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https://archive.ph/RrNQx

cross-posted from: https://piefed.zip/c/funny/p/785361/very-high-resolution-indeed

At least 79 civilians, including 43 children, were killed in South Kordofan after a series of RSF drone strikes targeted a kindergarten, nearby homes, and a hospital in the town of Kalogi. The attack, one of the deadliest outside Darfur since the war began, triggered a mass flight of residents from South Kordofan and the Nuba Mountains, where further strikes on shelters and displacement sites have been reported.

https://streamable.com/q8mz6f

Video description: after trying to select volume control option at bottom right the screen turned black with white flashes.

This issue arises in two ways. First when booting the initial ASUS logo will show and then straight this black, flashing screen and second way it happens is when I try to select wifi, volume, network options present at bottom right area.

When this happens, pressing the power button also doesn't work, so I have to force power off the laptop by holding the power button for some seconds.

This doesn't happen every time i.e most of the times it boots correctly and most of the time trying to select options work as expected.

Operating System: Fedora Linux 43 KDE Plasma Version: 6.5.3 KDE Frameworks Version: 6.20.0 Qt Version: 6.10.1 Kernel Version: 6.17.8-300.fc43.x86_64 (64-bit) Graphics Platform: Wayland Processors: 8 × Intel® Core™ i5-8300H CPU @ 2.30GHz Memory: 8 GiB of RAM (7.6 GiB usable) Graphics Processor 1: Intel® UHD Graphics 630 Graphics Processor 2: NVIDIA GeForce GTX 1050 Manufacturer: ASUSTeK COMPUTER INC. Product Name: TUF GAMING FX504GD_FX80GD System Version: 1.0

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Away_Succotash_864 on 2025-12-08 00:07:37+00:00.

For years, nothing had been heard from the spiral arm once ruled by the Zorva. The silence was unsettling. The Zorva had always been reserved, yes - but contact had never ceased entirely. Now? Nothing.

When the Galactic Council finally sent inquiries, the reply was brief and absolute: “This territory is now administered by the Human Empire.”

The news sparked alarm. Not too long ago, humans had been fledgling - Fragile, chaotic, barely mastering faster-than-light travel. How could they have taken control of a region the Zorva had stabilized for millennia? And what could have happened to the Zorva? To find answers, the Council dispatched a delegation.

The humans welcomed them warmly, with courtesy and hospitality. They told them about their history: the rise from a single planet, the struggle with overpopulation, the leap to the stars, first contact with the Zorva…

They dined together. The food unsettled the diplomats at first - strange moods, brief dizziness, confusion. But discomfort melted into a serene clarity. The dishes were… delightful. They sharpened the mind. They felt right. Everything felt right.

The humans spoke calmly of Zorva’s end as a spacefaring species, their use of Nanobots to achieve that goal, of the reservations where the few that were left now were kept. The diplomats found this entirely reasonable - beneficial, even. They felt relieved, almost euphoric, and invited the humans to tour their ship.

The crew was introduced. The humans offered valuable gifts and, of course, Earth’s culinary specialties. The diplomats persuaded the crew to taste them immediately. During the tour, the humans suggested finishing it alone, so as not to tire their guests further. It was time for rest. Sleep. Recovery. The delegation agreed without hesitation, left the ship, and lay down right outside to sleep.

The humans remained aboard. More colleagues arrived. There was much work to do.

Nanobots - the only true revolution humanity had achieved since FTL. They were the key to seizing Zorva worlds and technology. With Zorva knowledge, humans had been able to develop nanobots capable of subtle neural influence: thoughts, emotions, insights. First tested on Zorva in controlled labs, this was now the first live deployment. The food had been laced with them. The bots had calibrated quickly. These aliens wouldn’t just eat dirt if a human told them to - they’d fight for the privilege.

Once enough nanobots were seeded aboard to replicate rapidly, the humans left resource capsules for them and more “Earth delicacies” for the Council. Then they woke the delegation.

With heartfelt farewells, the humans expressed gratitude for the visit - but urgent duties called. The delegation should return home. They would meet again soon. Grateful beyond words, brimming with trust, admiration, and loyalty, the diplomats departed. Their ship slipped into FTL, its cargo quietly replicating.

Just before departure, the humans had made one last, casual remark: “In two years, we will claim our rightful place on the Galactic Council. It will be a great day.”

And as the delegation returned - filled with new faith, new devotion, new obedience - the Council soon understood completely: Yes.

It would be a day of joy.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/LS_TOPHER on 2025-12-07 23:20:38+00:00.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so this text may contain grammatical or punctuation errors; Thank you for your understanding.

The maintenance bay of the Ohn’Var-Kei smelled of burnt ozone and resin.

The air was saturated with a deep hum that made the metal floor plates vibrate.

There, surrounded by machinery that seemed to beg for a break, Amara struggled to breathe, her face beaded with sweat under the orange glow of the reactor that had just come back to life.

The engine’s central module—an oval structure suspended by gravitational rings—swayed slowly.

The mechanical engineer brushed her afro hair aside with the back of her hand, smearing even more lubricant and carbide dust across her skin.

A spark flicked in front of her as she disconnected the diagnostic cables.

“Done,” she rasped, fingers tapping across her tablet. “Reactor stabilized, parameters at ninety-seven percent; it won’t collapse for a hundred standard cycles as long as it’s not overloaded again.”

Her quick fingers marked the remaining tasks as completed, triggering the closeout of the contract. “Repair completed; charge issued to the local council,” the display read.

A sharp chime confirmed the report’s transmission.

A few meters away, a group of Taz’Kra technicians watched from the upper walkway.

Their squat bodies, covered in orange plates, stood upright on four hind limbs while the two front ones—thinner, articulated, functioning like arms—twitched restlessly.

Their compound eyes flashed with fractal reflections, following her with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval.

One began to descend until it reached her level: the designated supervisor, Vuur’kai.

Its exoskeletal form stopped just a few steps away, the segments of its torso contracting with a faint keratinous crackle.

For several seconds, it started waving its front limbs in a slow, calculated gesture—expecting her to kneel, to “show respect.”

When she didn’t, a harsh murmur rippled through its gills.

Frustrated, the xeno straightened its dorsal structure, extending its four lower limbs; the movement brought its elongated head roughly to León’s waist height.

When it spoke, its skull opened slightly along the lateral seams, revealing vibrating gill filters.

“Impressive for… soft flesh,” it said, with the tone of someone offering a compliment that meant nothing. “However, our council did not authorize the transfer… so there is no payment… for today.”

Amara set the tablet on her belt and looked at it in silence for a few seconds; her breathing stayed controlled, but the tension showed in her shoulders.

Her figure reflected on the reactor’s thick surface—a tall woman, dark-skinned, with firm musculature forged by years of work in variable gravity.

The echo of her voice bounced between the tubes and metal plates.

“If you don’t release the credits, I’m not moving from here,” she said, voice firm and dry, paraphrasing clause 3.7. “Service fulfilled, service paid.”

Vuur’kai lifted two of its appendages, a gesture somewhere between denial and indifference.

“You don’t see it, human… you’ve already been…” the pause stretched, and an insult died between its mandibles, “USEFUL… that is enough.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost physical.

From the walkway, the technicians shifted, emitting short clicks—their equivalent of stifled laughter.

Amara looked toward the bay’s side port. Beyond the pressurized glass corridor, she could make out the silhouette of her ship: the Kirin-5, a modified personal freighter—compact but solid, its gray paint marked with the STAH emblem.

The Taz’Kra containment lights flickered around the docking hatch, forming a barrier that kept it immobilized.

The engineer clenched her fists, feeling the leather of her gloves creak.

She didn’t need to look at the alien to understand the situation: they wouldn’t let her leave, at least not without teaching her a lesson about who “ruled” that quadrant.

The roar of the repaired reactor filled the space between them.

Without a word, Amara turned to her toolbox, closed it with mechanical precision, and hooked it to her belt as her mind—caught between anger and cold logic—calculated the exact sequence of what she’d do next.

Vuur’kai emitted a faint clicking sound, satisfied, before retreating toward the upper platform.

The technicians slowly dispersed, murmuring among themselves in their dialect of clicks and vibrations.

***

The air in the central corridors of the Ohn’Var-Kei was denser, saturated with humidity and a salty smell seeping from the ventilation system.

Amara staggered forward, each step of her boots leaving a faint trail of oil and still-wet blood; the metallic taste lingered in her mouth where pieces were missing from her lower row of teeth, and a sharp throb shot through her jaw every time she breathed.

The swelling kept her from fully opening her left eye; her vision was blurry, but enough to distinguish the silhouettes around her.

Two Taz’Kra guards escorted her, their energy weapons charged and aimed at her in a warning posture.

The engineer stopped.

She turned her head slowly, looking at the guard with her single visible eye.

“You just broke a registered agreement,” she murmured, each word tugging a faint tremor from the corner of her mouth, “…and that has consequences.”

The escorts clicked—dry, brittle sounds that echoed as their version of laughter.

From the far end of the corridor, Vuur’kai closed the distance, the segments of his exoskeleton adjusting with wet sounds as he increased speed.

“Your contract,” he said, pronouncing the word with evident disdain, “does not apply outside your species. Here, you will learn our rules.”

The human looked at him without stepping back.

Her good eye glinted with something between exhaustion and contained fury.

When she spoke, her voice came out rough, with a faint hiss through broken teeth.

“…Then… you’ll learn what a… human default clause… means…” she said, her voice low but so cold it chilled the air.

For an instant, none of the three Taz’Kra moved.

Then, a bluish flash; Amara barely had time to recognize the high-pitched whine of an energy weapon.

Hours later, the engineer found herself in a large circular chamber with damp walls, a thin layer of greenish liquid seeping through the seams.

It wasn’t a dungeon in the human sense, but it served the same purpose.

A dim light coated the place, casting fractured shadows of the figures around her: specialists from different species—some sleeping, several groaning or rubbing their bruises, others just staring into nothing.

A massive being with brown, rough-textured skin shifted beside her.

Its limbs were broad, and its voice carried the low undertone of a mountain eroded by time.

“You’re new,” it said without lifting its gaze much. “Let me guess: you finished your job, they asked for a review… and then, silence.”

Amara looked at him, recognizing in his multiple eyes the dull reflection of resignation.

“They’ve done it before,” the xeno continued, settling heavily against the wall. “They hire us and then ‘detain’ us over false charges or ‘administrative errors.’”

“And why don’t you ask for help?” Amara asked, her tone sounding less like curiosity and more like a contained challenge.

The alien let out a deep, dry laugh.

“With what?” He raised his thick hands. “They take our communicators the moment they bring us in.”

Amara clenched the teeth she still had.

The memory of the blows—of how they’d taken her down in the maintenance bay—that metallic taste in her mouth—mixed with the surge of helplessness.

She knew she couldn’t have won that “fight”; their energy weapons would have punched through her flesh before she could even move.

She’d raised her hands, surrendered by strategy, not fear.

And even then, they’d beaten her.

The xeno offered her a gelatinous nutrient bar, in a clumsy gesture.

“Eat… don’t make things harder. It’s not such a bad life… if you learn not to think too much,” he said, voice heavy with exhaustion.

The engineer looked at him without answering.

Her fingers slid slowly toward the pendant she wore around her neck, a small metallic disc engraved in relief with the emblem of the STAH (Strategic Trade Authority of Humans)

The Taz’Kra had taken everything else—tools, communicator, tablet… but not that, mistaking it for some harmless cultural ornament.

She held it between her fingers, closing her fist gently.

The cold surface of the metal vibrated faintly—one short, almost imperceptible pulse.

The massive alien glanced sideways with the ocular appendage closest to her.

“What are you doing?” he muttered.

“Collecting what I’m owed,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on the metal.

***

The void above the Ohn’Var-Kei stretched in every direction.

Inside, the calm of space shattered; the external sensors sent back scrambled readings, the diagnostic lights flickered irregularly before shutting down one by one, as if a liquid shadow were crawling over the outer hull.

In the control post, the technicians exchanged nervous clicks.

One of them leaned toward the console.

“Supervisor Vuur’kai… there is an… orbital obstruction,” his voice trembled. “It’s not in any of the records.”

The official approached, the translucent membranes of his neck fluttering in irritation.

“Incompetent. Be clearer.”

A gravitational flare shook the entire station, and the stabilizers groaned as they tried to counter it.

Space warped briefly, and what emerged from t...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1pgwsw5/human_default_clause/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/TheStabbyBrit on 2025-12-07 22:44:40+00:00.

It was an utterly exhausting job being a representative of the Galactic Forum's Office of Colonial Litigation, and the reason was the paperwork. Specifically, the human paperwork. When Babbliq stated this to others, some occasionally asked, "do you mean the paperwork filed by humans, or caused by humans?" to which, in a suitably human fashion, Babbliq would answer "yes".

Babbliq was currently working under the assumption that humans were a strain of fungus. Pioneer ships of other races would go off into space and find an interesting world, fertile and blessed with an abundance of riches, seemingly uninhabited. Yet the moment the scouts touched down a short ape creature, likely one that was simultaneously "hairless" yet sprouting an entire hedge from their chin, would pop out of the ground and shout a greeting. Usually, they'd be smoking something they'd found growing nearby on the off chance it was a narcotic. If anything on the planet could be fermented into alcohol, a pint of it would be nearby. Even if it was 150 proof or more, there'd be a pint of it.

If the would-be colonists didn't just give up there and then, after several hours of talking, jeering, shouting, threats, tears, cheering, and assertations that one party had fornicated with the mother of the other (not necessarily in this order), the humans would eventually reveal the entrance to their colony and lower their sensor-baffles long enough to show that there was indeed a substantial subterranean facility there. Then the baffles would be raised again, along with either pint glasses or middle digits, or sometimes both, and off the would-be pioneer ships went.

Sooner or later, that led to a complaint to Babbliq's office, whereupon it would turn out that the humans had, in fact, filled out absolutely all the required paperwork - in triplicate no less - and submitted it to the office. Physically. Along with a mountain of other correspondence. The declaration of settlement for the world of Monodromo Solidus had been nestled in a twenty-four thousand page delivery of "important documentation", sandwiched between an article on solar panel maintenance and a handwritten note asking if he needed his gutters cleaned.

The worst part was that technically the humans had done nothing wrong. There was no actual rule saying you couldn't hand the paperwork in on physical paper, and there never would be because there wasn't a rule against filibustering either. The last time anyone had tried, the human delegate had unleashed a seventeen hour speech with pre-prepared slides on the importance, practicality, spiritual significance, ecological benefits, taxonomic validity, and security benefits of a traditional paper-based bureaucratic system. Three members of the forum were hospitalised and seven others retired in despair.

(As is befitting humanity's unnatural ability to invoke a tangent, one has seen fit to inject itself into the narrative flow at this juncture. Earlier, it was said that Babbliq was "currently" working under an assumption. Since that statement was made, Babbliq has had several other thoughts, and those thoughts have led to some actions. In the time you spent reading about human behaviour, Babbliq has come to a very different conclusion, one that propelled him through the various buildings of the Galactic Forum to the office of one Derek Dereksson, current representative of humanity within the Galactic Forum. Just so you know, he's not happy. Here he comes!)

The door to Derek Dereksson's office slammed open. Babbliq, a tall, avian form whose white robes sharply contrasted his black feathers, strode across the dark room and slammed a printout onto Derek's desk. "Why are you like this!?" he roared at the orange beard with a pale man growing out of it.

Derek glanced down. "I'm not like that at all."

Babbliq held onto his fury. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's a piece of paper. I'm not at all like a piece of paper. Not made of trees for a start."

"This is a complaint!"

"Is it?" Derek asked innocently.

"About you!"

"Really?"

"Yes, and-" Babbliq paused. Derek hadn't been smoking a pipe when he entered, but now there was a dark oak bowl bobbling in the corner of his mouth, letting out foul smoke. He shook off the distraction. "Your lot have done it again! You've bloody well snuck onto- into a planet when nobody was looking!"

"Did we? I didn't notice."

"Yes you bloody well did! You filed the paperwork!" Babbliq's nails scraped across the hardwood desk in frustration. "Why do you humans insist on acting this way? Why are you always popping up where you're not wanted, drunk and belligerent and petty as all Hell?"

"I take offense to that! We're not always drunk!"

"It's a quarter to nine in the morning and you've already drunk half a pint of whisky by the smell of you"

"It's three in the afternoon somewhere," Derek answered as he made it slightly more than half a pint drunk.

"Just-" Babbliq shook his head and let out a long, defeated sigh. "Why? Why did you decide you wanted to live like this?"

Derek reached under the desk and drew out two bottles of beer. He popped the caps off on the corner of his desk and slid one over to the exasperated avian. "There was a chap who once said that if you wanted to understand a species, you should study their art. Ironically, that chap was fictional, but he made a good point all the same. The stories folks tell each other, stories they want to tell each other, or feel they need to tell each other, those all wind together into a sort of meta-story, y'see? If folks keep telling stories about monsters under the bed, it probably means they're scared of something. But stories are also lessons, yeah? The boy who cried wolf got 'et by a wolf because he yelled about wolves when there were no wolves, so nobody believed him when there was a wolf. That's a good lesson. We humans have tried to learn about you lot from your stories, but we learned from ourselves from our own stories as well."

Babbliq's brow furrowed as the human took a long swig from the beer bottle. "You learned from your own stories?"

"Aye. A lot of our stories, the ones about who we ought to be rather than what we should be scared of, all had a dark notion built into them: the good times would only come after our darkest days. The new world of peaceful coexistence and enlightenment had to be built on the ashes of the old, that sort of thing. Our best and brightest took that to heart, so they did."

"When we humans were just on one world, our leaders didn't fancy sharing it. They built weapons capable of killing us all, then threatened to use them to get their way. They did what they want, took what they wanted, never gave a toss about what ordinary folk thought. Anyone complained too loud, just make being angry at the government a crime and arrest 'em! Simple as!"

"But the smart ones, our best and brightest, they saw the pot was boiling and they acted. They learned the lesson, like I said; the better world had to come after the dark time. So they went to our politicians and they said how the world-ending war was inevitable, so some funds ought to go to building bunkers and shelters and such. Just for the important people, naturally. Oh, but you would have to build a few extra for the common folk, just enough that they'd feel safe and not upset the gravy train."

"When the dark day came, the lucky few fled to their bunkers, and the politicians went to theirs. They all died pretty much instantly, seeing as their shelters were rigged to kill 'em. Every single politician on Earth suffocated in twenty four hours! The real shelters, the ones that worked, were chock full of folks we actually needed to make a better world; the engineers and scientists, sure, but mostly the common-as-muck types: the ones who'd actually get their hands dirty and do the work, not just give a seminar about what a great world we'd all have if only you'd give them all your money! But when you live underground, with barely enough to survive, everything got to be proper! Every 'i' dotted, every 't' crossed! Entire generations lived and died under a regime that demanded absolute efficiency and precision! When we were finally ready to rise up and rebuild the world, we kept that attitude. When we came out into the stars, we kept it still. We've had our dark time, we've had our great loss, and now we humans that remain have inherited a bright, shining future in the stars: one that shall only persist if we all adhere always to the Rules, and record everything we do in exhaustive detail."

Babbliq sat in stunned silence for so long that the silence itself became a statement. "Ah, it warms my heart to see how my tale has moved you!" Derek gushed.

"No, it's puzzled me. I can understand living underground during a nuclear war, but why keep it up now? And it doesn't explain the smoking, or the drinking, or the need to turn everything into an argument."

"Well the smoking was originally a way to hide the, err, persistent hygiene problems of living in close quarters when showers are in short supply. Alcohol's ever been a way to escape the hardships of-"

By this point, Babbliq had risen from his chair. "You're doing it again! I know you are! You're just spouting bollocks to distract me from something so you can - hold on, what time is it?"

"One minute past nine," Derek replied helpfully.

"Oh damn it! You knew! Somehow you knew I'd be so mad about your bloody stupid behaviour...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1pgvzcz/how_humans_became_space_dwarfs/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2025-12-07 21:52:24+00:00.

First

RAK and Roll!/Shadows Over Centris/Koa’s Conundrums

Both teammates safely delivered Koa drives home at a leisurely rate. He had made a point of getting a more comfortable home where Nitta and Nikka could live with him. They were sweet girls, earnest and eager. But not the brightest and they were... very close. Honestly at this rate he expects a shift cut short to rush to a hospital.

Four little girls are coming. Four tiny little things on approach and potentially popping any day now. Not to mention Marisa is showing signs, but is still fairly early on.

All healthy. All homey and all so very, very soon to pop. The twins had lost more than one job due to jealous ‘cult leaders’ or however their bosses had stylized them. Thankfully Metak... are small. They do not need much food and honestly keeping them both fed and well housed barely bloated his bills in the slightest.

Not that they weren’t trying to get jobs. But the girls were not the smartest. They were struggling, but he was their anchor. Able to easily keep them up and up. They didn’t really like that though. So they were trying to get work as couriers. But couldn’t just grab packages and fly in their state. They needed vehicles. But they didn’t want to be burdens and he had to talk them into not doing anything drastic several times.

He lowers the aircar and pauses as he sees Nitta and Nikka fiddling with the flying platform on the little landing pad he had rented out for use. He lands and exits the vehicle. Both girls have paused and...

“At least you’re using your wings to handle the tools.” He says as he crouches down. “But I still don’t like you stressing yourselves. You need to relax for this part. We’re so close and I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“But we don’t want to be useless!”

“Yeah! We’re the women, we’re supposed to be bringing in the money and support and helping out and we can’t even manage to keep things together! We can’t just... it’s so much.” Nikka says. “I... I’m not good enough...”

Koa crouches down next to her and pulls her into a hug. “You are. You just need to calm down to think clearly.”

“But everything keeps shifting around me and then things go from normal to smelling like I’ve been locked in an open sewer but not and it... it...”

Water drips.

“Oh no. It’s time.” Nikka says.

“Now?” Koa asks.

“I feel it.”

“Okay, Nitta. Call Marisa, tell her to join us at Lady Danwin’s Mercy Hospital. We need to go. Because if Nikka is starting, then you can’t be far behind.”

“So I’m going too?” Nitta asks.

“Yes. In the car please.”

“But what about the tools?”

“Not as important as making sure the kids come safely.” Koa insists as he opens the doors to his car and picks up Nikka to put her in the back seat. Nitta takes the front and he gets into the drivers seat.

“Marisa! Nikka’s babies are coming! We’re going to Danwin’s Mercy as planned!” Nitta half shouts into her communicator the moment Marisa picks up.

“Already!? Okay, I’m heading out, is there... wait. Did you have time to put the tools away?”

“No, can you take care of that please? I don’t want them to be stolen.”

“Alright, I’ll tidy up and meet you there with the bags! And brace yourself litle lady, you and your sister share everything so I’m willing to bet...” Marisa’s response is cut off by Nitta letting out a little shriek of shock and surprise as she suddenly soils the seat she’s on. “It’s your time too. I’ll be there soon! Just go!”

“We’re going!” Koa says taking off in the aircar and heading right for the hospital. He presses a button on the dashboard and it switches to an audio receiving mode. “Computer contact Lady Danwin’s Mercy Hospital, inform them that I am coming with two Metak with children on the way now.”

“There is a three percent higher than average traffic in Lady Danwin’s Mercy today.” The computer replies.

“Send the message anyways.” Koa answers the computer.

“Sending. Would you like to send any other messages?”

“Send... hmm...” Koa pauses. There had been something up with Amadi’s wife Abigail and Reggie had just had a very full day. “No. Deactivate for now.”

He drives through the traffic and Nikka is breathing steadily.

“You... don’t want them to know?” She asks.

“Reggie’s had a shit day and Amadi’s wife Abigail has been planning something for a while. Birthing can take a long time. Not to mention I can invite them over for a meal and we can surprise them.” Koa says with a grin and Nitta starts giggling before pausing and putting a hand on her stomach. “Oh that... oh. They’re squirming! They’re excited!”

“Nearly there! We are nearly there, that’s it in the distance!” Koa states as he goes in a little lower than regulations and rushes towards the hospital.

“Danwin’s Mercy has responded. Platform Blue Twenty Two is reserved for you.” The car says and Koa sighs in relief as he quickly navigates around the area, finds the blue platforms and then lands safely at the twenty second as the nurses arrive, likely expecting to wait but clearly ready to rush both Nitta and Nikka in. Koa locks the car with a press of a button and keeps pace behind them.

“We have a third wife coming in. A Lirak Named Marisa who has the birthing bags. She’s locking up the apartment for us. While pregnant she’s not close.” Koa explains to an Administrator that had started following.

“I presume this means you’re the husband and father.” The Erumenta woman asks with the cloud that is her hair trailing behind them.

“That’s right.” Koa says as he notices that she’s not actually walking or running. She’s floating on a little cloud and keeping pace. He wants to do that. Something to look into later.

“And one of those Undaunted types?” She asks with a data slate she’s going over with one of those pens that people use when they don’t want to poke screens.

“Correct.”

“Okay. Which means you’re ready for paperwork.”

“We’re in the system. I’m Koa Jackson. We’ve been ready for a while. Our number Eight Two Five Five Five followed by six Zeros and then a Two.”

“That number is not long enough for registration.”

“Not Six Zero Two. Six zeroes as in zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero two. Make sense?”

“Okay and the first numbers were again?”

“Eight Two five five five.”

“Zero’s and the two... oh okay! Here you are. Alright, you’re confirmed here and with another one expected in a couple months with a Lirak. I’ll get everything streamlined. I take it the Lirak on the way is the expecting mother for later?”

“Correct.” Koa says.

“Alright. Thank you very much. We’ll take good care of your wives and daughters. Rest assured of that.”

“I plan to invite some friends over after the birth itself, to say nothing of the family of my wives.”

“Family singular? Oh yes, I see it here, they’re twins. Of course. Silly me.” The Director States. “Anyways I am Louisa Gale and I am the Ward Manager here.”

“It was Denisa Twintail last month.”

“She’s been promoted, I’m her replacement. But not to worry. We’ve had hundreds come through this maternity ward during my time managing and there’s hasn’t been so much as a bad case of the sniffles. Your family is safe. I assure you.” Louisa asserts and Koa nods. “Okay, I’m going to let you go now and will catch up with the last couple of forms. Do we have names for the children yet?”

“Yes, but in order of birth and not who they’re born to.” Koa says.

“And they will be?

“Hera is what they want the name of the eldest to be. Demeter will be the name of the second born. Athena will be the third born and Hestia will be the youngest.” Koa explains before a nurse stops him from rushing into the birthing room while they take initial evaluation of his wives. Leaving him with Louisa.

“Interesting names...”

Goddesses from Human Mythology. Not the mythology of my homelands but the point stands. Goddesses.” Koa explains and Louisa starts writing things down. After a moment she brings up the data slate and shows it to him.

“Did I spell it all correctly?” She asks him and he reads over it.

“Yes, but can I borrow the pen so I can write it in English too?” He asks taking the slate and she nods.

“Here.” She passes it to him and he writes their names down in English.

“Why didn’t they want to use names from your own mythology?”

“Because they looked at how popular the Greek goddesses were and really, really liked that. They’ve been trying to talk Marisa into having her daughter named Artemis or Aphrodite. The goddesses of hunting and beauty respectively.”

“I see...”

“Not to mention they got hung up on some parts of old Hawaiian mythology and declared it pretty yucky. And... it is. But you know, it’s from the time where math was witchcraft and the small island chain was all of reality. Ignorance can be forgiven.”

“No doubt.” Louisa says in amusement. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I need to enter some things into the data base... and you have a lot of waiting and comforting to get to.”

“Right... before you go, is it safe to make calls from inside the hospital? There’s no equipment it might bother?”

“No go ahead. It’s fine.”

“Okay. Thank you. I need to start calling in family and later friends.” Koa says before knocking on the door to where they’re taking tests and asking to be let in. Ten seconds later he’s holding both Nikka and Nitta’s wings in place of hands as they try to hide how nervous they are.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Turren Arena, Turren Plate, Luxury Viewing Chamber, Centris)•-•-• ...

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Concept art for Sybil

Book1: Chapter 1

<Previous

Of Men and Ghost Ships, Book 2: Chapter 50

Acting Admiral Dobson watched as the combined fleet of the pirates, merchant alliance, and the massive mystery ship surged forward, hitting his own much smaller but more advanced fleet with everything they had. The numbers indicating shield stability were steadily trickling down. He knew it was just a matter of time before the enemy pushed their own ships too far, and he could reroute power back into his weapons and whittle them down past the point they posed any additional threat. For now, it was all about holding steady and not flinching in the face of the enemy.

Sevron, the ship's AI, was reviewing his data before turning to Dobson. "Sir, they're on an intercept course and accelerating!"

Dobson nodded. "An obvious attempt to make us flinch. Hold steady!"

Sevron didn't seem convinced. "Sir. They could be attempting a shield burn..."

Dobson considered that potential. Shield burns were a high-risk, high-reward maneuver, but were only effective if you managed to catch your opponent by surprise. The positioning had to be so precise that it was relatively easy to avoid, as your opponent could simply pull out of contact range with your own shields. Still, that might be the variable they were planning on overcoming their fleet's superior defences.

If that was their last great gamble, Dobson found himself disappointed by their lack of ingenuity. "Reroute enough power from shields to allow our positional thrusters to maneuver away from a shield burn once they are in range." As massive as the ship was, and as fast as it was going, its momentum would prevent it from making any sharp turns. It would be a simple matter to outmaneuver them. It looked like the shields were dipping into the yellow warning range, but that had already been taken into account.

However, the Sevron wasn't done issuing warnings. "Uh, sir? They seem to be angling for a head-on collision... They might be attempting to ram us? Sir?"

Dobson frowned. That didn't seem too likely. Sure, they may have outmassed his capital ship by a significant margin, but as large as his ship was, they'd still take considerable damage in the initial collision. It would take a madman to attempt such a suicidal charge...but then again, these were finge spacers. Maybe their sense of spite would force them into a suicidal attack rather than admit defeat... Turning to the helm, he changed his orders yet again. "Pull more power from shields. Enough for a full power burn to take us out of contact range once they've gotten close enough..."

The shield percentages were dipping lower, into the red zone. But they should have just enough to get by. Already, most of the ships were peeling away from the attack as their guns overheated or went dry. The only real remaining threat was the huge ship intent on charging their position.

This time, the Sevron didn't bother with honorifics. "Sudden acceleration from the large ship! They were holding back!"

Dobson didn't hesitate and yelled. "Helm, get us out of the way! Now!"

The crew reacted with lightning reflexes, and the sudden change in momentum pushed the inertia dampeners past their limits as several times Earth's gravity pushed down on the crew, forcing everyone to brace. Even though the burn was brief, several less-experienced officers briefly passed out and fell from their chairs. Moments later, the behemoth brushed past them, its shield crackling on their own. All sorts of warning sirens blared as the split shield system failed, taking down the shields of every ship in their fleet.

Dobson cursed. That final burst of speed had given them enough of an edge that even at full burn, the most they'd been able to do was get out of the way of a direct collision. Still, the larger ship couldn't be in great shape either, and by the time the other ships were able to bring their weaponry back online, his fleet's shields would be back up. The tide of this fight depended on what would break first, his fleet or the behemoth. "Status report on the large enemy ship! What's its condition?"

As an AI, Sevron was still at his station, ignoring the alarms and fire suppression system that was taking care of a few overloaded terminals. "Sir, they're pretty rough, too. Their shields faded before ours, and their hull was in direct contact with our shields for several seconds. They've lost most secondary weapons systems. Only their front-mounted weaponry remains a significant threat!"

Dobson smiled bitterly. That was manageable; they were far more maneuverable than that monstrosity. "Fire on their weakened flanks as they move past, then focus on their engines! Once we've slowed them enough, they'll be nothing but target practice!"

Of course, Sevron had to speak up one more time to spoil his current mood. "Uh, sir? The enemy is launching boarding vessels..."

Dobson looked at the readings on the large ship, but couldn't see what the analyst was talking about. "Where? I don't see the large ship launching anything!"

Sevron shook his head. "Not the large ship, sir! The other ships!"

Adjusting his feed, Dobson could see the analyst was right as a steady stream of smaller vessels launched from all the pirate and merchant ships he'd already discounted. He cursed. "Signal all hands across the fleet! Prepare to repel boarders!"

Dirk of the bloody hand had no idea how he'd come to be working alongside the very people he'd been attacking not long ago, at the orders of the massive ship that had torn his fleet to ribbons shortly thereafter, but if it meant he personally got to bloody a few core world dandies, he was okay with that.

Dirk's assault ship wasn't the first to drill a hole into the core world ship. He might have wanted to get a bit of revenge, but he wasn't stupid enough to poke his face out into a bunch of core world marines before they'd been softened up a bit, so when the hull breached, he could hear fighting going on down the corridor. Turning back to his band of eager pirates, he grinned. "Time for us to get some state-of-the-art core world tech!" The men cheered and started to push toward the exit from the assault craft as he added, "Whoever managed to kill the most core world dandies gets a five hundred credit bonus from me!"

That did the trick. Between the chance to get new weapons no one in the feinge worlds had ever seen, and the offer of a bonus just for being more violent than anyone else, was enough to send them into a frenzy as his crew spread out to loot and pillage the ship. A small group peeled off toward the sound of fighting, intending to flank the core marines, while others started breaking into whatever rooms the nearby doors led to.

However, a few of his more disciplined men stayed back, providing a screen for Dirk. They didn't need to go after a bonus for killing people. They were his bodyguards and received a bonus every time he returned alive and well. When you filled your ship with a crew of greedy cutthroats, it paid to bribe some of the toughest, most brutal pirates to be loyal above the rest. That's how Dirk had survived when so many of his predecessors hadn't.

Together, they marched down the corridor in the direction of where the helm likely was. Along the way, Dirk got to gun down a few fleeing crewmembers, but when he saw the utility belt on one, Dirk only winged him in the leg. His bodyguard was familiar enough with his style to know he hadn't been trying for a kill shot, and one of them grabbed the man and held him up for Dirk to question.

Dirk looked the man up and down as the man's wide-eyed expression said he knew he was in trouble. The pirate gave his best friendly smile, which only seemed to frighten the man further as Dirk spoke. "Am I correct in assuming you're a ship engineer? Complete with maintenance override codes and all?"

The man nodded, and Dirk's grin widened. "Good! So, here's the deal. You help us override a few systems in the helm, and rather than kill you like the rest, I'll let you use one of the escape pods to survive to see another day. How about it?"

The man's eyes went wide, but then hardened in a way that Dirk knew the answer was only going to piss him off. So, even as the man began to open his mouth, Dirk simply shot him and moved on. His guard didn't hesitate or wait for orders; he simply dropped the corpse and continued with the rest.

After a few more corridors and a few more corpses, Dirk picked out another target and began his spiel. "So, here's the deal..."

Carter watched the madness unfold with a grin. They'd taken a bit more damage than he'd intended, but Sybil was already working on repairs, and it looked like the core fleet was going to be busy for the foreseeable future.

John looked quite pleased as he grinned at Carter. "The man who first walked onto this ship would never have had the courage to charge the enemy lines so brazenly! Well done, lad! We'll make a proper swashbuckler out of you yet!"

Carter grinned back, but the girl interrupted his thoughts. "Are we sure it's a good idea to give the pirates and merchants all this advanced tech? We co...

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The Nexus. Near the Geographic Center of the North Rythian Forests. Just Outside the Dragon’s Lair. Local Time: 2045 Hours.

Thalmin

It began with a ripple.

Then a gentle but pathetic nudge.

It was as if my aura was being prodded with a feather and tugged at with velvet gloves, all with the strength and ferocity of a malnourished runt.

I’d scarcely even understood what the shatorealmer was attempting until he finally started to get ‘serious.’

At which point I couldn’t help but break out into a grin, standing up to match the shatorealmer’s height… before exceeding it, crossing my arms with a confidence my uncle would’ve disapproved of.

The would-be mercenary was attempting a scry, poking, prodding, and nudging at the local manastreams, all in a vain attempt at assessing exactly who and what it was they were up against.

It took every ounce of restraint I had not to overwhelm this pathetic excuse of a Nexian collaborator. It required a willful attempt at recognizing my uncle’s stern words — specifically following the incident at the Portside Tavern — not to simply stun, incapacitate, or outright blind the chosen one’s manasense, if only to maintain the intelligence advantage. To ensure that we could dictate the narrative of this encounter.

Revealing our hand would have locked us into an awkward position, but then again… there was a high likelihood these mercenaries would’ve recognized me all the same.

It all depended on just how well-read they were… which was difficult to say just based on a cursory inspection.

The adventurers in Elaseer had the benefit of proximity — and, by extension, familiarity — to all things adjacent.

But I knew not just how familiar this particular mercenary outfit was with said matters.

Regardless, Uncle’s lessons were pertinent all the same.

It was best to not show one’s hand, at least not in the opening moves of a battle.

My only wish was for Emma to have been able to witness this futility, to truly bear witness to the non-threats we faced.

Or at least, those were my opening thoughts, up until the elf finally entered the fray.

His scries… were far more effective.

Still a ways away from our contemporaries back in the Academy, but leagues above the pathetic, half-hearted proddings of the shatorealmer.

I actually had to make an effort to conceal my aura this time around. The results of which… proved to be enough to garner a raise of a brow from the otherwise jester-faced captain.

“I will only say this once more…” He spoke with a growing suspicion. “Exactly who are you, and why are you here?”

There was no more use in delaying the inevitable.

Just as there was no more use in playing hide the bandana from the hand fate had dealt us.

“Heh. That first question’s smart, I’ll give ya that.” I responded with a gruffer twang in my cadence, taking a step forward to close the distance. “But that second question?” I paused, letting out a series of gravelly ‘tsks’ in the process. “Not so much, friend. Not so much.” 

The tension in the air spiked to an unbearable degree, so much so that the shatorealmer’s posture stiffened, their eyes peering nervously towards the Captain’s.

“Oh? Is that so?” The Captain responded in that annoyingly playful sing-song cadence, each word bouncing back and forth as if ready to break into song.

“‘Dunno, don’t much care, ‘cause that’s yer problem. Thing is, a man like you is smart enough to figure out the why of things.” I paused, pointing bluntly towards the dragon’s lair before deftly shifting a thumb towards my armored chest. “So the question now becomes — do you really wanna know the who?”

Another silence descended on the scene, interrupted only by the whinnying of Aquastride and a solid gulp from the shatorealmer.

The elf, meanwhile — and very much to his credit — remained stone-faced, bearing only the slightest of amused expressions as he finally let out a disquieting sigh following a good five seconds of contemplation.

“‘Course I do.” He responded, dropping a word as he flip-flopped between High Nexian and a bastardized ‘merc-speak’ pidgin. “Because either ‘yer a real problem, or a bunch’a idiots. Either way, that makes you my problem.” The elf reached inside his jacket, producing a crown warrant the likes of which looked far, far more serious than the warrants Sym showed us belonging to those dragon-hunting adventurers. “The forest is off limits, if you haven’t heard. So tell me… who sent you? Or are you dumb enough to risk crown penalties for your own glory?”

“Who says it can’t be both?” I responded cryptically, putting all cards into the bluff as I channeled in elements of my sister’s… and admittedly, Ilunor’s penchant for theatrics.

This finally tripped something in the elf’s head, as his eyes narrowed, his face grew stoic, and his stance tightened.

The shatorealmer’s eyes shot warily back and forth between us, their anxiety reaching a fever pitch, prompting me to ready a battle stance—

“Ha… BWAhaHAHAHAHAHAH!”

—but not before the elf could completely defuse the situation with a boisterous, surprisingly earnest laugh.

“Oh… oh, I’ve missed talking to a fellow raconteur!” He beamed, lifting a white-gloved hand to wipe away a single forceful tear. “Quite daring, I should say, to pull such a stunt with a clearly powerful stranger at that…” He paused to gesture towards himself and the mercenary party busying about closer to the dragon’s lair. “Which means that regardless of whether you are fools or truly… problems, I should be rid of you posthaste.” He grinned toothily before raising a single hand towards us.

I braced for a strike, and so did Emma; however, instead of any fire, lightning, or telekinetics… nothing came.

“And what better way to be rid of potential competition than to simply join forces under the same cause?” The elf’s hand straightened out into an open-palmed handshake. “Listen stranger, I am not what most would describe as a… charitable man. But what I am is a man who recognizes an opportunity to increase the odds of a job well done. And right now? I’m seeing a path where all of us can win. You’re here for the dragon, that much is clear. But what exactly are you here for? The gold reward? The title of dragonslayer? The dragon itself…?” He paused menacingly at that latter line before quickly moving forward. “Or perhaps something else entirely?”

“Nothing that you’re clearly here for, it seems.” I offered bluntly, presenting the self-important Captain with a third option. “To put it simply, we’re here to harvest its crystals. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Which means that our interests do not conflict.” The Captain remarked thoughtfully, his hand still outstretched. “In fact, it aligns quite well if you ask me… we both desire something from this unsightly beast. You, a poacher’s trinket. And I, the whole kit and caboodle. So with that being said, why don’t we make a deal. Two clearly well-equipped and talented hands in temporary service over the duration of this venture. For some trivial amethyst shards.”

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms tighter before letting out a disinterested huff. “And if I refuse?”

“You won’t gain access to the dragon.” The Captain replied bluntly but civilly. Though his next few words quickly dipped into that typical Nexian venom. “And I will have no qualms with reporting you and your… golem compatriot there to the appropriate authorities.” 

That ultimatum hung in the air for just over a second before I reached a hand out but stopped just short of a shake. “We dictate our own actions, no matter how involved or distant.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Full autonomy.” The Captain acquiesced as we both gripped hands with a respective second’s hesitation. “Moreover, if anyone asks, I will simply mention I met two freelancers on the way to the cave. It will be as if you were never here.” 

Emma

I didn’t like this guy. Not one bit.

This was despite him doing everything right.

The red flags weren’t so red when it came to him, especially as he’d reacted… surprisingly rationally to the back-and-forths with Thalmin.

He’d confronted us as any merc boss would, escalated the interaction as the situation demanded, and even offered an off-ramp in the form of an acceptable compromise, de-escalating instead of going full murder-hobo as most Castles and Wyverns player parties would have done.

The only real downside to his actions thus far was his coercion tactics, doubling down on his superior leverage by hammering home how cooperation — under his purview — was the only way for us to accomplish our objectives.

Though honestly, that was pretty tame in the grand scheme of Nexian assholery.

Even so, there was something about the guy that just didn’t sit right with me. But maybe that was just my Nexian bias speaking. This whole adventure did prove that there were ‘decent’ Nexians out there, Lord L’Sips being one ...

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Standalone short story. No series, no sequels.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/142939/ace-of-spades

Poitiers, March 17, 2031.

The snow is wrong for spring, but everything has been wrong for months.

I’m one of the civilian volunteers who go in after the shooting stops, tagging bodies so the drones know where to land the refrigerators. The front line rolled through here three days ago and kept rolling. Now the city is quiet except for the wind and the soft click of falling ice off broken neon signs.

I almost stepped over him.

He was sitting upright against the shattered front of a pharmacy, knees drawn up, helmet tilted forward like he’d just sat down for a smoke. Snow had already started to fill the creases of his plate carrier. An ace of spades was laminated to the side of his helmet with clear packing tape gone cloudy from blood and weather. No flag, no unit patch, no name tape. Dog tags gone. Someone had already been through his pockets for batteries and morphine.

Something thick bulged under the Velcro of his chest rig. I knelt, brushed the ice away, and pulled out a battered field notebook, pages swollen and stiff with frozen blood. A photograph was clipped to the inside cover: a dark-haired woman laughing on a pier somewhere sunny, holding a little boy who was reaching for the camera. On the back, in faded ink: If lost, please return to Elena, New Tampa.

I opened the journal. The handwriting was small, hurried, but still legible. I read it there in the snow, next to a man who would never finish whatever he started writing.

Entry 1 – 09 Feb 2031, 0450 hrs

We’re stacked in the assault ramp of an LCAC that smells like puke and burning plastic. Fog so thick the ramp could drop us into the Atlantic and we’d never know. Someone’s playing old Kendrick on a cracked phone speaker. The skipper screams “One minute!” and fifty rifles clack off safe at once.

I always wanted to see France. Not like this.

Entry 2 – 10 Feb, Aid Station Gold

Three rounds through the meat of my left thigh. Hurts like hell but the doc says clean, no artery. I’ll walk tomorrow.

Kid in the next cot took graphene flechettes to the skull. He’s seventeen, maybe eighteen, still wearing his high-school ring. Keeps asking for his mother in Mandarin. Nobody here speaks it.

I am so fucking lucky.

Entry 3 – 21 Feb, somewhere south of Caen

They told us 72 hours to Paris. Week seven and we’re still trading villages for body bags. Brass is watching the whole thing in neural-feed from a resort in Lisbon while we haven’t had a hot meal since the landing.

My toes are black. I can’t feel them anymore. I think about the kid with no legs back on Gold and I shut up and keep marching.

Entry 4 – 16 Mar, 2340 hrs

Tomorrow we go into Poitiers proper. Orders are to clear the administrative district (whatever that even means when half the government fled to Brazil last year).

Elena, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I taped your picture where I can see it when I close my eyes. Tell Mateo his dad tried to make the world make sense again. I don’t think it worked.

I love you both more than winning.

Entry 5 – 17 Mar, 0612 hrs

Fog’s back. Same exact fog as the beach. Can’t see ten meters. Drones are blind, artillery’s walking blind, everything’s blind.

We’re not pixels.

It hurts.

Tell them it h—

The rest of the page is charred. The fire that cooked him must have started in his pouch and burned itself out against the snow.

I sat there for a long time. Long enough for the wind to pile fresh snow on both of us.

When I finally stood, I slid the journal back inside his rig, pressed the Velcro closed, and zipped his jacket over it so the pages would stay dry a little longer. I brushed the snow from his shoulders the way you’d brush it off a friend who fell asleep on the porch.

On the very last page, in pencil almost too faint to read, he had written a name I hadn’t seen anywhere else. I whispered it once, out loud, so someone in this city would know it before the refrigerators came.

“Rest easy, Corporal Ramírez.” I left the ace of spades where it was. Some things should stay with their owners.

Poitiers belongs to the dead now.

The rest of us are just passing through.

If it hits you, a rating on Royal Road helps a ton.

Thanks for reading.

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They came with tooth, and claw. 

Danielle snuggled further down into the warmth of her bed as the sound of the television crept upstairs and sneaked under the door into her listening ears. Her parents were watching a horror film she knew; they liked to do so on a Friday night, and she was long used to the screams that echoed up towards her. They didn’t bother her, not really, but the day had been a long one and her tired eyes twitched every time the heroine screamed, or monsters wailed with guttural ferocity. 

She had considered going downstairs to ask her parents to turn it down, but the cold chill outside her duvet trapped her as surely as any monster, so she snuggled down instead and tried to force her mind into sleep, an action as oxymoronic as it was unsuccessful. 

She was furiously not hearing sounds from downstairs as they swelled into a nightmarish crescendo, when another sound reached her ears; a sound that fit the mood of the evening even as it caused her breath to run quickly and her ears to sharpen. And then another, closer now, sending further shivers of cold to run up her back like a light brush of cold fingers.  

It was a scream of pitched terror that reached into her mind and shook it awake, a lady’s cry, clearly terrified beyond all thinking, and despite telling herself the alternative Danielle knew it hadn’t come from the television downstairs, but from right outside her window. 

She knelt up shakily, clumsily parting the curtains and wiping the condensation from the window as the cold streaked across her body. Her breath caught as she saw them, a display as horrific as any her parents might be witnessing downstairs. 

Outside on the lawn a young lady lay crawling, a lady that Danielle recognised from down the road. They’d never really spoken, but she had always seemed nice enough to Danielle, and had laughed when her friends had knocked on her door and ran away. Danielle could still remember the vision of the lady, opening the door to nothing, a brief quizzical look before a knowing chuckle. 

‘You’d better run!’ she had called out with a cackle, before going back inside; Danielle and her friends had found it hilarious. 

But now the lady crawled, and her right leg was missing. Her left was barely present, connected by a small section of skin that dragged precariously across the cold ground as she clawed her way forward, snatching into the icy grass to leave a slug-like trail of blood and terror in her wake. The lady screamed again, louder than Danielle thought possible as the shadows behind her twisted into a nightmarish form that loomed into view. 

It moved fast, a creature as horrendous as it was impressive. Even from up in her room Danielle could see that it was big, standing higher than her father would with a thick body, and arms that ended in wicked looking claws of bone. Its mouth opened wide into a melody of teeth beneath eyes that were blank yet focused; it was bestial and basic with an intent clearly on death. For a second the lady looked up, and their eyes met with a watery terror before the creature brought its bladed appendage down onto her throat to cut the moment short, and the watery eyes of the lady ran red, and silent. 

Downstairs a window smashed. 

She heard her father scream, and loud clumping movements smashed into her mind as it stalled. 

What should she do? 

She had nowhere to go, nowhere to run. Her mind still reeled at what she’d seen outside *(the lady was dead!)* even as fear galloped about her body; sweat poured off her as she sat on her bed and blinked away tears listening to the furore downstairs. Her mother was screaming, pitched cries of terror that crawled into Danielle’s mind and made it weep as the television was suddenly silenced, bringing the screams of her mother into a new sharp contrast with the silence of the night. She realised that her father had stopped screaming. 

Suddenly her mother’s tone changed, and a rage of anger filled the house, shaking Danielle psyche with a morsel of hope before it was also cut short amidst the sound of wet rhythmic thumps, and the end of her childhood. 

Danielle knew then that her parents were both quite dead, and that she was probably next. It had all been so quick and without warning. Not five minutes ago she had been safe in her bed, yet now she was defenseless, and whatever those things were would find her if she stayed. 

A calmness seemed to take over her, and even as she heard the slow thump of something heavy moving up the stairs towards her, she very carefully went to the window and slowly opened it. Her parents had always warned her about playing near her window, but whilst refusing to think about them *(Mummy! Daddy!)* she climbed quietly out with only a glance at the body of the lady that lay staring glassily at the stars, and with the agility of youth she clambered up the small wall and moved softly up the steep slope of the roof. Her breath hung heavily in front of her as she climbed, billowing out into white clouds that hung in place behind her until, only seconds later, she reached the apex of the roof to sit painfully on its crest and hug her knees in the frigid wintery air, wrapped only in her soft pyjama's emblazoned with ponies. 

She had nowhere else to go, so she just sat, ignoring the cold as best she could, and waited to be taken. 

She couldn’t see much even as high as she was; the roof was sloped such that the immediate ground around the house wasn’t visible, and the night was dark enough that she could not make out any details far.  

She heard them, whatever they were, clambering about her room and chittering softly - she heard them move her bed and pull over her wardrobe. She heard the chittering increase as they presumably reached the window before eventually pulling back into the depth of the house. 

Somewhere a dog was barking. 

She heard them leave, moving with purpose away from her as further screams echoed around the night; her house may have been left in silence but the night itself was alive, and filled with violence. She did not go back into the house; she did not dare, so she sat on the roof of her family home and dreamed of her warm bed, and the sounds of horror movies to be drifting upstairs. She dreamed of her parents, alive and well, to find her and coax her back inside and tell her it was all a nightmare with a kiss on the forehead and the realness of love. She dreamed of her friends, and her schoolteachers, and everyone she knew, not to be dead, or dying.  

But such dreams were just dreams as she sat on the house, in the cold, and the dark. 

So she dreamed, but she did not sleep.  

At some point during the night the screaming moved off into the distance, and the trail of terror that had found her small house crawled away, hauling itself upon the grounds of despair littered with corpses, until she had found herself in absolute silence. The cold gnawed at her, and as her bare feet and hands turned slowly blue her lips chattered with insistence. She tried to stop them, worried that they would give her away and the monsters would return, but they carried on. Chattering and chattering. 

The morning creeped upon her with an ever-increasing radiance that bled into the night. At first what felt like wishful thinking for daylight slowly turned into the realness of just another day. She had wished hard for daylight throughout the darkness, yet when it came, it did nothing more than highlight problems and solved nothing; the fear remained. 

She told herself the monsters had gone, and that they had other lives to ruin. But still it took some time for her to move. 

Finally, realising quite how cold she was she forced her body to move, at first slowly she went down the slope of the house, listening with every fibre of her being to every rustle of the wind and every bird’s call. The house was silent, a tomb of her previous existence that nonetheless called to her chapped and bleeding lips, and fingers that had long since turned numb, with the promise of warmth. She scooted down, and telling herself that she could not stay on the roof forever, she dipped down onto her windowsill with feet that stepped gingerly with painful shoots of cold.   

She stilled her breath as she clambered awkwardly back into her room, the light from the window highlighting a scene of chaos and destruction - her room had been trampled, her entire life smashed and ruined, books and games flung about haphazardly as her bed lay broken and smashed. Her wardrobe was on its side with clothes strewn all about. 

Acting on instinct she grabbed at a handful and pulled several jumpers over her head as quickly as she dared; her heart thumped as the fabric nestled comfortably around her as the shelter of the house warmed her tired and aching mind. She put on 3 pairs of socks, at first her feet shouted achingly back at her, but she did so anyway before two pairs of jeans and a hat she didn’t remember owning saw out the outfit. Her hands were still bare and blue with an ever-increasing itchiness creeping around them, so she pulled her sleeves over her hands, her whole body feeling flush with energy at the warmth. On a whim she touched a radiator and with a whimper of joy felt the painful touch of heat leak into her fingers. She crouched down and wrapped as much of her body against it, then whilst trying not to make a sound, and for the first time since the attack, allowed herself to cry. 

----- 

Ten years later 

-----  ...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1pgmoi7/tooth_and_claw/

Ruby survives on affection, not utility. Let's move on.

Archived version: https://archive.is/20251204034843/https://www.wired.com/story/ruby-is-not-a-serious-programming-language/

This is what's happening nonstop while Tinubu focuses on enforcing the grip of neocolonialism BTW

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