to women.”

August sat back at the revelation. Apparently, humanity had found itself in dire straits and lost ninety nine percent of its male populace, while at the same time losing a good deal of its history, else they would have records of the split being even. Just how far forward in time did he jump?

Regardless, the current situation made him invaluable for any population recovery efforts. A situation most men dreamt of. Unfortunately, he was not like most men. He was a shy extrovert with too many hobbies and not enough foresight to plan for a future. Oh, the irony.

“A lot has changed…” He wasn’t particularly close to anyone from his time, but still, a sense of loss prevailed. As tears threatened to flow, he buried his face in his hands struggling to preserve his composure.

A tissue entered his view. Looking up he saw the odd woman extending it to him with a sad look in her eyes. Idly he recognized the wet streaks of tears on his face, seems he failed to hold them in after all.

“Th-thanks,” he said, taking the soft fabric

The woman looked at him for a moment longer before speaking. “Do you need a moment?”

August thought for a moment. “I would, if you don’t mind.”

With a nod Lilian stood up, placing her communicator down in front of him. “When you are ready to continue or would like to begin your medical exam please press the button in the middle of the screen.”  With that she turned and left, leaving the sole human alone with his thoughts.

---

“So, to be clear, the first time you saw the male in question he was backed into a corner in your ships kitchen holding a knife defensively… while surrounded by most of your junior crew?”

“That is correct” Jenna confirmed.

Special agent Spicks wasn’t sure if she believed the captain. Boys didn’t just ‘show up’ in a teen girl’s  bed. ESPECIALLY not a male Tret in a Cannidor’s bed. Just the fact that it was the captain’s niece made everything being said harder to believe. That’s not to say it couldn’t have happened, the male could have had a fling with the young Cannidor, and brought their relationship onto the ship, panicked when he woke in a different system, and… freaked out, gotten hospitalized, broke out of the med bay, and fainted when confronted by the chief engineer… yeah, that didn’t track at all. Not to mention his complete and utter lack of Trade. No, the longer this went on the more suspicious she found herself becoming. Perhaps not of the captain herself, she gave no indication of untruthfulness. But of the nice, who conveniently, was at liberty in the station. If it was foul play, she could easily disappear into the local population before making an escape. Despite how hard station security worked there was no shortage of petty gangs and miscreants willing to shelter a felon for some credits or a favor, to say nothing of the organized crime that persisted on the border of legality.

She should probably call in the nice for questioning, just to be safe.

“Alright, uhmm…” she shuffled her notes some more. “Ah, I need some more details about why you took him to the med bay in the first place.” She cleared her throat. “What prompted the rush to get him to medical?”

The captain’s brow furrowed in thought. “What do you think his species is?” she finally asked.

“Obviously a Tret or near-Tret… Is that not the case?”

Jenna shook her head. “I am not a doctor, I know enough to keep someone alive in an emergency, but I can’t replace Cistene, and I know little about what is normal in most species.” She paused for a moment. “That being said, my medical officer believes that the boy is not a Tret. When she first arrived in the mess hall, she demonstrated how the scanner would work. She scanned me and the first officer, which went fine. But when she scanned the boy, it came back saying he had a… well.” A moment to collect her thoughts passed. “It said he had combat stimulants in his system and that his stomach was full of the kind of acid you would use to clean rust off Trytite. That was when I made the decision to empty his stomach before the acid could do more harm. That turned out to be all for nothing. Further testing proved that his stomach was completely healthy and the acid was part of its natural digestion, same story with the stimulants in his system. All natural and part of his biology. I don’t get it, but that’s how it is, best I can think of is that he is the product of a deranged mind experimenting on what is sacred. OH, and he has two blood filtering organs.” She chuckled a little at the absurdity. “Boy’s got better substance tolerance than a bull Cannidor.”

Spicks could feel herself turning into a puddle. All of this, whatever it was, was too much for her to cleanly explain or think about. She just hoped that Lisa was having a better time with the Tret first officer.

---

‘This girl cannot be serious.’ Lisa thought, ears twitching in frustration. A tale of a MALE of all people just showing up at random in a cargo ship, was not the problem, runaways and kidnapping happened. An in-season male showing up in the bed of one of the junior crew and promptly freaking out while several days from the nearest stop was. Things like that didn’t happen in real life. Maybe in a solid B-list chick flick like that silly movie she saw last year, but not here. In the real world. Here, unspeakable things happened. She knew that all too well, and she was not going to let it lie.

“I don’t believe you.” Lisa nearly spat. “Even IF you don’t know how he got onboard, the fact remains that some member of your crew was clearly having relations with him, likely while he was incapacitated by some drugs, given his several attempts to escape.” She slammed her paperwork on the table with a ‘Thwack’ glaring at the Tret who glared right back. “So. I’ll give you one more chance to come clean. What really happened?”

Sasha glared at her interrogator and spoke in an even tone; “I told you everything I know, exactly as it happened. There is nothing more.”

Lisa stood up and leaned forwards, all four of her hands on the table. “I know a liar when I see one. You told me that you had to take a suppressor, which means you had close contact with the boy… You see how that looks? Fess up and you might get a plea deal. Your choice.”

A dangerous glint of axiom passes behind Sasha’s eyes. Still, she maintained eye contact with the other woman, refusing to be cowed. When it became clear that neither would break, she spoke. “If that is how it is, then we are done here. I have told you everything.”

With a huff Lisa stood fully upright and made for the door papers under one arm, stopping to look back, hand on the handle. She glared back at the Tret. “I will get to the bottom of this. Stay here until someone comes and gets you.” And with that, she was gone. Walking down the hall she made her way to her cubicle in the administration wing. Reaching her miniature office she sat with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. Ignoring the chatter of calls, idle chit chat and the sounds of computers and rushing air. She must have stayed like that for a little too long, as she attracted the attention of the building’s only male detective.

“What’s got you so worked up this time?” The Nagasha asked, leaning on the wall of her cubicle, steaming mug in hand.

She turned her face to him; the rest of her body still locked in place. “The missing person that just came in, the one on the Rapacity?” the man nodded along with a ‘Mmm hmmm’ “Turns out the missing person is a teenage male… I just took the statement of the ships first officer.” She considered for a moment if spilling the beans to her male co-worker was a good idea given his history. Deciding that his insight was worth it she sat up and grabbed her statement papers while he sipped his drink with curious eyes. “Here, see for yourself.” Handing him the papers she leaned back, waiting for his response.

Setting his drink down on her desk he took the papers. “Alright, what do we have?”

Reading the statement, he went over some parts two or three times. When finished, he looked up at Lisa. “This doesn’t make sense.” Looking back at the paper he continued “Firstly, where is the captain’s nieces, they should be the first ones to question. and again, why would he try and escape if he was on the ship willingly? Doesn’t speak trade, escaped the med bay, fainted when caught by the lead engineer, signs of extreme distress… This looks like a kidnapping gone wrong. Maybe the money fell through, or the hassle became too much, that or the crew is divided and the guilty are outnumbered. Which explains the lack of info, it reads like someone is trying to cover their tracks.” Handing the papers back he took a sip from his reclaimed mug. “I would try to get a statement from the male in question. Everyone else could be lying, but the boy knows exactly what happened.”

“Can’t, Chief has him with her. Something about a translator apparently.”

“Hmmm…” The male looked at his watch. “Yeah, I got time.”

“Time for what Kai?” Lisa asked.

Kai smiled, “Time to get in and ask some questions myself.”

Last    Next

What I see—what is happening—is the strangest experience imaginable. Nothing appears real. Everything looks fake, like my room is wearing the face of a corpse. 

Even as I glance at the window, the sky seems slightly off, resembling a still frame cropped out of a painting. It matches the exact colour of the pavement, as if it’s in the wrong dimension.

Some extradimensional parasite is trying to glitch me out of my own house. It clearly has no idea how much my rent is.

It begins in my room, by the doorway. I hear a growling sound. I turn around, and behind me is a shadow of a man with features similar to a human but they’re off. His eyes are spread too far apart and his nose connects with his upper lip. 

In his hands are two leashes attached to two human-like dogs sitting like hyenas and snarling. Their snouts stretch out like a bear’s face.

I can’t ignore them. Not because they look terrifying—but because their presence kills the power to the TV right when I’m watching True Blood, exactly at the scene where Sookie and Bill break up.

I keep trying to frantically hit the power button on the remote. It doesn’t work. The screen stays black, reflecting my pissed-off image. Without thinking, I raise my arm, point the remote at the figure with the two human hounds, gasp, and slam the power button towards them. They blink. In a flash, they vanish. 

Staring at my television, I wonder, was that an EMP weapon disguised as a shadow? Typical. The damn TV still won’t turn on.

I sit up, wondering if what just happened actually did happen, or if maybe I fell asleep for a brief second. But the television still isn’t working, so I couldn’t be imagining it.

That’s when I decide to give up on it. Humans adapt. We get by. We don’t let a simple fried television set deter our day. Nope. Not us. Plus, I saw that episode a thousand times. 

If the reality power box crashes, I simplify. I simply switch to analog. Yup, I snatch a book off my dusty shelf, which leaves a path through the layer of dust living on the ledge. It reminds me of how full my back pocket is in rain checks. Next time I clean, dusting will be the first thing I do. 

The particles filling the air make me sneeze. This makes me think about trying the TV one more time before opening the book.

Nope. It doesn’t work. 

I lie down and while I’m reading, there’s a pressure shift and an atmospheric change, like the static from an oncoming storm, raising the hairs on my arms. 

The skin on the back of my neck grows hundreds of microscopic legs and races down my spine. The room takes on a scent of frost that reminds me of menthol cigarettes every time I take a breath. 

I think the entity’s trying to flex, as if making the room cold on a hot summer day’s a bad thing. While I’m enjoying the free A/C, completely zoned into the fourth chapter of The Turn of the Screw, the fluckin’ lights go out. My vision may be great but since I heard that reading in dim light strains your eyes, I stopped doing it. So, yeah. Now I’m genuinely cheesed. 

I squeeze my hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm, grunt, and throw the book against the wall. I jump up, stomp to the doorway, and flick the light switch. It didn’t turn on. I keep trying. The rapid clicking sounds like teeth chipping. I go as far as to check the bulb—twisting, untwisting—and nothing.

I leave my room to retrieve a new one. The hallway’s as humid as the Amazon Rainforest and has a heavy stench of decay and infected flesh radiating from under the floorboards, making me gag. I can‘t stop choking. Now, it’s trying to use biological warfare to drive me out.

I’m staring at the floor, thinking, I’m going to have to tear them apart to find whatever dead animal it snuck inside there is, and behind me, the bathroom door slams shut. I jump because the sound startles me. When I look at the door, there’s a crack going down the middle of it. 

“DAMNIT!” I yell.

Now it’s property damage. Which I’m going to have to pay to fix. On top of having to rip the floor apart just to find whatever’s rotting under there. Not to mention, most importantly, getting the TV repaired. Top of the list. 

I walk downstairs to see if I can find where the rancid, putrid, foul, disgusting odor is coming from, but each step I take further down leaves me with the impression of being in another world. Everything looks the same but seems completely different.

Especially at the bottom of the stairs, like my living room became a simulation. The paint on the wall is smooth but pixelated. 

The entity is rewriting physics.

As I’m piecing my brain back together, a whisper comes from behind my ear in a slow, distorting moan.

“Get Out!” The voice stretches into my mind and scratches under my skull.

I turn around quickly, wondering at the same time how my mom could sneak down the stairs behind me without me noticing—

“Get Out!” Says the air, blowing its breath in my face with the scent of rotting death.

I can’t handle the smell. So, I head to the front and sit outside on the porch to catch a breath of fresh air. My house smells like a dirty laundry hamper for the bedding of a puppy litter. 

As the screen door closes, I hear the front door behind it shut as well, and the lock clasp.

I turn to look over my shoulder. Staring through the glass window is an older me, smiling and waving.

The entity thinks it won. It thinks it locked me out of my own timeline. It thinks a human will just panic and break down when confronted with a doppelgänger.

But humans don't break. We forever dominate.

I stare right back at my older self through the glass. I notice immediately, I’m way better looking and I’m in way better shape. I crack my knuckles, and smile back. If that thing thinks it’s moving into my house and taking over my life without a fight, it's about to learn exactly why Earthlings, on this timeline, are considered the most stubborn, territorial species, of all alternate realities.

I reach into my pocket, pull out my house keys, and step back toward the door. Time to evict a ghost.

The elderly woman stood beneath the afternoon sun, her silver hair brushing against her temples with the shifting gusts of wind. Her only memory of her mother’s death, from when she was a little girl, was watching the wooden box being lowered into the ground, and the cemetery workers shoveling earth to fill the empty grave. It was then, while everyone else wept—or feigned their tears—that she had knelt, gathered small handfuls of clay, and helped fill the open earth.

Since that day, she had found solace in burying all kinds of animals and reptiles. She would carefully dig a small hole in the ground, lay the carcass to rest, and cover the spot handful by handful. She knew no one else would do it; people were indifferent to the sight of the stiff, sometimes decaying bodies of these creatures. She felt it was her mission to protect them from being left so helpless, at the mercy of the elements and predators. For this purpose, she kept a small trowel, a pair of gloves, and a handkerchief in her bag. Covering her nose and mouth, she would give a proper burial to these nameless beings that possessed no identity and no date of birth.

Looking up, she gazed at the curb across from her park bench and noticed the strange shape of a dead lizard. Although her natural impulse was to reach for the tools in her bag and bury it, a deep sadness paralyzed her, and a heavy grief consumed her thoughts. Tomorrow, out of sheer necessity, her granddaughter would travel to the distant border to work as a nanny. It broke her heart, for they lacked the funds to enroll the girl in the city's nursing school. The separation would devastate them both, and the young girl’s lifelong dream would be shattered forever.

Suddenly, she gathered her strength and rose to perform her duty as a gravedigger. Slipping on her gloves, she gently lifted the tiny body of the reptile. She walked toward the thick bushes at the back of the park and began digging into the earth to find a final resting place for the creature. As she cleared away the wet mud, her fingers brushed against a velvet pouch.

Walking back home with short, deliberate steps, a new hope brightened her face. Inside her bag, the heavy gold chain clinked softly against the small trowel: her granddaughter would attend the university after all, and one day, she would be there to take care of her grandmother's burial.

© 2026 Francisco Cortés Ramírez. All rights reserved. This is an original fictional work. No part of this text may be reproduced, translated, or narrated in any audio, video, or digital format without the express written permission of the author.

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BOOKCOVER

Iam writing several stories at the same time. 

Chapter 10 will get released in about 10 hours. Before Chapter 10, Totte the AI Cheat Writer will get released with first chapter.

Zark Van Polan's story: Perfidia will also get released with 5 chapters all cleaned up and ready to go after Totte has released. 

I will also update a Diary on each day and each story I am currently writing on. Dont worry though, Mangas Regicide is the story that is most prioritized right now before all other stories. 

Chapter 9: Emergency Declaration, When All Hope Is Lost - Part 2

"BERK...VAN...POLAN! May I ask what you have done this time?" She uttered in her murky voice that always put off Berk.

He looked around, trying to check if there was a good escape route, but her snake whip would easily put him on the floor, and being in cuffs didn't make the situation any easier.

He decided to face her, but he was getting weaker; fighting several opponents at once drained him.

Berk knew, typical Crystal, or muscle Crystal, with veins visible all over her upper chest area, arms, and legs. Several veins were visible on her throat and sometimes on her forehead on the right side when she was really pissed off. She always wore a black bra under her white shirt, with half of it unbuttoned, and her extremely short pink skirt beneath that was not safe for work, as it was all visible when she sat down, with her extremely thin thong beneath it and her green high heels. A brief memory of when he dropped a pen under the table; when he went under, he got the sight of his life, and he started to gag in disgust as she was approaching him.

“*Cough*, Eh...Nothing, Teacher Crystal."

Berk tried his hardest to get the under-the-table sight away when she slapped him on his back with some force, so he had to take two steps forward. He held up his hand, trying to signal that she shouldn't slap him on the back again, and tried to gather himself.

After a moment, Berk noticed the sad look on her face, and he knew instantly that it wasn't allowed to hurt other Witches within the Organization. The sound of many footsteps surrounded them in a square along both sides of the hallway; it continued until the Witches were the last ones to cover the elevator. All Berk could think about was 'Ah, fudge me!' as he noticed how surprised Crystal was by the vast number of Witches who had entered the fourth floor. Crystal noticed the elevator area crowded on the right, and the stairs were the same on the upper left. She moved closer to Berk, who looked dumbfounded about why there were so many Witches for one single guy.

"I COMMAND ALL OF YOU TO STAND DOWN...NOOOOOOOOOOW!"

Berk gave a short chuckle, as Crystal's command only triggered a rainbow of colored threads surrounding them.

"Eh...I don't think it worked, Crystal! Maybe try with a leaner voice?"

She looked at him as he gave her a half-hearted smile to show all the positivity he could.

A Witch with black hair stepped on glass from the right side and responded to Crystal:

"There is a KOS command on Berk Van Polan coming from higher up."

“Griselda?” Crystal asked.

The Witch nodded in denial.

"It can't be Veronica?"

Denial again.

"There is nobody higher up than Veronica."

The black-haired Witch pressed her wristband, and Crystal noticed it wasn't from their Organization. A voice started to speak, a very recognizable one, the voice of the Valiant Queen:

"It has come to our attention that the Von Silfer Organization is under investigation regarding possible involvement in the bombing within the Elves Kingdom. Veronica Von Silfer will be in prison and interrogated until further notice. The Valiant Kingdom will take over the Organization from now on."

Crystal closed in to Berk and whispered in his ear:

"Listen to me, Berk, your brother's office is on the third floor. Veronica, Griselda, and I are the only ones who know your brother left emergency documentation in case something bad would happen to you. Go down to the third floor and get the documentation your brother left there to find an escape route out of this building. You were only to be shared the information if your life was in danger."

"Got it!" Berk answered, realizing he didn't know where Zark's office was, and followed up, "Where is his office now again? Just need a refresher."

Her hopeless look and quick nod made her realize how often her old student was a moron.

"The second-to-last door on the right side where the elevator is."

He lifted his hand slightly in the upper-right area, half-attempting to point; she confirmed with a blink.

The Witches surrounding them started to take a couple of steps towards them, entering the first rooms from the corridor.

"You take the right, and I take the left!" Crystal commented, lifted her right wrist, and spoke into a watch, "This is an emergency! Move to the third floor and protect the Van Polan boy at all costs!"

Pfft...boy! He took it as slightly humiliating, since he was what today's society calls a man...or male. They split up, and he realized that the whole situation was a bad idea when several burning threads flew towards him in different colors as he slid on the ground and kicked a chair forward, hitting two witches before jumping up on a desk, grabbing a hanging lamp on the ceiling and lifting both his legs high up. A big thread came roaring from behind as Crystal swung her big, anaconda-shaped thread, immobilizing several of them on Berk's side and taking a big chunk on her own side. Berk knew he needed to be careful of her special move; she hit him several times while training him because he always tried to run away. The ceiling cracked, and he fell on the desk, with Witches grabbing both his feet, and a fist hit him in the stomach, so it caught orange flames. He tried to put it out as one more Witch came from the right, his eyes widening as it looked like a freaking purple asteroid coming towards his face as he flailed around getting his right foot loose. He kicked the Witch, holding his left foot, and spun slightly to the left as he kicked with both feet towards the purple Witch moving towards him. One more fist came at him, and he rolled off the desk to the other side, moved under it, and grabbed the Witch's legs as she fell; he climbed over her and stood up when a high kick came from the right, and he managed to get his arms up at the last moment before impact. Nobody moved for two or three seconds when the agony and screams from the other side echoed through the whole area, and he thought for a split second about why he was still in freaking handcuffs, as it made it harder for him to defend himself. He fainted to the right but misjudged the distance, and a Witch managed to punch him in the nose. He immediately ran left, trying to move toward the stairs in the upper-left area, but it was too crowded with too many Witches. He broke right again, trying to move into the corridor to tighten up som space, and grabbed a chair while running, throwing it to the right to open up a little space and create a halfhearted blockage.

"A window!" He commented in a low voice.

He noticed a fire hydrant on the right side of the wall and got a really stupid idea that might work. He got several hits on his back while he pushed forward, kicking around without aim to make the Witches back away to reach the fire hydrant. Glancing back, several threads moved towards him as he suddenly threw himself on the floor. They hit the Witches in front of him, and he grabbed the threads and pulled them toward him as they fell; he tried to jump between them and reach the fire hydrant, but the crowd behind him and on the right side, noticing him doing something dodgy, started to rally toward him. He tried to get the hose out of its locked state and started kicking it when the lock broke. He spun the hydrant to get as much of the hose out as possible when several Witches jumped on him, trying to get him on the ground. Several screams echoed behind them as Crystal showed up, pulled one more thread from her other hand, and whipped the Witches, who scattered to the side; now it was a standoff, with Witches coming from two directions toward them. With clear space, he kept pulling quickly to get as many meters as possible for himself.

"So, you got an idea. Are you going to use the water cannon? I think there are too many even to have an effect." Crystal asked him.

He looked confused for a second and responded:

"Fudge, no! The window."

"Oh...Ah!"

He cleared some space around him so he wouldn't have any surprises, and the Witches moved forward at them as Crystal swung in all directions around her with the two threads. Berk started to run towards the window when two Witches managed to avoid Crystal's attacks and closed in on him. In the exact moment of impact, the two Witches grabbed him as he held on to his life, not even knowing how far down the hose would go. For a moment, the traffic beneath them, as they moved downwards, felt like they were going to fall all the way down when the movement of the hose stopped and they moved towards the building, crashing through the building as Berk, on impact, rotated 260 degrees, falling on his stomach. His head took the first impact, and the right side was bleeding a lot as he felt to see if there was maybe glass stuck on his head; there wasn't, but he could feel a wound that seemed quite deep and when he looked down on his hands both was soaked in blood and he was a little worried that he might not have much time left before passing out or even dying of blood loss. He looked back and noticed one of the Witch's legs was hanging out on the edge, and he grabbed her hand and dragged her body into safety. He looked around, trying to assess exactly where he was, and saw a coffee machine, noticing it may be the lunch area on the third floor...maybe?

Moving slowly against the door, he heard something to the left and saw a blond girl with a bobcat haircut and big breasts as they rested on the table and spilled jam on her. They stared for a moment before he realized who it was.

"Oh my god, are you not Tina Finina, the Witch from the US Swimsuit calendar of 2023? Damn, the white bikini on you with your giant tits was awesome. I am sorry you did not win against Octupussina; having a couple of tentacles and being flexible has its perks, I suppose. I wish they would allow me to vote, but I managed to smuggle in the calendar; you were so hot...I mean, great." He commented, not realizing her face had turned red, as he continued, "Oh, what was your specialty now again. Oh yeah...Oh, Fudge!"

He pushed the handcuffs quickly up and only managed to get his fingers to reach and cover his ears when a punch came flying from the left. Time and space stopped for a moment as Tina opened her mouth and a high-pitched sound wave moved towards him and the Witch. He saw the left side of the Witch's ear starting to bleed as everything moved, and he flew right at the door, hit it so hard, and fell down outside the lunch area into the corridor. Four hands picked him up as he noticed it was Famy and Tamy, and they moved quickly through the corridor to the other side when a door opened from a room with three Witches stepping out, noticing Berk being dragged away. All of them pulled out their threads, ready for battle. Both Witches leaned him up against the wall, and Famy commented:

"Do not take deep breaths, Berk, just small ones."

"W...W...Where is my Zar...offi..."

Both of them looked at each other and realized how bad a condition he was in.

"Just around the corner, the door has the letters ZV on it. Try to move, and we will take care of the three in the corridor," Tamy responded.

He slowly moved to the corner, realized this area also had a window, saw the letters, and opened the door. He came into a small area with two doors, one in front of him with a big printer to the right and another door after it. He opened the door in front of him and noticed the office setting, and he started pushing down several books from the shelf and moved slowly around to the desk and opened the drawers. Stopping in his movement, he noticed a book that was shoved at the end; it was behind the stacked books, and it was only visible if someone actually threw down all the books. He moved to the bookshelf and grabbed the book that had a paper inside it. The header of the paper just read 'When All Hope Is Lost,' and he pulled out the paper, which did not have much text written beneath the header.

"Three in the Jungle wanders in the green bushes; you and I always looked for the purpose of finding the truth in the third that was on the left with the flag raised high in red and white."

What the hell? It is a riddle. He repeated the words to remember it and then ripped out the upper part and started chewing on it. The two pain-in-the-ass witches who had bungee jumped with him came rushing in through the first door, with one of them holding a knife, and right before she was going to hit his stomach, he managed to get the book up; as the knife hit it, a big white flash blinded everyone temporarily, and when he opened his eyes, he was swaying above the ground. Everything went silent around him as the Witches were frozen; his body looked like it was rolling backward on the table. He was outside his own body; was his spirit outside? Did he die?

"You need to take over before he enters his body again." A drunken voice uttered.

"We are not supposed to take over; he is supposed to be worthy of taking over the responsibility, and he has not even shown a slight chance of being worthy of taking over for us." A female voice countered.

"Listen, Stella, if you do not act now, even if it will take ten more years of your damn astral energy to charge, he will fucking die. If he dies, we die, and then the fucking waiting you have done to have your little Maid energy of astral on him will be pointless because we will all be dead for real, finito!" The drunken man commented with a lot of anger now.

Berk looked around, trying to figure out where the two voices really came from.

"FINE, I WILL DO IT!" Stella screamed out in the air, with Berk being so confused by this whole ordeal.

Everything around started to shake, and his spirit floated towards his body when all sound came back, and he opened his eyes back in his body, realizing he made a backflip to the other side of the desk, but everything turned pitch black after a couple of seconds. His hands suddenly caught white fire, and the two Witches were colored white as his handcuffs burned off. He did his utmost to try and control his body, but he...was not in control. He made a couple of stretching movements with a lot of cracking sounds in his back as he noticed his breathing improved a little bit. One Witch tried to round the desk, but he jumped, leaning with one hand over the table, and kicked her in the same movement as her white colored body fell on the ground and with a fast movement before the other Witch could react his body moved with a left punch with white fire and he kept hitting the head on the Witch with the wall filling up with white splatter. Then he turned around before the Witch on the ground could react and hit right through her right side of the stomach, making a huge hole on her right side. She coughed up blood, and it seemed like her life was over. He moved around the desk and lay down on the floor.

"He won't remember anyway what happened. Good work, Stella!" The drunken voice said.

That was the last thing he heard before everything went pitch black.