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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Khenal on 2026-03-12 19:54:15+00:00.

Aranya

The red kobold watches everyone as they busy themselves around the Hold. Public baths aren’t a new concept, yet Lord Thedeim has his own spin to put on them. Being open air is an interesting take, though some of the ratkin and antkin are looking over plans to enclose part or all of the baths when winter comes. She doesn’t have much expertise to offer, aside from suggesting keeping things simple.

At the moment, that means many structural pillars are being set around and within the baths, though what structure may use them is still in debate. Even if they decide to leave them fully open, the pillars will be good for plants to climb or for people to relax against.

The antkin workers are still working out the precise details of how to heat the incoming water. The pipework is being installed as she watches, but the heating is still debated. Should they simply use mundane fire and heat the water like that? Maybe magma would be better? The ranching caste of antkin insist that taming a few drakes would be the best way forward, and they can be fed firewood to simply lounge around the pipes.

Aranya is a fan of ordinary fire, though she does like the idea of using some of Lord Thedeim’s denizens for easier heating. She already hopes to see a few of his healing slimes either on rotating expeditions, or properly tamed and on standby for simple sprains and aches. The army and the miners both would be eager to help.

And the army is eager to help, all of them clearly wanting a good soak and clean after being in the field for so long. They’re good about following orders, which makes sense, though she’s surprised how willing they are to follow the direction of Lord Thedeim’s enclaves and worshipers.

Not that she nor the priesthood are complaining. His message of improvement and love resonate with the military, and more than a few have started following Him. She smiles toward His core near the tree, imagining Him trying not to think too hard about gaining even more followers. For a deity that doesn’t really want to be worshipped, He’s gaining quite the loyal base.

And if the quiet rumors going around are correct, they might need military people and more, soon. Rezlar’s vision has been kept quiet, but he’s not the only one to witness the core. His was probably the clearest, but several of the people on the unveiling day had visions of some unseen assailant attacking Lord Thedeim and the town. It was consistent enough to encourage even the dwellers to delve to help prepare. They may not earn Him any mana, but they can craft and train to prepare for whatever is coming.

It even has the priesthood working on formalizing a path toward paladinhood. They’re still not sure if they should try to emulate Lord Thedeim Himself with their vows, or if they should focus on a scion to emulate. Many of her own spells are inspired by the scions, after all, so they’re certainly linked. She likes the idea, even if some argue that it’d make for far too many different varieties of paladin for Lord Thedeim.

She thinks it’d be fitting if a lot of His paladins aren’t even combatants, though it may be better to organize ones who would emulate scions like Honey and Thing as scribes instead of paladins. Either way, it is something to consider more when there isn’t a looming shadow over everything.

Though the forces of the Betrayer are shrouded in legend, another Harbinger is probably the least that it could throw at them, and so everyone prepares to handle a threat of that magnitude, at minimum.

It’s easier said than done, unfortunately.

The kobolds and other Maw refugees know the basic strengths of the Harbinger, as well as one of its most difficult abilities to defend against: its ability to interrupt team attacks. Mental attacks can be prepared for, with the antkin enchanters working tirelessly to produce protections, but interrupting combination abilities will make it much more difficult to fight.

Everyone knows that combining effort into a singular attack makes it much stronger than the individual contributions, allowing a coordinated group to deal with threats a single person couldn’t. They’re still working out ways to deal with something like that, but it’s going slowly.

It makes her suspicious of Rocky coming to help. He can and has defeated a Harbinger before, so seeing him somewhere while she and the priesthood are trying to subtly prepare… it feels like the zombie knows more than he lets on.

Still, she’ll not begrudge another pair of hands for the work, and she certainly won’t do something silly like ask him to leave somewhere a Harbinger might attack. She could even be seeing things that aren’t there. But her affinity tells her she’s not far off the mark, just as it tells her to not pay too much attention, oddly enough.

She wants to know what’s going on, but if she needed to know, she’s confident Lord Thedeim would tell her. Instead, she should focus on the baths and the preparation. While the heating is still being argued, the surface for the baths is already decided: reinforced obsidian and quartz. She’d love to see some more orange involved, but obsidian and quartz are simply easiest to source on such short notice, with Queen and Thing providing the latter, and the antkin making the former.

She makes her way to the tileworks, though it’s really just a lot of people sitting on whatever’s available, making simple shapes with their chosen medium. The antkin have their magma affinity, so are able to produce obsidian without too much trouble, and pass it on to the craftspeople to cut and shape into different tiles.

Geometric shapes are the clear choice, both for ease of production, and ease of use by inlayers to make mosaics. If they had more time, they might be able to produce detailed depictions, but the plan for now is to make geometric designs. She nods at the crafters as they work, with only a few noticing her and nodding back. She’s tried a bit of carving and shaping, and it’s clear she has no talent for it. She’s much better at inlaying, in her opinion, and so soon heads to the dug out baths to see what she’ll eventually have to work with. At the moment, it’s still dirt with a few pipes laid around, but the basic shape is there, waiting for the concrete to be poured, and the wooden contours installed, to ensure it doesn’t just all rest in the bottom and accomplish nothing. The inlaying will come last with a different layer for the tiles to be set into.

She takes a seat, doodling in the dirt with a claw as she considers designs for her section. Squares and triangles will allow for her to effectively draw thick, flowing lines. That could do something interesting. She may be able to make a portrait after all, maybe of Poppy? Vines shouldn’t be difficult to depict, right?

She continues to run a claw through the dirt, the soil forcing her to keep the design simple, which will make it easier to recreate in tiles, later.

“Never too old to play in the dirt,” comes a voice from behind her, and she smiles over her shoulder at Larx.

“It’s actually very good for planning a mosaic. If it’s too detailed for dirt, it’ll be too detailed to lay out in tiles,” she explains as he slowly lowers himself to sit beside her.

The ratkin elder looks at her work. “Poppy? She’s a good scion to depict here, too. Do you think any of the others will get their likenesses inlaid here?”

“It’s possible. There’s a lot of room for some larger projects in decoration. Maybe the less experienced can work on making borders, either along the lip, or between other scions.”

Larx nods. “Maybe, maybe. I’ll be helping with some of the plants. The birdkin dropped off quite a variety of seeds, and everyone is scrambling to see what treasures they’ve given us.”

“I should visit them soon. Maybe you, Folarn, and Ed could join me, too? I understand their bars are currently stuck, and I think it might be from their lack of metalworking.”

Larx nods sagely. “Forging up in a tree would be difficult, at best. We’d be happy to assist them, but our forges would probably light the whole canopy on fire.”

Ayanra nods and sighs. “Probably. The spiderkin have smaller forges and have enough silk around to have some fire standards… but I don’t know if that’d be enough.”

“Do you think the antkin may have something else?”

Aranya chuckles. “I hope so. I know they like to use magma forges, which would be even more bothersome than your foundry, but the enchanters might be able to come up with something.”

Larx hums in thought, stroking his beard. “Would they be able to get around needing smithing at all? I’m sure magically reinforced wood would work just as well as metal.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think their affinities really play into that. I think we may need to ask Lord Thedeim for something. Either a way to replace metalworking entirely, or some way to heat and work metal without burning down the tree and the town both.”

Larx smiles at the ridiculousness of the thought. “Heat metal without burning? I’d call it impossible, but we’ve both seen Him do the impossible without even realizing. Heh, like His plan for floating spheres for the delvers to run around on. Only He could come up with something like that, let alone actually implement it.”

Aranya smiles. “I’ll definitely ask Him after we finish with the baths. Perhaps He’ll have something to gain Himself another new affinity,” she j...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/RedBaelor on 2026-03-12 18:48:55+00:00.

Phoenix is a volcanic planet. Hot is what I am used to, humid is a different story.

I don't mean one volcano. I mean the whole planet is sort of like one, under the rock. The heat comes from below. when you stand outside in the lower district and touch the ground, you can feel it. Some of the older kids say you get used to it. I've been here my whole life and i haven't gotten used to it yet, i find it wonderful and scary all at once.

My dad works in one of LifeCorp's buildings. He leaves early and comes back quiet and he has been doing it for my entire life really. I know LifeCorp is important because they have the biggest buildings and because my teachers say their name a lot. When they talk about assessments or when they talk about what we're supposed to do. When they talk about what the flame means and how to keep it steady.

LifeCorp tracks your flame. That's one of the first things you learn at school. Mine runs warm and bright and my teachers write things down when it does that.

The other thing about Phoenix being a volcano planet is the drills.

Sometimes the air outside gets thick. Heavy, the way it feels before it rains except there's no rain, just the heaviness that stays. When that happens the school does a humidity drill.

They call it a dryhold.

Here is what a dryhold is: a sound comes through the pipes in the ceiling. low. kind of like a held breath. It lasts about two seconds. Then the teacher stops talking and says dryhold. No water. Everyone inside. windows closed. Sit at your desk until it's over.

What i figured out on my own is that the uptown buildings get the signal before we do. By the time our ceiling pipes make the sound, the uptown buildings are already handling it. They have better everything uptown. better pipes. Better windows. Better air.

Nobody tells you this part. You're just supposed to do the drill.

I figured it out the same way i figure most things out. I kept paying attention until the part that didn't make sense started to make sense.

What i figured out next: attendance doesn't happen until you're inside. Not in the yard. Not coming through the door. Inside, at your desk, after the drill already started. I noticed this the first time we did a dryhold. Maybe before the drill was even finished.

The fence on the east side of the school yard has a loose slat. The school never fixed it. Things in the lower district take a long time to get fixed and sometimes i think they just don't. The slat pushes outward from the bottom. You have to push at the very bottom. I'm the only one who knows this.

When the drill sound comes i have forty-five seconds before the first teacher shows up at the yard door. Thirty more seconds before the second one. After the second teacher the door closes and they check. if you're not inside you get in trouble.

I'm always inside. I just go out first.

It's not about the three minutes outside. It's about what the lower district sounds like during a dryhold. All the noise stops. The people at the corner selling things, the hovercrafts going by up above, all of it. Just gone. And in that quiet you can hear things the noise was covering up.

I heard something in the walls.

I couldn't explain it. I tried to tell my friend once and she looked at me like i was being weird. My flame got bright because i was frustrated.

So i stopped telling people. I just kept going outside every dryhold.

What i was hearing was real. I know that now.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/realPressify on 2026-03-12 13:54:37+00:00.

The Zheen did not have a word for "I," but they had seventeen words for "we," each precise to the number, duration, and quality of connection. A Zheen soldier in combat existed in the seventh state—we-of-immediate-purpose—minds interlocked like fingers in a fist. Intention flowed from strategist to commander to warrior without friction, without doubt, without the delay of speech.

Commander-Of-Seven-Thousand had led conquests across six worlds. It had never encountered an enemy it could not read. "Reading" was not the correct term, any more than a fish might be said to "read" water. The intentions of organic minds were simply present, as available as heat or cold. To fight the Zheen was to announce your defeat in advance—to perform your own checkmate with every considered move.

When the human army appeared, Commander-Of-Seven-Thousand felt them immediately—not as a threat, but as an anomaly. It extended its perception, expecting the familiar architecture of mammalian aggression: fear, attempts to suppress the fear, calculation of odds, targeting of weapons.

It found instead: sandwich. This was the first word that emerged from the consciousness of the one the humans called Marcus. He was observing the Zheen position through field glasses. The word sandwich existed in his mind simultaneously with the tactical assessment, with a memory of a best friend's wedding invitation he had not yet answered, with a tune he had heard in a bar last week that he could not stop humming, and with a sudden, vivid recollection of the specific sweet smell of his grandmother's sandwiches.

Commander-Of-Seven-Thousand experienced all of this at once. Not sequentially. Not as layers to be peeled. As co-presence. Each thought occupied the same mental space with equal intensity, none subordinated to purpose.

Marcus lowered his glasses. "Three hostiles, northwest. Jennifer, you got that ridge?"

"Got it," Jennifer said. She was already moving, but her mind—Commander-Of-Seven-Thousand reached for it and found—I need a sharper knife...father's hands were always firm...why are my hands shaking, is it because I'm not him, is it because I left, is it because—

Commander-Of-Seven-Thousand reached for the third human, the one called Diego, and found him calculating trajectories while simultaneously experiencing a detailed sexual fantasy involving a person he had seen on a poster, while also remembering a documentary about octopus neural architecture, while also wondering if he was a bad person for thinking about sex during combat, while also—always also—never arriving at a single, graspable thought.

The Zheen had evolved telepathy as a survival mechanism. Prey that announces its intention is prey that can be caught. But these humans were not announcing. They were broadcasting on every frequency simultaneously, and none of the signals resolved into prediction. It was a structurelessness; a consciousness that refused to hold still long enough to be comprehended.

Advance, Commander-Of-Seven-Thousand ordered its unit.

Its soldiers hesitated. In seventy years of combat, they had never hesitated.

Diego moved left without knowing why. He was vaguely aware that he had separated from the squad, that Marcus was shouting something, that there was a Zheen soldier directly in his path. But he was also thinking about how octopuses have decentralized nervous systems, how two-thirds of their neurons are in their arms, how an arm can taste and decide without the brain's permission. And wasn't that what he was doing now? His body tasting the terrain, deciding without his permission to roll behind that boulder, to fire three shots that coincidentally matched the rhythm of a song, to wonder if octopuses ever felt lonely, to remember that he needed to call his grandmother, to realize the Zheen soldier was dead, and to realize he wasn't sure when that had happened.

Jennifer reached the ridge. The Zheen position below was vulnerable from this angle.

She fired.

The Zheen commander—she didn't know it was the commander—looked up at her. She saw, or thought she saw, something in its posture that reminded her of her father the day she left for basic training. The way he had stood in the doorway, not speaking, his face...

She kept firing.

She was crying. She didn't know why. The Zheen were retreating, and she was thinking about how she had never learned to make her father's eggs, how she had always burned the onions, how maybe if she had stayed home she would have learned, how maybe if she had stayed he would still be alive...

"Cease fire!" Marcus was shouting. "Cease fire, they're pulling back!"

Jennifer ceased fire. Her magazine was empty anyway. She sat on the ridge with her rifle across her knees and watched the Zheen withdraw. They moved like puppets with tangled strings, stripped of the synchronized precision that had conquered six worlds. One of them was making a sound—she would remember this later, in dreams—a sound like a radio between stations, like a mind desperately trying to tune itself to a frequency that no longer worked.

Commander-Of-Seven-Thousand retreated in the ninth state—we-of-damage-assessment—but the assessment would not cohere. It had lost five hundred units. It had lost comprehension. The humans had not defeated them with superior weapons or strategy. The humans had defeated them with a form of consciousness that rendered prediction impossible, that treated the future as open in a way the Zheen had never imagined.

The Zheen had no art. They had no fiction. They had never needed to imagine minds other than their own, because all minds were their own. Now, Commander-Of-Seven-Thousand tried to construct a model of human cognition and found itself, for the first time in its existence, fabricating reality. It was inventing a coherence that wasn't there, imposing narrative on chaos, telling itself a story about these creatures just to survive the encounter with their minds.

The concept of "I" kept returning to its memory—a persistent, jagged splinter. It was the first symptom of a disease that would spread through the we’s over the next century, loosening the bonds of perfect communication. It introduced the possibility that we might contain I, that I might contain multitudes, and that this might not be a breakdown of order, but the beginning of freedom.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/DrBlackJack21 on 2026-03-12 10:10:50+00:00.

Book1: Chapter 1

<Previous

Concept art for Sybil

Of Men and Ghost Ships, Book 2: Chapter 58

Carter was ducking and holding onto the ceiling of the landing craft they'd commandeered from the Boss's ship. The ship's interior had not been designed with people of Erik and Vanessa's size, let alone his bulky suit. He looked toward the empty helm with concern as he spoke. "Are you sure it's safe to fly like this?"

Epitaph, who was piloting the ship from inside its systems, answered him from a nearby speaker. "Are you worried I can't fly a shuttle like this? Or that I can't overcome whatever defensive measures our opponent put in place to protect it?"

Carter shrugged, his suit doing its best to convey the motion. "I don't know. Both? Or maybe the fact that we'll be flying what amounts to flying target practice through an active warzone? Or the fact that we should probably drop Erik off to get looked at before picking another fight? Or maybe I'm just worried about leaving Miles and John in charge of the Sybil? Or maybe something else that's nagging at the back of my mind that I can't articulate just yet!"

Erik smiled up at Carter, for the first time the human could remember since meeting the usually taller alien. "Carter! My Friend! You wouldn't be thinking of leaving me behind while going and picking a fight with the man I swore vengeance against, would you?" His voice suddenly changed subtly, in a way I was starting to recognize as meaning Scarlett had her own thoughts she wanted to voice from within their now shared body. "Yes. You wouldn't deny us our chance to share our appreciation regarding our recent host's hospitality, would you?"

Carter looked at the two of them, now sharing one body, and shook his head. "You're both as crazy as the other, aren't you?" Then he sighed. "I guess as long as you know what you're getting into, I don't really have any objections about you two...but this still feels like a really bad idea."

This time Erik snorted. "Says the man who climbed aboard a derelict ghost ship in the middle of an unpopulated part of the void!"

Carter rolled his eyes. "I didn't have much of a choice there. As you said, it was an unpopulated part of the void, and I was in an escape pod. It was that or starve to death in a space so cramped I couldn't fully stand up or lie down!"

This time, it was Epitaph who answered. "Just like the only other choices we have right now are to either sit on the Boss's ship and wait for this mess to sort itself out one way or another, or run back to the sybil and flee, hoping that the Boss will leave us be after he finishes whatever he's doing here and now. What do you think the odds are either of those would end in our favor?"

Cartrer shrugged. "I don't know. We could just take off for an unpopulated part of the galaxy and run till no one could catch us for the next thousand years."

Erik snorted in laughter this time. "Yeah, right! As if anyone aboard this shuttle is willing to sit back and watch what happens when we've got a chance to stick our snouts where they don't belong and cause trouble!"

Carter rolled his eyes. "Speak for yourself! Some of us have noses rather than snouts!" However, Carter knew the alien had spoken the truth. Not too long ago, Carter would have been content to run and hide, but that had been when he had nothing to lose. These days, it seemed like he had a slowly increasing number of people and places he'd uncharacteristically tied himself to, which made him more quick to fight to keep them all safe. He blamed Epitaph and the way she'd gone about collecting people over the years. She was obviously a bad influence on him...

After his last protest, the silence drew on while Erik gave Carter a knowing look. Finally, Carter shook his head. "Alright! Alright! Let's go do something stupid then!"

Erik cheered and slapped Carter on the back hard enough that he had to work to maintain his somewhat precarious balance inside the too-small shuttle. "That's the spirit!"

At the same time, Epitaph spoke up again. "If it makes you feel any better, I can tell you that if I miscalculate and we're about to die. You'll probably have just enough time to get in a good, 'told you so!' before our ship becomes just another vacuum-filled piece of cooling slag floating through the void."

Carter smiled thinly. "You know, for some strange reason, that does not make me feel any better! Thanks for the offer, though."

Scarlett answered through Erik again. "Obviously, you are ignorant of just how cathartic a good 'told you so' can be!"

Dirk of the bloody hand crept forward to take a look at the bridge from an adjacent hallway. It looked like someone, or something, had simply ripped open the door to the bridge. Quite a feat that, on warships like this, bridge doors were reinforced to protect against boarders, like himself and whoever this new player was who'd preempted his plans.

Creeping forward, Dirk spotted several of the machines that had torn through parts of his crew before he'd told them to pull back, lying on the ground. There was a hefty amount of battle damage, as though they'd simply taken the bridge by force rather than overcoming the security the way he'd planned. This way was quicker, but costlier, meaning whoever was behind this either didn't have any time to waste, or didn't care about losing a few bots, each of which likely cost as much as a small interstellar ship...or both.

Dirk's bodyguards were the most disciplined pirates in his crew, which wasn't saying a lot, but they at least knew enough to stay just a bit back and keep quiet as he snuck closer to the bridge. They were close enough to back him up if he engaged, or cover him if he broke and ran, but far enough back to avoid attracting attention he didn't want. Dirk made a mental note to give the boys a bonus regardless of how this fight turned out. After all, he didn't want to be one of those captains who found themselves deposed because they didn't know when to reward good work.

Looking around the edge of the door, Dirk found the man who was obviously the captain of the ship at the mercy of what appeared to be an older gentlemanly type who was flanked by a couple of those killbots. Now, the bots alone would be more than enough to explain the man's defeated look. After all, it looks like they'd made a mess of the rest of the bridge crew, but if they were the ones intimidating the captain, his eyes should be flicking to them to keep an eye on the deadly machines. Instead, his attention was laser-focused on the old man. Now, maybe he was just too disciplined to let his fear get the best of him, but something told Dirk the real threat in the room was the man, not the bots. That didn't make much sense, but Dirk hadn't survived this long in the violent business of pirate captancy by ignoring his instincts. What was more confusing was that the captain was clearly still armed, with his pistol pointed toward the older man, who seemed far more relaxed than any human with a gun pointed in their direction should be. Drik decided to watch a little longer to try to get a read of the situation.

The old man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, as if waiting patiently for his afternoon tea rather than staging a hostile takeover of a warship as he spoke with the captain. "Now now, captain, be reasonable! I could probably break your security codes on my own in short order, and if you continue to refuse to help me, that's just what I'll do, but I think we'll both be happier if you simply give me those codes. If you do so, I'll allow you and any other surviving crew to run to their escape pods and get to safety. If you do not, I will order every organic lifeform on this ship to be executed immediately."

The captain continued to point a gun at his adversary, despite the older man's apparent disregard for the weapon. "It won't be that easy for you to crack, and you know it! Sevron is the latest in core world AI, and the moment you step into his world, you won't stand a chance!"

The older man snorted in derision. "This Sevron may slow me, but he won't stop me. I've been around far longer than this "latest" AI you mention, and have seen and defeated things that would make him look like the half-formed whelp that he is! You core worlders seem to think that just because something is new, it must be better. But while I'll admit you have created some...delightful new toys for me to play with, you lack a full understanding of the scope of life in this universe."

The captain seemed to calm, as though coming to a decision. "You think you've fooled us all, and maybe you have, till now, but I see you for what you are. You won't settle for this ship, or even the outer regions. You won't settle until all organic life is wiped from the galaxy, and I'll have no part in aiding that insanity!"

That made Dirk stop and reassess the situation. Was the captain saying what he thought he was saying? But that was crazy! There was no way this old man was some holdover from the AI war, right? But what if he was? What if this wasn't just some war for the quadrant, but a war for survival? If it were, that w...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/LiseEclaire on 2026-03-12 01:22:18+00:00.

Moving through darkness was no different from being dragged through thorns. In the single instant Will left the room, he felt every fiber of his body being ripped apart. The experience didn’t end there…

Wound Ignored

The bracelet he was wearing cracked. Still functional, even it had difficulty dealing with the strain. That was the price of the new ability Will had obtained. The challenge had merely given him a taste. True, he could move through shadows, but each time he did, he’d suffer large amounts of pain and at least one wound. It was safe to say that using sunbeams to travel would do the same.

“There’s always a price,” Will whispered to himself. It was outright strange how easy things had been before. The copycat skill, his challenge skill, even the two eyes had come relatively easily. If anything, the time loops and paladin skills had caused the most issues on the short turn. There was a high chance that there were skills that canceled these out, but for that he had to be extremely lucky or get his hands on Oza’s mirror; and something told him that the cleric wouldn’t just let him get his way… not voluntarily, in any event.

“Weirdo,” Jess passed by, reacting to Will talking to himself.

As much as he wanted to smile and even respond in a positive way, doing so at the start of the contest phase was a bad idea.

Quickly coming to his senses, Will rushed into the school, heading straight for the bathroom mirror. To little surprise, a mirror copy of Alex was already waiting for him there.

“Was it worth it?” the thief asked, dropping his usual ‘bro’.

“Sort or,” Will replied, tapping on the rogue mirror. “It’s strong, but there’s a drawback.” He paused. “It hurts me each time I use it.”

“It’s still an advantage,” the copy said.

Looking at it, Will saw little more than a mirror shard with Alex’s face. Yet, he remained mindful that the thief had the ability to shift between copies and himself. That not only made him incredibly fast, but also dangerous when he needed to be. In a way, one could almost say that he had multiple lives. But if that was true, it also meant that ever since the start, Alex had only died when he wanted to. The time when Danny’s reflection had emerged, or during the goblin chariot challenge, not to mention all the other times during the tutorial. Could anyone be sure that he had been at all in danger? It was well established that he had lost part of his memories, but how much of that was really true?

“So, what now?” Alex asked.

“We continue as usual.” There were three more loops until the conditions for the archer’s alliance were met. “Or do you know something?”

“She doesn’t think you’ll win this one, bro.” The mirror copy looked Will straight in the eyes. “There’s always a lot of variables, but you won’t win the reward phase.”

“Will I reach it, though?”

The copy didn’t reply.

“As long as I make it, that’s what counts.”

The conversation ended there. With his rogue skills obtained, the standard leveling up procedure quickly followed. Unlike before, the group decided to hunt wolves in a slightly different spot. The basement was a must, of course: no one even suspected what had happened. Yet for the remaining level ups, other mirrors were selected. That didn’t matter, though, since the daily challenge was a fair distance away. The requirements were to have a cleric or enchanter, which gave Will pause, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. From what he was able to find out, half of the local participants had been killed off already. Interestingly enough, if Lucia was to be believed, Oza and the clairvoyant had also been killed.

The challenge took place in a goblin swamp, filled with poisoned gasses, annoying insects, and lots of lethal fauna. Normally, that would have been a serious issue, but between Will’s scarabs and the two familiars, completing it was a lot easier than expected. The enemies were the only real challenge, if even that.

Likewise, the reward could also be described as pitiful: another weapon with the ability to inflict bleeding. There were a few bonus rewards that offered class tokens, but the group had failed to complete them.

During the following loop, everything drastically changed. Will’s fear that someone would try to take them out early on materialized and with a lot more ferocity than expected. Sinkholes appeared in the entire area, swallowing entire buildings, not to mention dozens of vehicles and people. The only reason the school building wasn’t attacked directly was because of the fear of penalties should a starting zone be destroyed. Even so, Will didn’t want to take any chances.

Rushing to claim his class, the boy quickly proceeded to fight as many wolf packs as were available. The plan was to take on the enemy participant the moment they were done. Thankfully the attacks had subsided; another more powerful explosion had occurred in the city, engulfing an entire city block in green flames. Without question, the mage was out to play.

Panic gripped the city yet again. By now the group had become accustomed to the chaos to such a point that they didn’t even care.

Will systematically leveled up most of his skills, while the rest of his companions kept watch. Then, when the time came to start the challenge, they rushed in and activated the mirror. The moment they did, they were back in the orange jungle. The enemy was, much to everyone’s relief, not an elf. That didn’t make it any easier.

For hours, the entire group kept on fighting a massive caterpillar creature that seemed to regenerate as fast as it was wounded. Its attacks were quick and deadly, not to mention it had the ability to shoot threads of silk in all directions. The threads were strong enough to cut down trees, slice through armor, and even destroy one of Helen’s swords.

Ultimately, it was Alex who brought the victory. Through sheer numbers, the multitude of mirror copies had managed to inflict enough damage. The reward was a skill that doubled a person’s stamina—useful, though Will was hoping for something more. Then, finally, the tenth loop began.

Things started with another attack, though it wasn’t the school that was targeted, but other sections of the city. According to the mirror guide, less than a fifth of total participants remained. The vast number of casualties was from other realities. Eleven remained from Earth, none of them to be trifled with.

“Net’s down,” Jace noted, looking at his phone. “I still have a signal, though.”

“For real?” Alex checked his phone. “Sounds like something the engineer would do. Think he’ll impose micro-transactions?”

Will ignored the conversation.

“Where are you, Lucia?” he asked, looking at his mirror fragment.

Ever since the start of the loop, he had been sending her messages. So far, the archer had yet to respond to one of them. There was no doubt that she was alive. Lucas had confirmed it, though he had also refused to discuss the alliance on his own.

Over an hour remained until the objective. That was really cutting it short. Originally, Will’s plan was to form a party with the other two of the group and trigger a challenge again. Their combined strength was certain to defeat anything there, even fulfilling unusual challenges. Why wasn’t Lucia responding, though?

“Maybe we should join in at this point,” Helen suggested. “With the archer and her brother, we represent half of the remaining participants.”

“That doesn’t make us strong,” Will replied. “And I’m not sure what we could do against magic.”

Memories of the mage emerged in his mind. The last time he had seen him, Spenser had immediately set off running. Will had no doubt that he wouldn’t be able to take such a figure lightly. Maybe if he used his new skill, he could manage a strike, but the cost would be high, not to mention that he was relying on a one-hit kill.

“Who do you think is left?” Jace asked. “Other than our fuckers.”

“The mage for sure,” Alex said. “I’d say—”

“The tamer,” Will interrupted. “The paladin.”

Certainly, the paladin would have survived this much. Possibly the bard? He didn’t seem the combat type, but he definitely was sneaky enough to make it up till now. That potentially left two more, possibly three. Spenser was out and likely the lancer as well. The participant who had attacked the school seemed to have been dealt with since he hadn’t done anything since.

“The acrobat?” the jock asked.

“That bitch isn’t this strong,” Helen hissed. The hatred in her voice was palpable.

“Whoever they are, they’ll be strong. I think we should split up. It’ll be more difficult to take us all out that way.”

“You promised that you’d lead us to the reward phase,” Helen argued.

“I did.” Will let the mirror fragment drop around his neck. “We just need to survive the final step. If nothing happens in an hour, we’ll keep on with challenges.”

Of course, Will didn’t mention that there were fewer of them now. Initially, three hidden challenges appeared every day. The last few times, the number had decreased to two. Now, he could see only one. That wasn’t a guarantee that there weren’t more, but like any game of musical chairs, they were bound to decrease with time.

Alex was the first to leave the building the group had designated as their temporary base for the loop. Knowing him, he probably kept several hidden mirror copies to keep an eye on things.

Jace followed. The jock seemed confident enough, no doubt due to some new weapon he had created. In the end, only Hel...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Darmanarya on 2026-03-12 02:08:39+00:00.

“I have to admit. Weirdest date yet. The hydroponics sector?” Velzu asked her human boyfriend Charles who just simply chuckled a bit as they walked towards a tiny wooden stage with wooden and string instruments slowly being set up. The humans on the stage were old. Some of the oldest she had seen and they handled the instruments with care as if each was made out of fine glass.

Besides the one that looked like a drum with strings. The man was slowly turning knobs, plucking making a rather odd sound, shaking his head, and trying again. She had become fluent over the years and had listened to countless human songs, movies, and stories. However she had never heard the language be abused like THAT or being so…

She hoped the songs were nicer.

“I know you love our music and want to hear a lot of it.” He explained as he pulled her close as they sat on what humans called “astro turf.” They had much better artificial grass but humans insisted on it’s use “for the sake of tradition.”

“This is old school country music.” he explained. “This band does a few, but mostly bluegrass. Hell, some of this music is so old that it came before we could even record sound.” He explained. “But no matter how good the tech got it just… well..” He handed her a beer. “Listen.”

Soon the band started up. The man with the drum and strings suddenly sprung to life and the instrument started to sing. The fingers flying faster and faster soon joined by a careful rhythm from the huge instrument in the back. As it continued to practically demand everyone jump up and dance someone with a different instrument slid a strange wood and fiber tool over their own instrument.

The crowd clapped along as not a word was sung. A guitar, something she knew well, sprang in but it was unlike she ever heard. It was like a whirlwind of sound slammed into her, swung around her, and told her “RUN!” 

Before she knew it her hands were clapping along to the beat of the song. Joining in the human’s own hands as her beloved bounced her in timing on his lap. His own leg unable to hold still as he “jammed” along to the beat.

At long last the song ended and she felt like her soul was out of breath from the whirlwind she had heard. 

“Whew. They came in hot.” Charles admitted as he sipped his beer. Soon the male with the guitar walked up to the mic and smiled. 

“Now look’a that. We got an aleyun in the crowd tonight! Sorry boys looks like she is taken. Not that most’a you had any chance.” He teased the crowd. “Remember. Sani-spray does get ya clean, but it don’t help the smell none. Just ask my wife.” The woman with a small instrument laughed a bit and the crowd joined in.

“So, this next song is set in a place back on Earth. A little state that was part o’ the grand ol’ USA before it became what it did.” He declared with a nod. “A little place called Georgia-” he paused to let the crowd cheer. “And the tale o’ the devil himself goin’ lookin’ there.”

What followed was the string and tool instrument starting to sing while the big instrument started thudding away. As quick as it’s pace and start it slid out as the singer stepped up. He sung fast and true telling how the leader of demons went to a place and a dare.

The words came fast and true and gave her a chance to just take a breather between parts. The instrument sung during it’s solo, the part where the band swung in low and predatory. Every note, every word, all joined together to tell the epic tale of a boy who made a bet with evil and not only won, but humiliated the devil himself.

Song after song, joke after joke. She found herself drawn in and a part of it all. As if time itself was not ignored, but as if it didn’t matter. That what was said, sung, and played was always meant to be and would always fit in. That it was a tradition that while many changed for their own ways the core would always be a wooden stage, wooden instruments, wooden humor, and a crowd that felt as one.

She didn’t mind the religious songs. One involving going to a body of water to pray was haunting. Growing bit by bit as more groups joined in singing with even herself being included in the last lines. She knew she would need a recording of that one to share with her very religious parents. Somehow their god was different, but with just a few tweaks it would fit right in. Something told her that if she asked the people on stage would even help figure it out.

Then the instruments were put down for the final song.

“Now. This last song is one that has been changed, altered, covered, and more. But just like the thing it is directed to it is timeless.” The male singer spoke softly. “I wanted to end with this song since our dobro player passed just last year. It was his favorite, and now I find myself singing it knowing soon my time will come.”

He cleared his voice and slowly sung what could only be described as begging. No instruments, no light notes, just a plead with death itself to pass a man by. There was no hope in the words, with each being an acknowledgement that death was soon, but the man just wanted a bit more time. There was no victory, no grand tale, just a song of a man facing the end.

The words shook the air, draining the warmth of the lights above and the heaters just inches from her hands. She sunk into Charles’ arms as she just watched the man slowly sing his dirge. At the end the crowd went silent for awhile. Each person reflecting on those they lost, and thinking about just how much time they had left.

She had heard many of the more popular country song recordings before, and even recognized a few of these classics from them. However there was something about just sitting on the grass before the elders and their wood and strings that just felt right. That something even her own alien soul somehow knew cared not for time nor history. It would just be there. Waiting for someone else with their own wood, voice, and soul to bring it out once more.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Darmanarya on 2026-03-12 00:58:18+00:00.

((Beware! Naughty words be ahead!))

“This has to be a joke! The ammo is too small to do ANYTHING!”

The young Glezon male soon found every single human staring at him in a mixture of anger and understanding. The young reptilian shivered now knowing what it was like when a whole gun range went silent at once.

“I got this.” A older human male called out with a chuckle. His hand motioning to the onlookers who mostly returned to their own weapons. A few put their guns down and stepped back from the line to watch what was about to happen.

“Son. That there caliber is indeed almost useless in combat, hunting, self defense- yes there is a damn difference I don’t care what your commanding officer told you in soldier day-care where you are from.- But it is not a joke. That there is one of the hallmarks of a gun lover and is one of the most respected calibers in the human systems.”

The reptilian’s eyes darted down to the cheapish wooden and metal rifle in his lane. He stared at the strange bird with a weird human letter in the middle wondering just what was so important about such a cheap and small bullet.

“That there rifle has helped inspire our greatest warriors and hunters. It is the starting point many find themselves holding before they can even read.” He explained as he picked up the rifle and reloaded it without even sparing it a glance.

“The debate between 9mm and 45 acp has been around since before humans went to space for killing people. For hunting? Either ol’ reliables 12 gague or .306 unless you are a fancy fuck and got the money for some fancy bullets. But ya know what always sits riiiiight by em?” He tapped the rifle. “It ain’t trying to compete. It knows it doesn’t need to. If a fella don’t have at least one .22 then he has either run out of room in his gun safe or is compensating.”

The human held up a hand. “Ain’t explainin’ what that means.” He then tapped the gun. “Fun fact: This here bullet? Did allllllll o’ that back in the day. Back before my day, my grandfather’s day, and back before my great grandfather fucked your great great grandmother.” He chuckled seeing the reptilian’s eyes narrow.

“Then why did the human in charge of the range give me such a relic!? I want to shoot something big. Like that!” He then angrily motioned to one who was holding a modern caseless arvos-colt 5.56 ship stormer. “That thing can do damage! It has what you humans call OOMF! THis thing I could probably shoot one handed!”

The human nodded, lifted it up with one hand, then mag dumped into the target without even needing to grab the stock. “Yep. And that is the point.”

The human put the rifle down. “You think us human gun nuts as crazy, and some of us are.” He tapped the rifle. “But this is your trial. We don’t give a FUCK how strong you are. We care about how fuckin’ SAFE you are and how much FUN you are having. First part matters most. If you treat this thing like a toy you are only gunna GET a toy from then on. If you fuck up cause you are learning then we got a .22 problem not a “missing a foot” problem.”

He tapped the gun. “Wanna know something? This thing is still lethal. We even had a serial killer use one way back in the day. Fucked up dude nobody misses. Hell, we had attempts on world leaders with this thing. It also has fed the desperate since it can kill small animals the bigger guns would just destroy.”

He stood tall. “We got a sayin’. Beware the old man in a young man’s game. And that there is one of the oldest men in the room. And we all know it, and we all respect it.” He nodded at the gun. 

“Its like humanity. First look makes us look weak. Helpless. Old. Out of date. But look below and you find out the stuff we can do.” He smiled wide. “There are grenade launcher shells made to shoot these bullets. Ya know that? Some of these with the right .22 and silencer are actually almost silent. If you can dream it up chances are it exists in good old .22.” He patted the gun.

“So here is the deal son. You either give this gun, and the humans, fuckin’ respect or you get the fuck out. Welcome to the gun range. This is a gun. Act like it.” He demanded. “Prove yourself with the .22 and we might let you shoot something fancy. Chances are though you are gunna walk out of the store with your own lil’ thing.”

The human man then patted the reptile’s back and guided him to the gun. “Stop thinkin size and bare stats.” He grinned. “Always a bad idea with us humans.”

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/PepperAntique on 2026-03-11 23:01:37+00:00.

Previous

Writer's note: James= Why is my life always chaos?

Joey=Life is chaos. But not as bad as my brain. I'mma handle shit.

Joel= Life's chaos and it's kind of a vibe.

Enjoy.

"Mister Choi you already look almost exactly like your father." Lord Ekron said as he sat behind his desk, rubbing his eyes in exasperation. "Must you act like him as well?"

Near the door Professor Thirs watched in uncomfortable silence as Joel Choi seemed to almost lounge in the chair in front of the Head Administrator.

"Actually I've been told I act more like my mom." He said in response. Grinning as he did. "Dad's super polite and orderly about what he does. Regimented you know? Pretty sure that comes with the ASD."

Ekron sighed lightly.

"He was actually quite polite and studious." The Lord replied. "But I was talking about how everything around him seemed to devolve into chaos."

"Oh. Well... Yeah." Choi said with a chuckle. "That's.... definitely the family business."

Thirs shook her head. Why did SHE have to be the one tasked with escorting him around the facility?

Ekron sat forward and took a deep breath. Then changed the subject.

"Did you have to reveal your transformative abilities so early?" The Lord asked. "I was hoping we could do that during a faculty meeting so as to allow the other professors and instructors to know not to worry should they round a corner and accidentally stumble upon a talking bear or Wyrm or something."

At that Thirs's eyebrows drew together. The Administrator KNEW Choi could change shape? That was news to her. He hadn't even told anyone.

"Eh. Noodle had been cooped up in that bag all day and needed a stretch." Choi countered. "Also I didn't expect that big of a crowd. But she'd've been antsy if I hadn't let her burn off some energy."

Thirs recalled the rolling, roiling, melee the two drakes (more or less) had partaken in after Choi had changed shape. Oddly, despite being larger than the yellow striker/bristleneck hybrid, Choi had been bested by the lightning quick creature. She had then pinned him down before beginning to aggressively lick him until he'd surrendered and shifted back to his human form. After which she'd continued licking him, almost like a cat cleaning its young, despite his protests and escape attempts.

"That brings me to my next question." Lord Ekron continued. "Why did you bring an unbound drake with you?" He assked. "That's a rather dangerous creature to have in a school where accidental bloodshed and laboratory accidents are frequent."

If the news that the administrator had known about Choi's abilities was startling to Thirs, then the fact that the drake was unbound was even more alarming. She was about to interject when Choi waved his hand dismissively.

"Psssh. Who Noodle?" He asked with a look of bemusement. "Nah. She'll be fine. She's been living at my Mom and Dad's place for years. I assure you they have way more unscheduled explosions than this place does. And the soul bond...." He shrugged. "Never seen the point. Hell. My dad's the one who 'tamed' her." He said with air quotes. "I'm just the one she likes more. She's well behaved. A few meals a day, a nice cold pool of water for her to relax in... She'll spend most days sleeping. Might have to wrestle her every now and then. But that's mostly for fun." Then he bobbed his head. "Speaking of the pool thing. We need to discuss the facilities."

"Yes." Lord Ekron said with a nod. "I understand you have some complaints. Bit early in your tenure here. But I brought you in because we've been sorely lacking in the field."

"Got it." Choi replied. "First off. Not enough space. For a royal academy tasked with training both mages and would be officers in your military eight horses and three griffins aint gonna cut it. That stable alone should be full of one or the other. And another just like it should have the other kind. I know griffins are rare now. So we can kinda overlook that one. But still, it's lacking given the size of your student population."

Ekron nodded. "Agreed." He said simply before gesturing for the young man to continue.

"Second." Choi said, taking the cue. "You aint got no exotic animals." He jerked a thumb at the window out which Ekron had adressed him earlier in the yard. "Noodle should NOT be the most interesting creature in a stable at a mage's school." He seemed to consider that for a moment. "Well she's a hybrid of two very rare and dangerous variants, so maybe she can be top five. But still, I've got a list of creatures that are simultaneously common enough to be recurring problems for soldiers slash guards, AND valuable research material for mages and druids." To Thirs's surprise he actually pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and ripped a page out. "I've got a list of creatures that should be obtainable just within this district of Vatria. We should see about obtaining some specimens. I can set up pens and holding areas for them." He said as he slid the list across the desk.

Lord Ekron accepted the sheet as he donned his reading glasses and glanced at the list, which Thirs could see was quite long even from the other side of the paper.

"And we should have an area with common farm animals." Choi added.

"Farm animals?" Ekron asked curiously.

"Of course." Choi replied. "They're the most common animals in the world when it comes to interacting with people."

"And that benefits our academy how?" Ekron asked. "Besides an on hand food stock I believe I'm missing the importance."

"That's because your an enchantment and mana expert." Choi replied casually. "Animals aren't your specialty. I'm guessing that they've rarely served you any more purpose than as test subjects for inventions. But even that gives you a need of rats and things. Not that I condone that."

Ekron nodded. "That's fair I suppose." He admitted.

Thirs was surprised that Choi knew that that was the Lord's specific field of work before rising to his current position. In fact his study of mana had been what drew her to seek employment under him. Though she supposed it shouldn't have surprised her, it had grown quite clear that the two men had been in communication before he'd come here, and his father's history in the city (and Lord Ekron's involvement) was a known thing, even if it had occurred decades before.

"Some of your students undoubtedly have come here to learn because they intend to return home to help their families and communities." Choi explained. "Some of those are farming communities. You have an herbology department second only to the druidic enclaves." He said with a smile. "Some of the mages in this city are working on ways to improve crop yields and stability. I know cause I literally spoke to a lady about her husbands work to do so on my way into this city." He intertwined his hands in front of him. "Those two things are linked. And knowing how to handle livestock is a simple skill that any military field officer should know, even if its only to a basic level."

Ekron seemed to consider that explanation before nodding his head.

"I can see the value in that." He aid after a moment.

Thirs could too. She distinctly remembered a rather unfortunate incident from her apprentice days between a guard Captain and a local farmer whose animals had been slowly moving across a road that the guard unit had been marching down. That incident had ended with the farmer arrested for swinging his crook at the captain. It hadn't done much to the armored warrior but it was still a crime. Even if it had been, in Thirs's opinion, warranted by the handful of animals the captain had ordered his unit to kill.

Gods, was Choi convincing her to think like him now?

"Naturally that'll mean some renovation, an uptick in supply allotment for feed and what not." Choi said, oblivious to Thirs's recollections. "Maybe a few more stable-hands, or a student volunteer workforce or something. I'll have to get to know the ones we already have before we pull the trigger on that."

"Well I'd already expected the renovation part even before you arrived." Ekron countered. "I've already discussed it with our earth mage instructor and the academy engineers. weeks ago." He waved his hand as if shooing away a fly about the issue. "Magic makes that part easy."

"Figured." Choi replied nonchalantly. Then he pointed at the paper he'd handed over. "And the animals?"

Ekron held it up, studying it once more.

"You'll understand that a few of these are going to be no-go's." The Lord said. "I mean... we can't have a petrifier in the academy. that's just... that's a terrible idea." Then he grimaced. "Maybe a heavily fortified pocket room deep in our under-croft. But.... that would take quite a bit of work and materiel to set up properly."

"Fair." Choi accepted easily. Thirs suspected that that was a big ask that he'd put on the list to make the others easier.

"You wanted a petrifier?" She asked in disbelief.

Choi looked over his shoulder, as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"They're great for healing research." He said with a smile that hid a bit of lunacy. "They regenerate like nothing, even Folk have nothing on their healing. Healing apprentices can learn a lot from watching their mana flow as they do it."

"And be turned into sandstone." She said, though she wouldn't admit that the notion of studying that mana flow intrigued the mana professor in her....
***
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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/jxip on 2026-03-11 22:43:27+00:00.

The night air swelled with foul odors, turning the wooden shed into something of a reeking hovel. Breathing the air alone was an act of exceptional endurance. It smelled of stale booze, burnt meat, and black campfire smoke. As if the night needed more reasons to make Rythlak uneasy. He swore he could feel the smoke’s grime settling into his pristine fur in real time. 

Shielding his nose from the smell, he got another howling laugh from one of the Voyant abductors. Not that he was surprised. After a few drinks, he reckoned it was easy to get the predators to laugh at just about anything.

The Voyant jerked back on his wooden stool, his tongue unfurling as he bellowed from the bottom of his stomachs. 

“Seems the prince’s nose is as tender as his men!” he roared. The other three Voyants cackled as their leader bit off another chunk of meat. He crudely chewed past it, letting the savory juices run down his jaw and drip on the floor. “What is it, boy? I can’t tell if it's the booze or the meat that’s got you so squirmy.”

The boy winced but stayed silent. Cupping his nose, he turned slightly away from the beast.

“We’d never waste good booze on the likes of you,” the Voyant continued. “But I’ll tell you what, it better not be the damn meat.” 

Stabbing another morsel with a knife, he held it up to the prince’s snout. 

“Now you’re gonna eat a bite or two. One way or another it’s gonna happen,” the leader declared. He glared steadily at the boy. “We’ve got a long walk back to the extraction zone tomorrow. We can’t have you running on empty, now can we?”

Prince Rythlak simply sat there. His gaze lifted slowly until it landed just outside the shed’s cracked door.

The Voyant leader smiled. He tugged the morsel of meat from his knife and tossed it in his mouth, chewing slowly before leaning back toward the fire to cut another.

“Go on then,” he said plainly.

The boy sent him a timid glance. “What?”

“You wanna try to run? Make a break for it? The exit’s right there, boy. Go ahead! We’ll see how long you last alone in the Badlands. It’ll be, what, two minutes before you run into a tier 5, or tier 6 creature? What then?”

The prince’s eyes narrowed. Drawing a deep breath, his ears drooped to the sides of his head.

“No. I’ll stay.”

“Ah, come on!” the leader said. He stabbed another strip of charred meat. “Just do it. Give me a reason to take your arm… or maybe a leg. I wanna know if a prince tastes better than the men who serve him. You sure do act like your meat is richer. Seriously, it sounds fun! We’ll even give you a head start if you want. You can always hope that the monsters get to you before we do.”

When the boy said nothing, the leader’s eyes grew fierce. He grabbed Rythlak by the back of his head, pulling at his snow white fur until his mouth stretched open. 

“No?” the Voyant said, his voice sharp as Synth daggers. “Then I reckon I won’t have to ask you again.” He held the slice of burnt meat to the boy’s tongue. “Eat.”

Prince Rythlak locked eyes with the Voyant, seeing the fire held behind the beast’s crooked pupils. Struggling under the beast’s grasp, he tried to take a breath, but only inhaled more smoke from the scorched meat. He shut his eyes tight, preparing himself to bite into the flesh, only to feel the leader suddenly break away from him.

The boy’s weight shifted forward, almost causing him to fall from his seat. When his eyes snapped open, he saw the faces of the abductors. All of them were staring at the creature who stood in the open door.

Prince Rythlak rubbed his eyes until his vision cleared, then looked back at the strange being. No, it couldn’t be. He’d heard of these ones before—most around the Orthen Star System had. Bipedal, soft skin, usually with hair in sparse places. Everything he learned in his species identification training checked out. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was. This was one of them. The Apex predators he’d heard about during family briefings, commonly known to look deceptively more squishy and docile than their status entailed. There were some other things that came to mind, their strange eating habits, revolutionary warfare strategies and unpredictable behavior—it all flooded in from distant memories. But none of it mattered. This was an ally. At least, he thought it was. In that moment, that was all he needed to know. 

He felt his eyes grow wide.

The Voyant leader just blinked a few times, absolutely floored by the sight. He sent a cautious glance back at the other abductors, realizing from their expressions that they all wondered the same thing. 

What the hell was a human doing in the Badlands? Alone, no less.

In truth, part of him was afraid to ask. 

“Hey,” the man said simply. His smile was light and warm as a summer breeze. 

He casually unzipped his backpack, then took off the clear goggles he wore and stuffed them inside. A gentle sigh escaped him as he fumbled through his canvas bag for a little, but he kept his eyes up, quietly studying the sitting Voyants. After a moment, he pulled out a large bottle of Graith Overproof Rum, brandishing it proudly before popping off the cork at the mouth. 

“Not sure what you’ve been drinking, but it can’t get any better than this!” His smile stretched wider as he shuffled past the Voyant abductors and started to fill their empty cups. He placed the bottle down by the fire, then gathered the drinks in his hands and handed them out one by one. 

“It’s a little strong,” the man warned. “If I were you, I’d start slow and steady.”

Making his way to the other side of the room, the man even offered a quarter-filled cup to the prince. When the boy politely refused, the man chuckled softly.

“You sure? I’m not your daddy, kid. Don’t worry. I won’t get you in trouble.”

The boy shook his head again.

“No thank you, sir,” he said shortly.

The man just shrugged, then drained the cup’s contents in one gulp. His eyes squinted as he grumbled a little, tapping a fist to his chest.

“Your dad raised you right, boy,” he managed between coughs. Placing his glass on the chair, he spun around and motioned to the Voyants. “What do ya think? It’s pretty good, ain’t it?”

The group dumbly stared back at the human for a while and swapped glances with each other. One of them finally cleared his throat and built up the courage to ask.

“What are you doing here?”

The man stopped and carefully tipped up his chin. 

“Oh yeah,” he said flatly. As if suddenly remembering the whole reason for his visit. Walking over to the prince, he cut through the tape that bound him and dragged him to his feet. “Boy’s coming with me. I’m sorry for ruining your plans to hold him prisoner for leverage or ransom or whatever. But the boy’s father worked out a deal with my people. Every citizen of the Fentia Kingdom is under humanity’s protection, and that goes double for royalty. In other words, if you mess with them again, we’ll kill you. And if they’re royalty, we’ll kill you twice. Now, you’ve got two options. You can try to stop me right now and die so fast your life won’t have time to flash before your eyes. Or you could let us go—tell your minister that the humans took him. Honestly, I prefer the second option. Not because it spares your life, but because it saves us the trouble of sending him a relay drone.”

The Voyants’ faces froze. They looked expectantly toward their leader, who reluctantly decided to stay silent.

The man bobbed his eyebrows, then reached down to grab his backpack off the ground. Using his free hand, he gently nudged the prince forward.

“We’ll be off now. Thanks for understanding.”

As they reached the door and pushed it wide, a small voice came from behind them.

“Just kill us.”

The man sniffed and looked back over his shoulder at the Voyant leader. “Excuse me?”

“If we fail our assignment and return unharmed, we’ll be put to death regardless. I’ll die before I bring that shame to my people.”

The man held his gaze for a long moment then pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed, obviously annoyed as he leaned against the door frame.

“I don’t wanna kill all of you. Relay drone, remember? But hey, how about this… at least you’ll have a good story to tell.”

Reaching for his holster, he drew his pistol and fired four armor-piercing bullets at the abductors. The shots boomed like thunder. The Voyants stumbled back, grabbing on to anything that could hold them. Feeling warmth leave their bodies, they desperately clutched their wounds, trying to stop the streams of blood from pouring out.

“The hell?!” an abductor said.

The leader gritted his teeth, grinding out the words. “What are you—?”

“Just banging you up a little,” the man replied coldly. “They’re not lethal if you know what you’re doing. With that said, I’m betting at least one of you will make it home alive. Now it looks like you fought back.”

“You’re insane!” the leader yelled.

“Kidnapping a little boy is insane. This… this is a message. But still, one bullet wound is a little too convenient, huh? Now, this will really sell it!”

Taking aim, he shot the bottle of rum. Glass shattered as bursts of fire raced across the room, sweeping along the floor before catching on the Voyants’ fur. The abductors screamed—loud, chilling. Their cries pierced the night as the orange blaze engulfed them. They fell to the floor and rolled wildly to snuff out the flames.

“Doesn’t feel the best,” the man said. “But you Voyants are at least partially fire resistant, right?”

Letting the chaos continue...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/micktalian on 2026-03-11 20:10:13+00:00.

Part 165 Progress worth celebrating (Part 1) (Part 164)

[Support me of Ko-fi so I can get some character art commissioned ~~and totally not buy a bunch of gundams~~ and toys for my dog]

The general concept of anthropocentrism is neither foreign nor particularly absurd to most Ascended species in the Galactic Community Council. Nearly every single one could look back and find something analogous in their own histories. Some may still believe themselves to be more important than any other form of intelligent life. There have also been several instances in galactic history where a people needed to meet sapient life aboard to recognize it back at home. A newly-Ascended species will only start to be judged by their peers after a period of acclimation to galactic norms that could last centuries.

That standard of common courtesy is precisely why the Jytvahr Master-General, Zahili Chiktarv showed no animosity towards the human Indonesian President, Ahmed Budi. While Zahili had been instantly convinced of Morning Dew's sapience, he could also understand why a human from Earth wouldn't necessarily come to the same conclusion. He could tell by the orangutan's somewhat limited set of vocalizations and heavy use of body language that the translation device was doing quite a bit of work. More importantly, Zahili was keenly aware of the tendency of humans to hold grudges if treated disrespectfully.

If anything, Master-General Chiktarv found President Budi to be surprisingly copacetic with the interview mostly being conducted between Morning Dew and the Nishnabe diplomatic representative, Wakshe Nisakiwepto. Wak would ask formal questions to verify information from the ID form, Morning Dew gave answers that all matched as well as anyone could expect, and both Zahili and Ahmed watched the process unfold. When necessary, the Indonesian President would chime in with a bit of clarification. It wasn't until a query regarding the orangutan's opinion about his treatment by humanity that the Jytvahr Master-General saw the human President get uncomfortable.

“Humans are the reason I didn't die as a baby." Morning Dew's completely deadpan response elicited several emotions from President Budi all at once. Zahili could clearly intuit the obvious relief and noticeable hints of pride. However, there was also a subtle touch of hesitant recognition. “Besides that, all of the humans I have interacted with throughout my life have treated me well. I just wish the humans that wear the same clothes would let me spend more time in their village before taking me back to the jungle.”

“Could you speak a bit more on those topics?” Wak asked with a clinical and practically emotionless tone while taking notes. “Specifically about how humans kept you alive as a baby and what you mean by, uh… What I assume to be law enforcement officers escorting you back to the jungle.”

“Not the police, no.” The young orangutan man held a hand in an easily recognizable manner. “Police are the humans that wear the same clothes and carry guns. I'm talking about the humans who wear the same clothes as the ones who wear the white masks and helped me when I was sick as a baby. I was too young to remember, but my mother told me that I got so sick as a baby she was afraid I would die. She brought me to the place where humans wear white masks. Those humans saved me. All of us orangutans know that if we really need help, we can go there and get it.”

“If I may add some context…” President Budi had visibly received a piece of paper from one of his assistants and quickly read it. Upon doing so, that barely perceptible sparkle grew more intense. “I believe Morning Dew here is referring to the Mari Agus Memorial Wildlife Rehabilitation Center in Bukit Lawang and its staff. It was founded about seventy years ago in honor of a prolific conservationist who helped protect the Gunung Leuser National Park from exploitation. Their mission statement is to ensure protected wildlife can thrive with minimal human interference and only tightly controlled interactions. However… There are a few very notable individuals over the years, particularly among the orangutans, who have made a name for themselves. One very popular young male has been featured in hundreds of viral videos produced by tourists. He is called Rakeem.”

“Rah-keem.” Morning Dew tried his best to repeat the human sounds he had heard a thousand times but still didn't sound quite right to his ear. “Did I say that right?”

“That's what I heard.” Zahili chimed in with a chuckle. Though he could only make an educated guess based on what saw on the screen showing President Budi, he quickly deduced that that name had been intentionally mentioned. “I take it you've heard that name many times, young man.”

“Oh, yes. Many times.” Morning Dew's gestures and speech patterns became a bit more excited as he looked off into the distance to focus his memories. “When I asked Red Hat, he told me it refers to someone who writes and organizes things.”

“You are Rakeem!” A few cheers were heard in the background as Ahmed began smiling. “I knew it! Now I have a better understanding of what happened! You are internet-famous for being unusually bold and curious, Rakeem! Or would you prefer Morning Dew?”

“You can call me Rakeem.” The young orangutan mimicked the human's smile but without showing any teeth. “My friends here are teaching me to read and write, so that name will be accurate soon. If I can read and write without this translator, then I can still communicate with humans and other species that can read and write even if it stops working.”

“That answers the last official question I had for you, Morning Dew. Or… Wait!” Wak had somewhat mindlessly made a note about communication accommodations before realizing the implications of that exchange. Do you want me to mark down Rakeem as an alternative name for you? I can make it so your ID shows your given name as Morning Dew then that as your common name.”

“Ok.” Morning Dew gave a soft grunt and shrug of unbothered acceptance at that proposal. “If that's the name humans know me by, then I think it would be good to have it on my ID.”

“In that case…” Wak made a show of pressing a few more buttons on his terminal before clapping his hands together, waiting a few seconds, and finally smiling. “Mourning Dew, also known as Rakeem. You are now officially documented and protected under galactic law by the Nishnabe Confederacy and United Human Defense Fleet. And, President Budi, I will send you a copy as well along with the blank form and procedures to fill it out. It could be a good piece of reference material should your government choose to directly recognize indigenous non-human sapient beings within your borders. You can do whatever you want with it, though.

“I would appreciate that. Thank you, Representative Nisakiwepto.” Ahmed gave the Nishnabe diplomat a polite bow before glancing off screen towards one of the many government advisors, ministers, and representatives currently in his office. “Oh, yes! I would like to reiterate my government's position that orangutans, including Rakeeem, are protected under our laws. While we have yet not developed a framework to legally recognize local non-humans as citizens, we do acknowledge that we should and will make it a top priority alongside ratifying the recent cooperation accords. With that said, and considering the indisputable evidence that Rakeem is a sapient adult capable of giving informed consent, we retract our demand that he be returned to our care. However, we would like some assurance that his safety and welfare are guaranteed. You may not technically be an Indonesian citizen, Rakeem, but we still care about you.”

“It's good to see you and your government are willing to do the right thing!” Though Zahili couldn't quite tell if the Indonesian President was being entirely earnest or if the man was simply putting on a convincing show, he didn't really care. All the Master-General could really do at the moment was show support and try to nudge at least one human government towards progress. “Your people will find themselves among friends on galactic stage by demonstrating compassion at home.”

/--------------------------------------------------------------------

“You all aren't going to believe this!” Zikazoma's voice dripped with delight as she rushed back to the long picnic table where the other Qui’ztars and a few humans were seated. “Jeremy, the young boy suffering from that awful neurological disease, is out of treatment and has taken his first steps in over a year!”

The cheer that erupted was picked up on sensors over a kilometer away. It had been less than a week since the Qui’ztars had visited the Red Lake Occupied. Though quite a few things had happened since then, the plight of young Jeremy Rinaldo had been lingering in the backs of their minds. The thought of a child paralyzed by a preventable illness is not one most Ascended species have to deal with. Despite how advanced humanity in Sol had proven itself to be, it clearly still had a ways to go. But a step in the right direction is progress worth celebrating, especially when it has a tangible impact in a child's life.

“Ain't gonna lie…” Mik was the first to speak...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ThatSoftware4946 on 2026-03-11 18:05:35+00:00.

He'd spent the last few days in a maintenance tunnel three blocks from the apartment, curled against a humming pipe that kept him warm enough to survive.

Sleep came in fragments, twenty minutes here, thirty there, always broken by footsteps, imagined sounds or the memory of falling.

On the morning of their arrival, he went back to the apartment building.

He took the stairs this time, eleven floors of careful ascent, and paused at the door.

“If they're smart, they left someone. If they're smarter, they left something,” he thought as he entered and swept the room with his eyes.

The room was empty but he noticed that the furniture was slightly different from how he left them. He decided to wait at the apartment door.

An hour later, he heard them before they arrived, the hiss opening of the elevator inside the pod room.

Bella entered first. Then Anna. Then Mary.

They stopped when they saw him standing there, one foot already in the hallway.

"Come outside," Roman said.

Bella turned. "What?"

"Outside. Now. Don't ask questions."

They exchanged glances, and followed him.

He led them to the lobby.

“They came searching for me a few days back, and nearly caught me. They had guns,” he said as he scanned the surrounding.

Bella's face went pale. "That's, that's illegal. Inspectors cannot—"

"They're not inspectors anymore. They're hunters. And hunters make their own rules."

Anna stared at Mary. "The V'keth leadership... they authorized this?"

"Someone did. Someone with enough power to override your precious laws." Roman said. "The question is how high it goes."

Mary's voice was barely a whisper. "All the way?"

"You're not safe here. Any of you. If they're willing to break their own laws, they're willing to do worse." He pulled out the tablet, the one Mary had given him. "I have a plan. But it requires trust."

Anna stepped forward. "Tell us."

Roman handed her the tablet.

"Aethryx. The AI. You need to contact it today, and tell it to build the app exactly as I've outlined. The platform for Trabs to connect, to share, to find each other. Let it grow organically. Don't force it. Don't control it. Just... let it exist."

Mary took the tablet, her hands trembling slightly. "And then?"

"And then it spreads. Through families, through communities, through the cracks in your perfect society." Roman paused. "By the time they notice, it'll be too late to stop."

 "We can do this," Anna said.

"Today." Roman's voice sharpened. "Not tomorrow. Not next week. Today. You two don't have much time. They'll come for you eventually."

Bella spoke for the first time in minutes. "What about me? Why am I not going?"

Roman met her gaze. "You stay with me."

"For what?"

"For now, you only need to listen." His voice softened, just slightly. "You'll understand later. We're not in a good position. For all we know, they're already on their way."

Anna and Mary exchanged a look. Then Anna stepped forward and hugged Bella. Mary joined them.

They cried into her shoulders while she stood frozen, her own eyes tearing up.

Then, slowly, they pulled away.

Mary wiped her face. Anna steadied her breathing. They looked at Roman and hugged him too.

He stiffened for a moment, surprised, then relaxed and held them back.

He then pulled back and looked at them. "This might be the last time you see us."

"It won't—" Mary said.

"Your leaders are wicked." Roman cut her. "You'll see it soon. I wish you didn't have to. But you will."

They just stared at him, as if not believing what is happening.

"Go," he said.

They went.

The lobby was quiet after they left.

Bella's voice was hoarse. "I don't understand what you're planning."

Roman turned toward the elevator.

"The plan works best when you don't understand."

He walked. After a moment, she followed.

They rode up in silence. Walked the hallway in silence. Stopped at the apartment door in silence.

Roman pushed it open.

The apartment was exactly as they'd left it. He crossed to the window and looked out at the city below.

Bella stood behind him.

"I'm going to tell you something," he said. "And I need you to trust me completely."

“Okay.”

Roman turned from the window, and began to explain.

Previous First Royal Road

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/daecrist on 2026-03-11 21:16:13+00:00.

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One of the drones finally came up and it paused for a moment, like whoever was operating the thing was unsure of what they were doing. Meanwhile I stood there on top of the building looking up with my arms crossed tapping my feet, impatiently waiting for whatever the fuck was about to happen to happen, already.

"Do we have countermeasures ready to go in case she decides to do something unfortunate?" I asked Arvie, turning to him in the simulation.

"I can assure you that I have multiple countermeasures that are ready to go," Arvie said. "We will blast that one from the skies if it starts to cause trouble."

"What's that odd energy signature there?" I asked, looking at one of the many readouts that showed what was going on with the drone that was coming right for us.

"That is odd," Arvie said. "I've never seen a signature quite like that from a combat drone before."

"Like, is this something we need to worry about?" I asked. "Or do we think that..."

Suddenly, energy signature started to swell. I could sense several of Arvie's drones preparing countermeasures, but they didn't fire on the thing just yet.

"What are you doing?" I said. “If that thing is powering up something new then we need to shoot it down.”

"This is interesting," he said. "It doesn't match any sort of weapons signature I've ever seen before. I'm curious as to exactly what the empress is doing."

"What she's doing is probably trying to kill us," I said.

"Maybe," he said. "And then again, maybe not."

I turned to Varis. I could see on her face that she could sense the worry coming through the link.

"Is something wrong?"

"Have your shields ready to go."

I turned back to Arvie. "I want you to have our shields ready to go at a moment's notice. You're going to be able to react far faster than she'll be able to."

"Of course," Arvie said, his probe in front of us dipping ever so slightly.

I turned back to the Imperial probe that had settled over the building at a distance that was anything but safe with the kind of weapons we’d been throwing around. That odd energy signature continued to swell inside the thing until we were assaulted by...

Music.

I stared up at the thing as discordant notes rang out across the city. They didn't sound pleasant to my Terran ears, but that had been my experience with a lot of the livisk music I'd experienced since coming to this planet. There was just something about their music that was a little too martial for my tastes.

Sort of like how everything that came out of North Korea for a long time was a little fucked up because it was all stuff that was meant to let everybody know how wonderful their dear leader was. Not the kind of stuff that was actually any good.

The livisk had the same problem where everybody on the damn planet was catering to an authoritarian asshole's taste in music. It made everything start to sound sort of the same.

"Arvie, let's make a note to start encouraging people to actually compose and play real music," I said.

"What are you talking about?" Varis said. "This seems like real music to me."

"That's only because you grew up in a culture where everybody thinks that whatever the empress likes is the only kind of music that's any good," I said.

"Well, how else would you do it?" she asked.

"Just make a note that we need to start encouraging musicians to do stuff that isn't catering to the empress' tastes," I said.

"I'll get working on it immediately," Arvie said. "Though it might be something that would be better suited to having a livisk organizing at first."

"Actually, let's go ahead and see if we have any amateur musicians in any of the crew when we rescue them from the Spider’s little shithole,” I said. "We need somebody who’s thinking outside the throne room, if you catch my drift. And I'm not entirely sure a livisk would be able to do that."

"Duly noted," Arvie said.

"What is this piece of auditory shit anyway?" I asked.

"It's the Imperial March," she said.

“That is not the Imperial March,” I said.

“But it is,” Varis said.

“I’m sorry, honey, but there’s only one Imperial March, and a genius named John Williams composed it nearly a thousand years ago. This is just a pale imitation,” I said.

“This is more of your movie stuff, isn’t it?” she asked.

"They should have an AI that's designed to do a John Williams impression come in and write something for them," I muttered. "It would be soulless, but it would be a better composition than this shit. Or they could just borrow from Star Wars, although the empress probably doesn't want to do that."

"Why wouldn't the empress want to borrow from this Star Wars you're talking about?" Varis asked. "Is it part of some sort of armament that you have and it wouldn't be a good idea for her to cross whoever has these weapons?"

"No, nothing like that," I said. "She would be doing something far worse than crossing any military organization in Terran space."

"What could possibly be worse than crossing a military organization in Terran space?" she asked, looking obviously confused.

"I'm also very curious about this," Arvie said. "I'm aware of most Terran military organizations, and I don't know of anything that is called Star Wars."

"That's because you're obsessed with Star Trek," I said.

“So this is one of those entertainment things from human space?" Varis asked.

"You're damn right it is. And if you go stealing from Star Wars? You're risking the wrath of the Mouse."

"Is that anything like the wrath of Khan?" Arvie asked. "Though, I can't understand why a mouse would be terrifying."

"The Mouse is a massive multi-stellar entertainment conglomerate that has its white gloved fingers in a whole lot of pies. And the one thing that has been a constant for a thousand years of human history is you don't mess with any of the Mouse's intellectual properties unless you want their legal department to come in and give you a colorectal exam by way of a discovery motion and a cease and desist."

"I see," Arvie said.

"But they have legal standing in Terran space. There's no way they would be able to come after the empress of the Livisk Ascendancy," Varis said.

"You'd be surprised," I said with a shrug. "They've gone after other interstellar sovereign polities who thought they were safe because they weren't part of human space. They learned the hard way you don't cross the Mouse."

"I see," Varis said, saying it in a tone that said she clearly didn't understand. But that was okay.

"I'm being a little hyperbolic," I said with a grin. “Only a little, mind you. It’s still a good rule to live by. Like, it might even be a good idea to convince the empress to use Mickey Mouse in one of her logos or something with the way they've been extending copyright and trademark laws ever since they were granted sovereign status back in the 2100s. They’d be after her in an instant, and probably take care of our whole empress problem."

"You're saying that in a tone that says that's not a good idea," Varis said.

"Well, yeah, they'd probably turn this planet into one of their theme parks, or at least take one of your moons, and then you'd have Universal Studios setting up on one of the other moons and they’d be aiming missiles at one another before you know it branding it as a ‘guest experience’ like they did back in the 2200s when they accidentally glassed Orlando. It's a whole thing where you don't want to get in the middle of one of their arms races if you can avoid it."

"Truly, Terran culture is odd in ways that I have a difficult time fathoming," Varis said, shaking her head as she stared at me.

"Yeah, sometimes we can be pretty weird," I said with a shrug.

The fanfare finally seemed to be winding down. Another drone had come up and it was floating next to the first one. It had a glowing tip on the front. And then suddenly a massive projected head of the empress appeared in front of us. It wasn't quite as massive as the other one because she didn't have multiple probes creating the holographic representation of her head in front of us this time around, but it was still pretty damn big. Big enough that it was able to look down on us with reasonably impressive imperious disdain.

"Hello," I said, giving her a wave and a grin. "We keep meeting like this. It really is a problem, don't you think?"

"Listen here, you son of a bitch," she said, growling as she looked all around. "If you think you can keep fucking with me like this..."

She paused for a moment. Her head seemed to look all around as it floated there in front of us. She looked down to the streets below. She looked all around to the various ships that were floating in the air all around us, and then she looked up to the lines of traffic that seemed to be eternal in Imperial Seat. They'd resumed their spider web across the sky once the gravimetric anomaly had disappeared.

Though I did note there were a lot of vehicle moving in a path that sent them around the former gravimetric anomaly. I didn't have the...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2026-03-11 20:20:11+00:00.

First

Tread Softly Around Sorcerers

“Hey, Arden. uh... we’re being watched and someone’s here to see you. And your friend.” On of his cousins notes and Arden nods.

“Excuse me.” Arden says before turning and taking a deep breath with his eyes closed, and then opening them again with a frown. The world grows strangely quiet as if muffled for a moment and then...

“Hey Suit!” Arden’s voice echoes around over all conversation. “This place is Lush Forest protected. If you want to talk, then talk. The entire Forest, and as such, every Forest. Can hear you. We all hear you.”

Jacob turns with interest now that his attention has been brought to the stranger. Many species have different ideas on what constitutes a business appropriate wear, and for the Apuk it is a long flowing dress, without frills, with minimal jewellery and a smart jacket over top.

For his own comfort he preferred suits with pants and vests. Mostly because standard jackets don’t work with wing-arms and he doesn’t like showing off his underwear.

“I would prefer to speak face to face.” The woman states after a moment and Arden nods. Then she’s suddenly there with them and staggers back in shock. She’s a blond, blue eyed Apuk in a cream business dress with pink highlights.

“Wait a minute, aren’t you?”

“I have been sent here against my will by legal contract. I am...”

“Quini’Frira, Attorney at Law. You’ve got like a dozen billboards around the city.” Arden says in a baffled tone. “Don’t the signs... yeah, I’m seeing them now, your signs say you deal in property and contract law. What’s going on?”

“Contract law. I’ve been hired to try and hire you.” She says reaching into a small pouch sewn into the skirt of her dress and withdrawing a data-slate.

“This isn’t really the time, we’re having a bit of a family get together.” Arden notes.

“I know, I’m sorry. But I’ve been on retainer for a week and was on the cusp of hiring a Private Investigator for actually figuring out when you’re here. You don’t exactly use roads or walkways.” Quini’Frira says.

“You mentioned it might have something to do with me as well?” Jacob asks.

“Yes, the organization I’m representing wants it on legal document that they’re on good terms with the local sorcerers, are there more than you two? Is there an army I have to get signatures from?”

“Signatures for what?” Arden asks as he activates the slate and the device starts spitting out information in legalese. “Wait, The Fire Blades?”

Quini’Frira puts her hands up in surrender. “I am aware you have some bad history with them. The summation of the contract is a single question. ‘If we include a clause in our work from here on out to be able to leave without violence if we find out we’re fighting you and yours, will you let us just walk away unhurt?’ If you sign it, you’re agreeing to this. Basically, will you let them surrender? They have no desire to fight a massive organization of powerful adepts who’s first member is also an expert marksman. To say nothing of the unknown second member.”

“Genetically augmented pilot and member of a foreign military.” Jacob says.

“...Genetically augmented?”

“Undaunted Enhancement. Makes me heavily Null Resistant and borderline toxin immune.” Jacob notes and she blinks.

“Of course. So the first sorcerer of Soben Ryd is a self taught expert marksmen and the second is a pilot for an army that routinely puts out near Princess Level Combatants.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Warfire is damn hard to deal with.” Jacob notes. “It can overwhelm our standard protections, especially at Princess Level.”

“... The fact you have something that allows you to do more than die on the spot against Princess grade warfire is in itself something to take note of. Okay? That stuff is the kind of thing that that starships have to watch out for.”

“I suppose... this document is dense though.”

“I’m afraid it has to be. Legal contracts that hold up in court need to have a level of redundancy that most ships look to be deathtraps by comparison.”

“Not The Heron, Undaunted regulations had so many damn emergency measures built into it that the ship’s weight noticeably increased.”

“Pardon?’

“My ship, The Bloody Heron. When I joined up with The Undaunted I got free improvements and upgrades, but that also includes backups for my backup’s backups. If I were to strip out the redundancies I could quickly convert a burnt out hull of a ship into a fully functional vessel. And maybe have enough for another one.”

“That... seems excessive.”

“To hear humans talk about it we’re all a bunch of reckless idiots who don’t account for the possibility of things breaking down.”

“But, if you have the repair totems nearby then they simply wont.”

“That’s what I said and I was asked what if the totems fail? Then you just remake them is not the answer they wanted and my ship got upped in it’s tonnage with redundant systems. Including backup repair totems. And backup, backup repair totems. And backup, backup, backup repair totems. ... And the materials to make more of them complete with instructions so simple that a child can use them.”

“Wow.” Quini’Frira notes as Arden’Karm stares at Jacob for a bit. He shrugs his wings. “Well at least you know they value your safety.”

“Yeah. For all the strangeness around them there is a serious sense of brotherhood.”

“So it’s true, they don’t have women in the organization?”

“Oh they do. In fact they even outnumber the men as normal. But preferential recruitment is given to the men. Apparently that’s just normal on Earth, and they’re continuing it because it’s a part of the ‘labour pool’ that isn’t being ‘exploited’ properly.”

“Why the airquotes?’

“Because while those are the most common words I’ve heard in the definition, I can hear the well... the lawyer speak in it and more candid conversations use other descriptions. But I’m talking to a lawyer so the lawyer words are out.”

“I don’t just speak legalese.” She huffs.

“Can I have that for the record?”

“I am disinclined to provide.”

“... Did he just get you or are you two playing?” Arden asks as he looks up from the data-slate.

“Do you not know?” Quini’Frira asks.

“He doesn’t. I was being playful.” Jacob answers.

“And I was about to start flirting.” Quini’Frira says with a sigh. “But few things make it more awkward than an outright declaration of it.”

“True! Now...” Jacob glances at Arden who nods.

“I’ll ask mom.”

“Ask her what?’

“Your little contract is a dense piece of work. And while we’re not saying no, we do want to fully understand it all first. Which is going to take time and I take it you’ve been paid not to leave without it right?”

“Right.”

“Well, he’s asking if you’re allowed to be here as a guest. It’s a family and friends feast and if you’re here to be friendly, we’ll see if that’s enough for you to be a friend.”

“Wait, The Sorcerer isn’t the one in charge of the family?”

“I don’t think he is. I also don’t think he’s comfortable with the idea of how much power he could have over his own family. No... I’ve brought it up, he heard it and is very uncomfortable with the idea.”

“You’d think a Sorcerer would be in command of their own family...”

“What makes you say that?” Jacob asks.

“Well... you’re far more capable than almost anything else. It takes multiple Battle Princesses to fell even a single sorcerer. And sometimes The Empress herself needs to take to the field. I watched the emergence of The City Shaker. Why wouldn’t someone who can fell entire cities in their rage not be in control?”

“Would you prefer my opinion, or would you like to hear the answer of the other Sorcerers?”

“If it’s not too much...”

“Option two then. A moment please.” Jacob says and leans back before sending out his question. Then leaning forwards. “General answer is, I’m part of something greater either way. And no one’s really head of anything. People aren’t puppets. We live well, and together as best we can.”

“Really?”

“To be a Sorcerer is to be part of a community. Working with it. You don’t need to be in charge of it to be part of it. And since all Sorcerers are men, we’re cherished. And as Sorcerers, too powerful to be abused or disregarded. So... yeah we do well. Well they do well. I’ve... not seen my family in a long time. And I haven’t started one of my own.”

“To avoid the no doubt sensitive subject of family, how can one be both cherished and abused or disregarded?” Quini’Frira asks.

“We did that. By accident.” Valari’Karm says as she arrives. “You’re the... oh! I thought Arden was implying you looked like Quini’Frira not that you are Quini’Frira. My mistake. Anyways, you’re welcome to join us while we go over the contract. I have a sister wife who’s skilled in criminal law so she’s going to help Arden break it down and understand it. I do hope that’s not an issue.”

“Not at all, in fact I might have her in my contacts... is it... Dellia’Karm?”

“It is Dellia.”

“She’s a solid one. She can break down that contract in her sleep.”

“Why is it so dense? I’ve seen some of the documents she’s helped draft before and this monstrosity is the worst I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s going to be used as the reference point for other contracts. A lot of other contracts. It needs to so airtight it’s worthy of spaceflight. More even. This contract is a foundational one, so we need to be completely certain of everything from every angle, technically impossible, but this is about as c...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Betty-Adams on 2026-03-11 19:46:19+00:00.

Humans are Weird – Batters Up! - Audio Narration

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Youtube: https://youtu.be/H1DZnVUverY

Original Post: https://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-batters-up-audio-narration-book-4-humans-are-weird-i-did-the-math

Waves of amber tinted water lapped gently through the upper layers of the coral reef that hosted the main base of the newest Undulate colony world. Considersquickly was nominally using his leading appendages to sort out exploration shifts for the upcoming weeks on a data bulge. However the primary drift of his thoughts was on the communication from the central university, wrapped in layers of apology and understanding, that they were shifting to the Shatar standard datapads for all future University funded exploration missions. The deciding factor in the final choice had actually not been the Shatar themselves, but the ergonomics of the newly discovered mammalian race. The fact that said race had shown up (on their own funding free of University entanglement) on this planet was prompting the University to forward the change.

Considersquickly fondled the easy to grip, specially textured sides of the bulge and let just a single fiber of regret float away. He really had no problems drifting with the prevailing cultural currents, but he would miss the ease of use of the older tech offered. He was trying to swim back to arranging the shifts when Toucheseagerly fell through the surface with a frantic splop and scrambled down the coral wall, jabbering as he tried to scramble and speak at the same time.

“Either slow down or use sound,” Considersquickly gestured at his quartermaster absently.

“The new friends, the humans I mean!” Toucheseagerly bleated out in pure sound waves as he scrambled faster. “They are disposing of the explosives!”

Considersquickly had to admit he was glad of a chance to leave the rather smooth task of assigning shifts for something that at least had potential to be more interesting. Not that this situation promised to be in any way unusual, but at least Toucheseagerly’s reaction to it promised to be entertaining.

“Yes Toucheseagerly,” Considersquickly said, and perhaps his gestures were a breadth condescending, “the new human friends volunteered to dispose of our expired shaped coral blasters. It was, rather still is, in the weekly flow charts.”

Toucheseagerly’s entire body rippled with contradicting conjunctions and the force of his failed attempt at communication carried him several unds sideways, the movement showing no sign of stopping. Considersquickly took that as a request for more information.

“The corals on this world were far safer and more habitable than the initial survey, taken in the more northerly regions indicated. We have been left trailing a massive stockpile of shaped construction explosives. Detonating them underwater was out of the question for safety reasons, and we have only had the time and personnel to spare to perform atmospheric detonations occasionally-”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Toucheseagerly actually interrupted him with irritated and dismissive gestures.

Considersquickly realized that there was actual fear in his subordinate's energy, but only traces of the more bitter tasting emotion. Mostly there was raw, frantic confusion.

“So when the humans offered to do the atmospheric detonations-” Toucheseagerly interjected.

“At far higher and safer elevations than we could have-” Considersquickly cut in with a significant set to his appendages.

“Faster, cheaper, quicker, safer!” Toucheseagerly broke in again, either completely ignoring Considersquickly’s point or not noticing it.

“Yes, yes, they are, right now, the secondary island. Baseball bats! Safety gear! I don’t know!”

The last statement was a near frantic wail followed by a slump that sent any irritation Considersquickly had built up flowing with the tide. Toucheseagerly was genuinely distressed about something and Considersquickly mentally prodded what he had said.

“Are the human not using proper safety gear?” he asked, setting his appendages in a soothing droop.

Toucheseagerly positively twitched as he clearly tried to form coherent thoughts.

“Balls, the game, not the game-Do you recall, did you see, the game with the big round, did you play?”

“Catch,” Considersquickly offered, wondering where this current was coming from. “Yes, the game the humans play by,” he began to quote the analysis the physicist had made, “inducing atmospheric-gravitic parabolic motion in spheres designed to be easily gripable by human appendages.”

“Do you know what that means?” Toucheseagerly demanded.

“I was there the day of the, I believe they called it a baseball game,” he replied sending out a soothing wave of pheromones. “I admit that I could make as little sense of what the humans were doing as anyone, but when they placed the ball on the flat surface and rolled it to me I was able to grip it, and send it to the next participant. My understanding is that humans are simply naturally able to elevate the ‘roll’ game into three dimensions at speeds of around twenty to forty unds per tic. It sounds preposterous I know, but they did safely-”

“Now!” Toucheseagerly interjected. “Just, just go sound, look at, what they are doing now! On the island. Please…”

Toucheseagerly slumped as his finished this request and simply resorted to pointing to the main surveillance hub.

“Of, course, of course,” Considersquickly assured him even as he bounced up and swam at a brisk pace to the node.

It responded quickly to his touch, chirping apologetically that it only had visual information for him when it resolved an image of the island the Undulates had designated for their more complex hazardous waste disposal when they had first arrived.

“Look!” Considerquickly said in a soothing tone. “They have cleared a nice level area for their work. This must be so they don’t … what was the word?”

“Trip,” Toucheseagerly said in a hollow tone.

“Trip over anything,” Considersquickly finished. “That is very mindful of safety.”

“Note they have also cleared the demolition zone of the contained demolition boxes,” Toucheseagerly gestured.

Considersquickly gave an uneasy hum at that but didn’t feel particularly put out.

“Explosions loose so much force out of the water,” he stated, “and look. They are all wearing their impact armor. Even the ones at more than the safe distance. Surely they are taking every-”

“Please just watch,” Toucheseagerly said in a tried tone.

Considersquickly let his appendages drift to polite attention as he watched the group of five humans interact. He had gotten reasonably good at telling them apart but with only light data and all of the humans encased in detonation armor he had no idea who was who. One stood by the container of explosives, slightly irregular spheres good for blasting habitation nooks in particularly stubborn coral. That human had one of the explosives in his hands and was carefully working the timer controls. A second human stood what looked like several unds away making determined waves of…

“Is that a baseball bat?” Considersquickly asked feeling his appendages stiffening with some unformed dread.

“Yes,” Toucheseagerly intoned.

The console chirped happily as it detected relevant sound information it could supply them. The three humans at the edge of the island had begun to chant. If there were words in the chant Considersquickly didn’t know them, yet the chant had an energizing quality. As if it were a challenge.

The human holding the explosive suddenly hit the timed activation button. In the format the charge was now it would detonate in mere tics. Considerquickly reminded himself firmly that the detonation suits were rated to aborbe the worst of that explosion underwater. Above the surface the human shouldn’t be injured even if the alien didn’t drop the shell. Then the human arranged his body with what was obviously cheerful and friendly challenge even under the muting of the armor. The hand holding the explosive shell began to spin in wide arcs, clearly signaling some intent. The watching humans grew excited, their chanting increased in volume and paces. The human with the, bat, angled his body with some intense intent, the bat secured in the great join of his trunk and arm. Then all the humans moved suddenly. The human with the explosive released it. The human with the bat gave one determined swing, and the explosive detonated, the resulting shock wave producing enough force to shove the humans towards the ground even in the thin firmament above the water.

Considersquickly suddenly understood Toucheseagerly’s frantic confusion. He fully admitted that he had no sounding on what the human were doing.

At the moment the human with the explosives had been knocked down to the ground and was getting back up. The human with the bat was handing it off to one of the three watchers and taking his place outside the detonation area. The human with the explosives staggered to his feet and reached into the container and pulled out another shell. He began twisting the settings.

“That is a violation of...can’t be regulation...that, that can’t be right somehow!” Toucheseagerly flar...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Risesohigh33 on 2026-03-11 17:43:20+00:00.

First | Previous

"We have a problem," I hear James crackle in my earpiece. I immediately turn around and head for the ramp up to the cargo bay. "Command. Now."

All around me are the staging sounds of war. Terrans yelling at each other for one thing or another. Tending to the wounded. Battle machines--tanks, walkers, crawlers, speeders, to name a few--perform initial checks and canvass for broken or weakened armor. I don't pause as one of them walks straight over me, it's metal underbelly twenty-five feet above my head.

The air is hot and thick. Smells, too. Death is everywhere.

In the six hours since we made landfall, our battalion has engaged three different Inferno defense installations and one squadron of enemy defenders, paving the way for the soldiers falling through the sky above us in the next wave. One installation was in a small canyon, a double-railgun capable of frying ships in orbit. It was also wrecking havoc against the flank of Wigham's fleet, which has started to drift a little bit above us. The two armadas hammer away at each other, and yet she prepares herself and her ships for the maneuver to keep Inferno in this sphere.

The second installation was within the side of the mountain, and the gunship that I man with Matteo and our crew led the attack. Along with our seven other gunships, we obliterated it without spending any of our soldiers, who, I have realized, can fly in those suits of armor they wear. Mechs, they call them.

They're like little...ships, those mechs. They make the one who pilots them a roving death machine. With my access, I have marks on many of them, so I fed myself into their cameras on more than one occasion when Matteo and I were ordered to fallback and idle.

The most gruesome of those was when I had a view from James' shoulder as he and Klara tore into a rogue Inferno squadron that was pushing toward the pass ahead of us. That was our third encounter, when our two Soulless fell upon that squadron--looping underneath the tree line to remain hidden--from above, dropping in bunker busters to destabilize the suits of armor and fry their systems. None of the Inferno soldiers could leave the ground. Then my two friends landed and dispatched the squadron of twenty-six without firing a single shot.

They took it in close, with blades, to avoid as much radar detection as possible. Their bodies moved in perfect cohesion, back to back, facing each other, looping in and around and above each other. It felt like music as the blades sung into armor and flesh. James and Klara were one body and mind, their singular focus on ending as many lives as quickly as possible.

Only there were no triumphant stomps or flips or spins in their dance. There were only cuts and blood. Hector arrived as the last body hit the ground, James removing his huge, black sword from a head. I heard Hector grumble that the two of them were being selfish with their kills.

The third installation we eliminated I didn't even get a look at, because James called in an airstrike. He said he didn't want to have to stop.

I walk up the ramp into our forward command center, which is just a smaller troop transport. Before I reach the ship, I catch a glimpse of the trails up in the sky. It's later in the day now, on this side of the planet. Ships continue to fall toward the surface. We're not stopping for long, just enough to rest, patch any issues in armor and pump drugs into bloodstreams to keep soldiers fighting and fit.

I hear heavy boots and smell the sweat of my ship partner that I've grown accustomed to. Matteo falls in behind me, having checked the engines of our gunship personally for any issues with the time we have. He wipes away something onto a rag and retracts his nanomites to his waist without stopping. He shoves the rag in his pocket and let's the nanomites come back over his body to the neck.

"Good shooting out there, kid," he says. "You're a natural."

I'm certainly not a natural. Matteo's being kind, but I will say I've been doing my job. He's clean-shaven and clearly cut his hair before this assault. He looks to be fit for fighting, with his stomach bound by the nanomite armor that covers both of our torsos. His neck bulges out a little, I guess. But he's alive with energy. He's alive with purpose. His compliment is real.

I can see it in his eyes. He's as invested in this as much as the rest of us.

Because our victory ensures his survival? Absolutely. And I can't blame him for that. But I've seen his face when we've come across the mass graves. All four times, he's been wearing a mask of disgust and hate. And he insisted on taking in each scene. Each brutal piece of Inferno's genocide towards humanity's former ally.

I know that look. Pure resolve to see this through.

The nanomites, the rage of a solider, all of it, suits him well. Me, on the other hand, not so much. But I don't mind. I'm still here, in nanomite armor the same as the rest of them.

James made it clear that I was to have this armor over my body at any point I was not in the ship. I was allowed to let the helmet slide down to talk, but that's it. The truth? I don't really mind, anyway. Because after the initial pinch of the nanomites coming forth from their holding station behind my ear, I have felt their power. And it is intoxicating.

I'm a touch taller, a bit heavier. But I am much faster, stronger and more aware. By quite a bit, actually. My senses are heightened at all times, and the nanomites have acted for me on many occasions without commands, picking up sounds and disturbances and then pulling my helmet up for me to alert me of anything.

"Thanks," I say, not turning around but offering my fist. Matteo bumps it. My body is hot. I can feel the exhaustion. But I won't stop. "Any issues?"

"None that I or the AI could find," Matteo says. "Some dents in the armor. Missiles needed restocking. One of the guns was funky, but I blame Gerard for that, not the ship. He's a shit shot."

"Then why is he on our ship?" I ask, stopping to turn. "We can't have two poor shots on our ship. I'm not great as is."

It's true. I won't hide from it. But I'm learning quickly.

"Because he knows what 'overkill' is," Matteo says, chuckling. His neck jiggles along. "You always need one of those. Trust me."

I roll my eyes, turning back around. "Sooner we're through the pass, the better."

Matteo clicks his tongue as we approach the front of the cargo bay, where James has set up his forward command. There's a temporary command table that he stands in front of, his arms crossed, addressing various captains and other commanders around the planet that appear via hologram, back and to my left.

James says something sharp as his eyes flicker to me, noting my arrival. He nods at me, listens for a moment and brings up a virtual battlefield that he immediately begins to study. His face is alive, but I can see the weight building behind James' eyes, even from here. I know him that well. He looks tired.

Still, he points to a few different things on the virtual battlefield in front of him, which I can't see from back here, and clearly delivers orders. Because the holograms disappear with a salute, and he swipes away what was on it.

He's been in here for a few hours, directing our invasion. I haven't bothered to ask much how it's going, because I know he's under all the stress he needs right now. Matteo and I come up to a circle of Klara, Hector, Fazoon and other captains who have been called, who are discussing amongst themselves. None of these Terrans are in their full armor right now as they try to let the mechs charge as much as possible with this precious time. Still, in their nanomite armor--which is much more slender and form-fitting--they're all still a bunch of terrors.

"What's going on?" I ask, receiving a fist bump from Hector and a light pat on my head from Klara. I swat her away, which just makes her snicker.

"Boss said he's got news. Moving out soon," Fazoon says, looking down at his fingernails. "Doesn't sound good."

All of them look at my best friend, who has his hands spread over the small table, eyes closed. He's analyzing, contemplating, thinking. Maybe taking a moment for himself. I can't help but see the man he is now, here, in all his terror and righteous glory and compare it to the one I first met.

At first glance, despite his huge size, James always seemed to want to make himself...smaller. Less noticeable. I didn't understand it all those years ago, but it started to click as I got to know him better. He was always moving in the shadows when he could. Sitting in spaces much smaller than his body wanted.

I suppose if I was being hunted by a galactic guild of assassins and mass murderers, I too would have attempted to avoid making myself known.

But he doesn't do so now. James' eyes flash open, all intensity, until he stands up straight, as if to present himself in all his terror. James is not interested in being unnoticable anymore. He just wants to fucking win. Good.

He looks over at us and nods. The group makes our way to the command table. "What's the...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KamchatkasRevenge on 2026-03-11 15:33:06+00:00.

Joan

"Shalkas, what do you think? Tracking drills next?"

The big white-furred Cannidor considers for a moment as they watch the Cannidor cadets hard at work in the cargo bay they'd seized for today's training. While the Khan isn't averse to live fire training for the cadets, force-on-force would be limited to simunitions, which is to say paint rounds, until the girls are grown adults wearing more than light training kit to work out in. Even the higher level simulations would be saved for a year or two, until the girls take oaths as warriors and receive their actual hard suits so they could do more than light EVA work. Assuming they do at all.

For today, they’re just wearing fatigues and tactical gear, and the cargo bay echoes with shrieks and taunts as fusillades of high velocity dye packets, guaranteed to give a cadet no more than a bruise and an annoying stain to wash out of her fur, go back and forth. 

Sure, it’d give the girls some cleaning to do, but some light dye isn't anything to axiom cleaning tools… or even a wet rag and some soap.

Besides, 

Cleaning builds character. 

"Nah. Give 'em the day for more paintball. Maybe some PT and some sparring. Then order some pizza and cue up a good Human movie for them in their lounge. One of the military ones that goes hard on honor, courage and noble sacrifice. They've been working really hard recently, might as well let them have some fun. Not every day needs to go to the hilt, and they're building good skills here too." 

Joan frowns as she considers the older woman's words. Part of her wants to press her cadets; they’re the first official cadets for her clan ever, after all. They have to be a cut above, to set the standard and ensure it was high and gleaming for all to see! 

However, they’re still girls. Teenagers at most, by Human standards. They’re Joan's to train, to lead, to forge... a statement of trust in Joan's skill and maturity. But this is both training and a test for Joan and her sisters. 

Though it isn't a test for Shalkas. Joan’s pretty sure about that. 

Nor is Shalkas proctoring her. Shalkas is there to teach her something, even as she’s teaching the cadets... and her own personal little group of 'cadets'. 

Joan casts an eye over at Nikrit and her little crew of allegedly reformed air bikers. The girls are certainly a lot cleaner than the first time Joan had seen them, and they'd adopted quasi military style haircuts - not the ones the Undaunted generally prefer, but rather styles inherent to the Cannidor warrior caste, which Joan figures is them marking their new affiliation.

The girls had all asked to crew on various ships, and Father had accepted, given that Nikrit had done the Undaunted and clan excellent service. That it had been completely unwitting service is an easy button to tease the younger woman with, if need be… but the girls have all been doing fairly well on the other side of the law for the first time in their lives. Comfortable beds, steady food and pay certainly had done quite a bit to 'tame' the near feral gangers. 

Even if throwing colors for them meant squadron patches and their navy flight suits now. 

They'd been given a unique training program to prepare them for boot camp and aircrew candidate school, led predominantly by Shalkas and Nadiri, but with Joan and her sisters stepping in as drill instructors. Joan finds the air bikers to be a bunch of disagreeable, surly, poorly disciplined twerps half the time - and they talk about her father in far more casual terms than Joan would prefer. Sure, tanning one of Nikrit's blade sister's hides in the square circle after she'd made a bawdy comment about her father's... 'weapon' had at least shown the flag for basic decorum and manners. But instilling really proper manners in these girls would likely take a full-on surgical intervention. 

Still. For all that, these girls have spirit, and they work hard, well aware of the opportunity they’ve been handed.

"Alright. I guess we can make a light day of things."

Shalkas smacks Joan in the shoulder. "They're still kids in the end. They might want to be warriors, but letting them be kids will do more to lock their loyalty to the clan in than anything else possibly could. Especially for the orphans. Those girls had a raw deal from life - from birth in Anika's case, more recently for little Tulsha. For them especially, a clan has to be more than the people who sign your checks and feed you. It needs to be your family. So you can't just be their squad leader. Their instructor. You need to be their big sister and even a surrogate mother to a degree, here or there. Your Dad's really sharp about this sort of thing. Even for the biggest clans, it's still a family if they're at all healthy."

"Just a really big, sometimes bickering, squabbling family, but a family." Joan nods, smiling slightly to herself as she remembers quarreling with Boudicca over some perceived slight. 

"Exactly. Hell, take me, after a galactic level smear campaign... For as much as Chori hated me, hate's not the opposite of love. She was upset with me and what she saw as a betrayal - not just of the clan, of the family, but of her, because we were so close growing up, because she loved me." Shalkas pauses, and chuckles for a moment. "Kinda nuts to think her giving a shit about me nearly got my head blown off, but Chori wasn't thinking straight... and in all truth I don't think she could have done it. Love makes you act crazy in the end."

"Like going undercover alone with no backup, no lifeline, no support, and not even anyone friendly knowing you were there in a pirate fleet to rescue a man you have a crush on? Mother Shalkas." Joan leans in slightly, dropping her voice, sensing a rare opportunity to tease the woman who would likely be one of her mothers before too long... and a fine mother she would be. It makes her wonder what Jab - or Mary, rather - would be like when she came back from her self imposed exile. 

Her father does not attract boring women in the slightest. 

Shalkas's tail thrashes slightly as she breaks eye contact. "Uh. Yeah. Like that. That was just about the stupidest thing I've ever done, and I've done plenty of stupid shit in my life."

"It paid off though, didn't it, Mother?"

"I ain't your mother just yet."

"Just a matter of time, from what I hear. Heard you and Dad got caught snuggled up real nice and cozy on top of the Starseer the other day."

Nikrit had done the catching, and she'd described them as 'making out' and 'just shy of bruising each other's hips'... which Joan figures translates to approximately slightly more than platonic snuggling - nothing particularly untoward or risqué. A subjective call, maybe, but it has a couple of points in its favor. For one, her father and Shalkas are both a bit more private than that for such business, and for two Nikrit has a habit of exaggeration. 

Speaking of Nikrit, the girl herself shouts out, inadvertently covering for her 'boss': "Holy shit! Humans can eat THAT!?"

Shalkas, clearly pleased at the distraction, pads over, looking over Nikrit's shoulder. 

"Oh, that. We can eat that too, and we should. Pineapple is really tasty!"

"What!? It's digesting the lining of your stomach while you digest it!"

"Kid, you clearly haven't learned one of the two great Human mottos. The first one's 'Not if I digest it first.'. There's damn fine reasons they get along with us Cannidor food-wise - we got the same philosophy. Nothing can beat you if it's lunch already."

Nikrit thinks, then nods, as if Shalkas has offered her sage wisdom; then she looks up and asks; "What's the second great Human motto?"

Shalkas smiles sagely. "Not if I can pet it first." She chuckles. "Makes sense, they seem to love to befriend just about anything fuzzy they can get their hands on."

Objectively correct, but probably the wrong thing to say to Nikrit and her friends, who immediately spot what Shalkas has just opened herself up to and start to giggle. Nikrit finally says, "You'd know - right, boss lady? I bet the Khan knows how to pet a girl just right. Eh?" 

Before Joan knows what's happening, Nikrit is on the run, ducking and weaving as Shalkas reaches out… but too slowly. Shalkas grabs the younger woman, drags her in, and grinds her knuckles into her scalp: the Cannidor ritual that Humans call 'noogies' in English. 

"Oh, I'll show you some 'petting,' you little bitch!" 

"Hey! Hey, stop that! Hahahah! That tickles, damn it!" 

The chaos to both sides of Joan between the horseplay of Shalkas and her kids and Joan’s own cadets waging furious technicolor battle over control of the cargo bay is a wonderful cover for the door to the cargo bay opening, and she's so distracted that she doesn't realize her new shadow has arrived until she's gently tugging on her sleeve. The petite Human woman peers up at Joan from what feels like belt height. 

"Oh, there you are, my dear. Did you have any chance to read those Bible verses I sent you?"

Sister Catherine. Formerly of the Dominican order of nuns, and formerly a very old woman… now a very young woman, fresh off a healing coma after an air car accident on Centris. Sister Catherine, who had decided that Joan should be the one to carry her namesake's holy sword - and, indeed, carry the Cross itself into the wider galaxy: a course Joan has been quietly resisting ever since she'd come to Sister Catherine and her associate's defense on Canis Prime.

"Sister...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/FieserMoep on 2026-03-11 14:57:15+00:00.

Shasakel was bored. What had appeared to be a great adventure - the chance to join the GU Cadet Programme - had turned out to be and arduous exercise of history lessons paired up with countless hours dedicated to the various aspects of galactic law. It was not like he had not expected this, just the volume and intensity paired up with his quickly dismantled illusions of a glorious campus life had crushed his motivation for the time being. As a first year there was the faint hope to somewhat make his peace with it.

The time to ponder his fate was cut short when Professor K’hem entered the room. An elderly Xenomorph he still could not properly identify. He just knew the man was old. “Greetings Students.” The man started his lesson like any other. Repeating the most crucial aspects of the last one, prompting his audience with questions and answering some questions that were unresolved from the last seminar. “Alright. If that is all, we will continue. Does by chance anyone know either the ‘Ishikawa Incident’ or the so called ‘Leviathan Doctrine’?” Nobody responded. Something clicked in Shasakel, something from his old school, but he wasn’t certain. Better to remain quiet than to be the idiot of the class.

“Well, maybe that is to be expected. Back in my days it was ‘the’ topic among my fellow classmen.” Shasakel was rather unsure what, ‘back in his days’, would mean. As little as he did know what kind of species the man was, he knew even less about their life expectancy. “Given your curriculum, you should all be familiar with the ISPA? Its relevant for context.” Atuma P’Falah raised her hand. She was somewhat of the class genius or at least she loved it to be able to participate when she was sure of knowing something.

“Yes. The Indigenous Species Preservation Act of 33.211 GUC mandates, that every expanding civilisation within the GU has to thoroughly survey new systems and seize its rights of colonisation should they discover qualifying life forms and instead proclaim a protectorate that is to be passively monitored as guarantor - else they could void their expansion privileges granted by the GU. While well intended, it is often criticised for rarely uphold and its control mechanisms suffering from to restrictive hurdles to clear.” A short pause. “That is correct. Thank you.” The holo-projector started to portray its default image. “You will hear an original audio log now, illustrated by the feed as it was captured by a monitor satellite.”

Shasakel perked up. Movie time! He saw the vastness of space, only put into perspective by a giant green marble of planet. White cloud-centres and blue veins painting what must be a beautiful world. Then the early signs of incoming jumps. The iconic crackles of energy as several ships of somewhat oval designs translated into space and the wide objective zoomed in on them, with remarkable quality. An infographic popped up, each of its line marked with a complicated looking time stamp.

IJS detected

8 Signatures identified

IFF received

IFF decoded - GRN (Garan Republic Navy)

General hail sent

Protectorate Status (ISPA) declared

UNSSG broadband alert issued

The log showed an indicator for its fast-forward and another line appeared.

UNSSGC Ishikawa (GPC-311) responding

Another fast-forward and a gray ship of angular style materialized just like the others. The objective had to zoom out as it detected its jump signature and the video was cut between different perspective, most likely due to other satellites or additional cameras honing in on them. Just then he noticed that the entire recording had been silent so far, as hard and somewhat short breathed voiced pierced the silence in galactic common.

“Addressing all Garan Republic Navy Ships within the DD-22241-Y System, this is Captain Botha of the UNSSGC Ishikawa speaking - acting System Representative of the United Nations of Sol. You are trespassing on a protectorate System of the UNS under the ISP Act and hereby ordered to vacate the system immediately. Should your jump drives still be within their allotted cooldown phase to guarantee safe translation, you are issued to declare the estimated time of departure and cease any unauthorized activity. You will be provided navigational instructions.”

As a Cadet he was somewhat used to how exchanges go between the various members of the GU. At least he had heard some by now. This one was direct, maybe not friendly but clear enough he assumed. What caught him by surprise was someone actually trying to enforce the ISPA. Normally it was either dismissed by the lobbyists finding a loophole, someone establishing hard facts and saying sorry or the senate failing to get any sufficient majority to enforce sanctions because pretty much anyone - at least the civilisations that were still expanding - had one or more skeletons in the closet when it came to prime real estate.

“Ishikawa, demand dismissed.” It took some time for another voice to respond in common. “This system is claimed by the Garan Republic and seen as its domain. Foreign fleet presence is not permitted, and you are to remove yourself.”

Shasakel frowned. That definitely was less than friendly. Of course, he knew the UNS, it was one of the more prolific members of the GU after all, but he had trouble grasping the idea of anyone responding like that to one of their ships - a military one he assumed? Then he remembered what his Professor said. Back in his days. And while he had no idea what the time code used within the overlay meant, this had to be back quite some time.

“Garan Repulic Navy Ships, this is your final warning. Under the ISP Act we are authorized to remove your presence from this system. Any claim to this system and any attempt to dismantle the DD-22241-Y Protectorate is challenged by standing mandate of the UNS High Parliament. Any negative response will lead to further escalation. Confirm message.”

“Ishikawa, message received, confirmed, dismissed. Translate out of system, or we will be forced to answer your threat in kind. This system belongs to the Republic.”

Another bullet point appeared.

UNSSGC Ishikawa (GPC-311) contacting UNSSG Command

Hold command issued by UNSSG Command

Then the human ship fired up its retro-thrusters, creating distance towards the garan ships, its prow facing the formation of eight ships. Another fast-forward.

“Ishikawa, your jump drive is cooled down by now. Jump now or face the consequences.”

“Ishikawa Actual, we remain.”

He had to swallow hard. Events like these would not get named ‘Incident’ if they had easily resolved after such declaration. Silence reigned in the room, and he was waiting for another fast-forward to propel the timeline, but then the various lenses captured the madness that was to unfold.

All eight ships launched their long range arsenal at once. Warheads were pushed out of various launchers and started to accelerate at a speed that would be impossible for any ship. The Ishikawa burned its thrusters hard to initiate spin as it launched its first wave of starlight lit active countermeasures. The relatively small ship appeared to be carrying quite the assortment for its tonnage but from visual observation it was clear that it would not suffice. Another wave of lighter, quicker and more manoeuvrable missiles to counter the larger warheads was launched, together with offensive warheads as the Ishikawa pushed hard to build up speed. He rather preferred to not imagine the forces that must have affected the crew.

While somewhat successful, many warheads went by the two waves of countermeasures as passive systems were launched. It appeared as streams of light connected the human ship with the incoming assault while the CIWS engaged with direct fire and bursts of explosive shrapnel. It was not enough.

UNSSGC Ishikawa (GPC-311) in active combat

UNSSG broadband alert issued - priority

UNSSG SSG 1 responding

The matter of fact popups betrayed the fight for survival and the hard punishment the Ishikawa went through as several detonations bloomed up across its hull. As the blinding light vanished, the ship was leaking atmosphere, debris and - he paused - humans. The spin had lost some of its momentum and had trouble maintaining its axis as thrusters burned hard to stabilize the ship. But even then, it was still there. He was no military expert, but seeing such a vessel endure the alpha strike of eight other ships was a small miracle.

Then he saw the arcs of a jump drive spooling up, crackling across the hull of the Ishikawa just to vanish the very moment they had appeared - a failed attempt to translate. The cameras switched to the small fleet, and he coughed as another wave of missiles was launched. He did not know if it was due to the endure damage or exhausted magazines of the countermeasures, but while the Ishikawa tried to stabilize its flight, it could not muster the same defence as it had before.

The classroom was illuminated by a series of explosions and for a moment it appeared the ship had endured yet again. A white flare filled the viewpoint and the camera zoomed out in several hard steps to capture it in its entirety. Just for there to be no ship, no Ishikawa left.

UNSSGC Ishikawa (GPC-311) presumed destroyed

UNSN broadband alert issued - priority

USSN 2nd Fleet, SCG 7 responding

Then the projection halted, showing, yet again the default image as his Professor stood up again. “What you have seen here, were the eve...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/SpacePaladin15 on 2026-03-11 11:29:50+00:00.

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By the time we arrived back at Finley’s farm, all of us were tuckered out by the long road trip into Houston. The early hours of the evening were showing in Earth’s darkening sky, and I admired how clear the view of the stars was on the primals’ world. Terry tapped me on my left shoulder as I climbed the porch, before sidestepping to the right. I turned around with confusion, though I enjoyed seeing the human laugh. They were silly animals, weren’t they? I felt a lot more relaxed around them after Finley’s remarkable control.

I could play back and interact with the humans without worrying about them attacking. Elbi had to hear how the violent impulses didn’t drown out their thoughts altogether. I’d been to the human city and sat right alongside attacking primals…and survived. Finley and Terry weren’t slobbering animals that couldn’t be spoken to, which made it all the more baffling that the authorities had been so quick to strike. Even rageful Josh, come to think of it, was still enunciating reasons for its attack while it struck the farmer.

His reasoning was still working in that moment, justifying the immense anger he felt toward Finley for threatening his children. It isn’t good that their capacity for thought is diminished at all, but what they’re acting on: it’s more than mere whims.

“Elbi, we’re home!” Terry sang, before spotting my sister at the computer. “Whatcha looking at?”

Elbi hesitated, then relented to the primal’s inquiry. “Web stories. I wanted to understand how humans…would write other human characters thinking. Many of these tales involve romance, and…”

“You like them,” Finley said accusatorily.

“I didn’t say t-that, human. I do not care for obscene descriptions of your impulses. I assumed it would be a calming genre. However, these characters fight and grow…upset with each other often. It is disturbing.”

“Of course you’re gonna get frustrated around someone, especially if you’re together all the time. All couples fight, just not every damn day. That ain’t healthy. You never had any romantic interests back home, Elbi?” Terry prodded.

“I have courted other Saphnos, but I didn’t find a lasting pairing. My previous relationship went on for two years…what is the purpose of this questioning?”

“He or she didn’t get on your nerves at all, in two years?”

“Please translate your idiom. I don’t follow.”

Finley gave her a loopy smile, searching for the light switch. “Your partner didn’t ever do nothing that pushed your buttons to where you could about claw their eyeballs out?”

Elbi flinched at such a callous expression, as did I. “I’d never w-want to do such a vicious thing. I k-know we’re around each other all the time; please don’t do this to me!”

“I didn’t say I’d do it! Wanting to doesn’t mean you take action on it. My ex made me wanna rip my hair out—”

“Lord, I hated that bitch,” Terry grumbled. “Scarlet talked down to you all the fucking time.”

“She did! Didn’t appreciate a simple, honest, hard-working man. That said, I haven’t detached the hair from my skull any more than I ripped out her eyes and threw them in the river.”

“That’s a suspiciously specific fantasy, Finley.”

“I guess it is. I could write a webnovel! Make it like Yellowstone.” The farmer flicked on the lights, and seemed to notice me staring at him in horror. “Uh, guess I got too carried away for Craun’s taste. Our violence means we’re not intelligent, right?”

“What h-happened to your faces?! Did you get into a fight?” Elbi stumbled away from the computer, retreating toward the bedroom while pointing. She switched to our language briefly. “It k-knows we consider it unintelligent because of its anger? You told it about primals?”

“I had to give some explanation for why the Council didn’t contact them. Finley was getting too close. So I told them they hadn’t evolved away their more violent aspects,” I answered my sister in our language. I turned to face the flaxen-haired primal, who’d definitely understood his name. “Can I have a moment to talk with Elbi in private, please? I want to explain how our trip went and I think it’d be easier to comfort her…without prying ears.”

Terry nodded. “Of course, you’re allowed to have your own conversations. Take a moment to catch up. Finley and I will work on fixing ourselves some dinner, in the meantime.”

“I vote for grilled cheese,” Finley grunted, pulling a skillet out of a cabinet. “And we gotta dance while cooking. When you get back, you’re joining us, Craun. If you’re not too busy being scared of us.”

“I’d love to spend time with you, Finley. You’re a good human,” I said with sincerity.

“Uh, thanks?”

“No problem, sweetie! Have fun playing with the cookware.”

The farmer paused what he was doing and stared at me, before shrugging in Terry’s direction. I left the two primals to cutely fiddle with their mealtime instruments, and pulled Elbi aside into our room. I planned to have this entire conversation in our language, since I didn’t think humans, with their self-awareness, would be able to accept that people didn’t feel anger. The feats of control had impressed me; that impulse was supposed to strip away all higher reasoning, making it uncontrollable by definition. My sister had to hear what I witnessed.

Elbi doesn’t need to be afraid of Finley succumbing to mild triggers. Shit, I leveled Terry, and he submissively placed the blame on himself without any tonal change. Humans aren’t that savage.

I huddled conspiratorially, looking Elbi in the eye. “The primal is tame.”

“No, it’s not, Craun!” my sister insisted, her tone emphatic. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“You don’t understand. Finley was in the middle of an outright conflict with another human, and he got furious at me. He screamed demands at me and was clearly feeling the effects of his anger.”

“What? I told you it wasn’t safe to go there! You’re lucky to be alive, Craun. What did the primal do to you? Are you hurt?”

“No! That’s just it. Finley looked at me with animalistic attack eyes and then made a visible effort to adjust his behavior. He was wanting to attack, but just stopped. That’s control, Elbi—tenuous, but impossibly, control!”

“If the primal didn’t attack you, it’s not because of control or some of your willful insistence on imagining it can have rationality amid that burning feeling. It must’ve had a stronger impulse; it’s still afraid of you, and the fear snapped it out of its stupor when it went to attack. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Finley wasn’t afraid at all. He responded with empathy. Maybe he did have a stronger impulse, but it was empathy, Elbi. I know what I saw! He was gentle and comforting and…nice. That must be how humans formed a society, when other primals didn’t.”

“If you really believe that, you’re going to get yourself killed. Not that you might not have done that already for both of us, by coming here in the first place.”

“The reporter asked questions, civilly. Humans are very curious animals, Elbi; maybe you should give them a chance. There was no…outright hostility to the idea of us from any of them. I think once that article exposes the truth, we’ll have more primals that want to help than to hurt us.”

“They shot our ship out of the sky, Craun. I nearly died and you act like they didn’t snap at our presence?”

I paused. “I can’t explain that, but that doesn’t take away from Finley, Terry, Mia, all wanting to help and being civilized enough. Maybe you can try to consider the idea that we’re safe with them?”

“You speak from a place of ignorance, brother. I’m only doing what I must to appease them and get the slightest modicum of safety from a world where they’re everywhere. Like you said, we have to ingratiate ourselves. Go dance with your primals then, and live in a fantasy.”

“I think I will. They’re so happy. It’s a sweet offer.”

Elbi turned away with disgust, and I left her to brood in the room alone; it was a shame she hadn’t seen how Finley buried his rage in seconds, but I trusted the kind-hearted animal. I could see the farmer and his friend listening to some kind of music with a twang, while their simple dish cooked on the stove. Finley and Terry wore matching hats with wide lips, and kept one hand on their belt buckles; the humans stepped and turned around in some kind of pattern, grinning. They cheered as I joined them.

I grimaced as they brayed loudly to the chorus, and Terry donated his hat to me. The construction worker seemed to like placing his headwear on my skull, for reasons I couldn’t understand. I peeled the cloth bucket off my head and waved it for a few seconds, then tried to place it on the stove burner; I hoped to get it there before they could stop me. Terry grabbed onto my arms and pulled me backward, as Finley snatched the hat away with wide eyes. The farmer had more fingers to pull it free, and began swatting me on the shoulder with it.

“I’m not your sweetie!” Finley barked. “You’re a bad rock, Craun. A bad rock!”

I feigned innocence. “I just like my attire heated, like home. Why am I bad?”

“Oh, you know that will burn up. I guess fire’s not that dangerous to you though, so what’s the harm?” Terry protested, reaching ou...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/GeorgeWBallin on 2026-03-11 05:42:59+00:00.

February 22nd, 1986

[EXPUNGED], Federal Republic of Germany

Staff Sergeant Henry Jackson-5th US Army Corps

The Abrams rolled to a stop before the ramshackle perimeter around the valley, as a Bundeswehr officer flagged the commander down, before speaking in heavily accented English. "I assume you're the one the Americans sent to clean up this mess? Hopefully not just the one, though." He gestured to the valley behind him, with smoke pouring from an area devoid of trees, with a line of singed and topless ones leading to it. A barricade of sandbags and barbed wire stretched across the outskirts of the valley, with entrenched machine gun positions every 200 meters or so.

It seemed that we were extremely lucky, not only that the flyboys downed the thing in such a highly containable area, but that a Bundeswehr infantry company was nearby.

"Yes I am, Staff Sergeant Henry Jackson, it's a pleasure. Rest assured, there're more of us."

"I do hope so Sergeant, we tried to push to the craft ourselves, but they've dug themselves in pretty good. Even with Soviet support, we lost dozens of men and we didn't even manage to flush them out."

As if on cue, several MBT's rolled up behind them, supported by several trucks carrying infantry, who dismounted shortly after, taking up positions next to the Abrams as the order was issued to begin the assault into the valley.

Riflemen fanned out across the valley as several Abrams, including Jackson's, began advancing into the crash site, though they were still at least a mile from it, separated by the leaves and bark of the local vegetation. As the company rolled through, the first thing Jackson noticed was the lack of any life from the area, not even a bird or insect, as he closed the hatch and hunkered down into the tank, speaking to his loader as he did.

"Reynolds, put some HE in, I don't fuckin' trust this place."

"Copy Sarn't, loading HE."

As Reynolds shoved a high-explosive 120mm shell into the breech of the tank's cannon, a blue bolt of energy from the surrounding incinerated the head of a soldier, splaying what was left of his gray matter onto the floor behind him, followed by dozens more from the foliage, cutting down 7 men in the initial barrage before any cover was found or return fire was exchanged.

Rounds pinged off of the plating on the tank as infantry dove behind his tank as Carlos, his gunner, switched to thermals and placed a round of high-explosive ordnance to a position to the right of the tank obliterating several enemy contacts, giving the GI's the courage to mount a counteroffensive.

5.56 and .50 Caliber fire gradually outpaced the onslaught of alien weaponry, as they began to move towards the crash site. Cobras began flying overhead, putting down small pockets of resistance with coordinated rocket and cannon barrages.

Finally, the craft was in sight. It was truly something to behold, completely matte black and with a saucer like shape, with a surface stitched with 20mm cannon marks and missile damage. Jackson didn't have much time admire the craft before a turret sprang from the top, firing a green glob of plasma at a nearby tank, burning a hole through the turret, killing everyone but the driver, as Jackson slightly yelled in surprise.

"Holy Shit! Carlos, put that motherfucker down, now!"

Another HE round screamed through the air in the direction of the turret, turning it into shrapnel and slag.

A squad of riflemen slowly crept towards the crash site, M16A3's at the ready, but before they could breach it, a large inferno emerged from the craft, incinerating the valley.

The only thing Jackson felt before the release of death was an unprecedented warmth.

(Author's Note: this is like my first time writing, like ever, so I apologize if it kinda sucks, but no one makes HFY stories set in the Cold War, so I did.)

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/redditaggie on 2026-03-11 01:06:40+00:00.

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Fecht,” Kathmin thought to himself. A dark humor had settled on him following the morning’s events, and his anxiety was getting harder to tamp down. Kathmin replayed Rhubul’s words following his lecture. The humans asked for him. The panic returned. The humans wanted him to tell them what had happened to their people. They wanted answers. Kathmin’s heart began to race even faster.

“Fecht!” He reiterated more forcefully, just to be sure he had his full attention. What if he didn’t have any answers for the humans? What if all of the knowledge he had accumulated, and the humans were apparently counting on, was useless? He certainly didn’t know where the humans went or what had happened to them. His people were still scurrying around the forest floors of Helsin long after the humans disappeared. He’d spent a lifetime searching and studying for just that answer, and he had barely accumulated enough reliable data to postulate they may have actually existed!

“Fecht!!” He screamed to himself in frustration. His pulse quickened further. What if they felt the GU and Dursk had led them on? What if the humans became angry?

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as a shiver ran down his spine, and he shuddered. What if they turned on the first-contact team? His demons did lurk beneath the surface, after all. A hand dropped on his shoulder.

“FECHT!!” Kathmin exclaimed, jumping forward a whole standard unit and spinning around as he landed.

Sarth flinched back at Kathmin’s animated response. “Easy, friend,” he started. “I did not mean to startle you, but you seemed lost. I only wanted to check on you. Are you well?”

Kathmin composed himself, looking up at the imposing figure who towered over him. He thought to himself, “You know it’s funny, Kathmin, but a few days ago, you’d have thought nothing could be scarier than standing right here in front of the galaxy’s most feared predator, and yet knowing the humans are out there, even this apex warrior is only unnerving at best.”

“Ignorance,” he said aloud to Sarth, “is the most frustrating byproduct of education.”

“I’m sorry?” Sarth asked as he cocked his head to one side and twitched his whiskers. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. If you educate yourself, does that not combat ignorance?”

Kathmin smiled the frayed, stressed smile of one carrying an immense burden, responding, “Surely you’ve learned in your studies, Sarth, that the more you know, the more it simply opens your mind to the magnitude of what you don’t.”

“Ah, yes. You mentioned that this morning. Quite wise, Kathmin,” Sarth replied. He then asked, “So from that, may I surmise that you bear some concern that despite all your studies, you are worried you may not be of any real use to the humans?”

Kathmin nodded, looking away with a tinge of embarrassment.

“Well,” Sarth replied resolutely, “if it makes you feel any better, we all worry about the same.”

Kathmin’s eyes snapped back to Sarth, studying his stern visage. “Fecht, no, that does not make me feel better, Sarth,” he replied grimly.

Sarth smirked, relaxing, “I see you’re picking up some of our language. You’re a quick study. You get the important bits first and use them correctly. I say that only half in jest, Kathmin. The decision whether or not to retrieve you was an idea that often floated to the surface among the team and was just as often sunk again for the risk.”

Kathmin queried, “I assume then, from your previous statement, the team was concerned about dangling a hope in front of the humans that may not materialize.”

Sarth chuckled, “Precisely. These are your demons, after all, Kathmin. We have no idea how they would respond to that level of disappointment. Further, what if we were to postulate your addition to the team with them and create that hope, only to have it dashed? Would they think we attempted to manipulate them? Would that make it worse?”

Kathmin cursed again, “Well, at least none of my concerns are unique. Tell me, Sarth, do you read minds?”

“No, Kathmin,” he responded. “I do not, but I’ll tell you, I’d be far more concerned about your addition if your mind did not immediately go to that place. It means you are rational and a realist.”

Kathmin barked a derisive laugh. “Rational, huh? Well, that’s a new one. I’ve been known to flirt with lucidity. I once bordered on coherence, and I’ve heard the term reasonable used once or twice, but rational, I’m not familiar with.”

Sarth rolled his eyes, “Rhubul warned us about your humor.”

“Did he?” Kathmin inquired. “What did he say?”

Sarth looked at Kathmin directly and said, “Rhubul said you were never serious about anything, and that was precisely what the team needed. The weight of what we are doing is immense. The humans are friendly but reserved. Rhubul has been arguing for months that we needed your stories and persona in the mix.”

“My persona?” Kathmin scoffed.

“Yes, apparently interesting things happen when you are around, and Jarda had access to the various police reports from around the GU to prove it.” Kathmin seemed poised to object, but Sarth continued, “I mean, seriously. How did you convince the Governor’s daughter on Sylphatae to allow you into the national archives, let alone her bedro…” was all the farther he got before Kathmin’s blustering objections interrupted his question.

“Listen, I explained that. It was a misunderstanding. She had some very interesting artifacts,” Kathmin began.

“I’ll bet she did,” Sarth agreed, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

“No, you see, they were beautifully wrought and priceless,” Kathmin continued.

“I’ll bet they were,” Sarth encouraged with a knowing smirk.

“No, listen, scientists across the galaxy would die to get their hands on those,” Kathmin bristled.

“I’ll bet they would,” Sarth concurred with a salacious smile.

“No, you don’t understand. She wouldn’t let me handle them outside of her room because she was worried about who might see us!” Kathmin exclaimed.

“I’ll bet she was,” Sarth laughed, giving Kathmin a sly wink.

Kathmin tried to protest again, but Sarth held up a hand, quieting the flustered Helsin. He continued, “Look, your proclivities aside, in my opinion, the most impressive aspect of those reports is that not once have any charges ever been filed against you by any government of the GU. And Kathmin, seriously, for some of them as an outsider looking in, that is stunning. You have a unique ability to talk your way into and out of anything. I believe we’re going to need that skill set, in addition to your wealth of knowledge on our guests.”

“Well, thank you for the compliment, but I find it rather unnerving you think that particular skill set will be needed,” Kathmin offered.

“Again,” Sarth said, turning to walk away, “I’d be concerned if you didn’t see it that way. But enough of that. You look like you could use a drink and a distraction. I know where the first can be acquired, and given what I’ve heard, if I give you the first, the second will find us. Let’s go find somewhere that isn’t here for a while.”

Kathmin rolled his eyes as he followed Sarth. The First Officer seemed intelligent and affable. Kathmin decided he might like him. “Where are we going?” He inquired.

“The Watering Hole,” Sarth responded. “It’s a lively bar for the general crew on deck five.”

“Right,” Kathmin sarcastically teased, “like I’m going anywhere near a Dursk at a watering hole.”

“Relax, Kathmin,” Sarth said with feigned disappointment. “The humans would be very upset if I ate you.”

Kathmin chuckled as they continued walking, but after only a couple steps, Sarth looked back at Kathmin and smiled, adding, “Yet, anyway.”

His large fangs somehow seemed to glisten in the hall lights as he chuckled at his own joke, turning once again to lead the way and waving Kathmin to follow. Kathmin missed a step but quickly recovered. He found himself admiring the First Officer’s dark banter. Yes, he decided he was going to like Sarth.

◆◆◆

The Watering Hole was busy. Kathmin thought about that. To say this establishment was busy would be akin to saying an Olejian hive was productive. Yes, both statements were true, but they fell utterly short of descriptive. It was also loud.

Sarth and Kathmin crossed the threshold, and a loud roar erupted from the room, causing Kathmin to pause as his blood froze in his veins. “The Hero of Stravo!!” The room hailed.

Sarth’s ears twitched slightly in embarrassment at the attention, and he attempted to lower the amplitude of the room by waving his arms for calm. It seemed to have the opposite effect as several of those in the room appeared to take this as an opportunity to harass the First Officer and queued up in front of him, waving their arms in a similar fashion. Kathmin moved away from the scene and found a seat at the bar recently vacated by a patron more interested in the spectacle developing on the floor.

“What’ll you have?” A low voice behind him questioned over the din.

Kathmin turned to find the bartender looking at him, twitching his whiskers with impatience. “Oh, uh, Hemris, please,” Kathmin responded.

This elicited a mild grunt of approval, and the barkeep moved away to slap some hands...

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Seen

(Zidal POV)

"Zidal, right?"

"!!"

Zidal froze up when Vellik Lajid, the Third Spire of Nysis's Apex Summits approached him. He was bigger than the average Uvei at 3 meters while hunched, so when he stood next to the runts in the training yard like him...both their sizes were emphasized.

He quickly stood at attention, however.

"Y-Yes sir!"

"Relax. You can consider me a normal instructor for now. I just have some questions for you. So let's skip rifle practice and run the course first!!"

"Yes, sir!!"

When Zidal strapped on various weights replicating combat armor, he was surprised to see Vellik do the same. It seems he intended to join in the training.

Together, they dived down and rapidly prowled through some underground tunnels barely large enough to fit the Third Spire.

"I hear that you and some Folstur friends of yours are the ones behind that 'soup kitchen' Over in the eastern city square. Is that true?"

"Y...haa...haa...yes...M-Me and...Alan...Rizal and Natalie..."

After the tunnels came a wall. Driven by the pressure, Zidal dug his claws into it and scampered over it.

"Excellent. Do you get many runt visitors?"

"Wh...wheee...ah...we do. A-All kinds...really..."

Where was the large Uven going with this? Surely he wouldn't disapprove of spending resources on runts if he went through the trouble of forming this squad...right?

Next up came the minefield. The two darted through, evading any location with signs of buried explosives. Naturally, none of them were actually mines, but they packed a light electrical shock to punish anyone that accidentally set foot on one.

"Do you track the portions you give out, or is everyone welcome to eat their fill?"

"B-Both...we keep track, b-but...we won't deny anyone. Even when we...haa...haa...when we run out, we register names and reserve future meals..."

"Ah. Careful now. To get around a layout like these, you shouldn't leap. Rather...kick up soil like this."

...

...

Vellik slammed his tail on the ground and bellowed approval with a merry grin. "A new course record! You should be proud of yourself, Zidal! You've been showing good results if I remember the charts correctly."

The runt wanted to comment, but he was too busy wheezing and huffing from his seat. He didn't intend to push himself so hard, but...well, the Third Spire himself was watching him so closely.

He couldn't help but be surprised when the larger Uven's tail curled around and nudged his back with soft affirmation.

"You have my thanks for going above and beyond to help our people, cadet. Please give your friends my gratitude as well!"

"...Why all the questions, sir? If you don't mind my asking."

The Third Spire took a seat beside Zidal and stared up into the sky. After a pause, he began speaking.

"When I checked inventory today, I noticed that the Kristole's 205th squadron requisitioned less rations than all the others."

"...."

"At first, I thought it was just because you were smaller than the others, so you'd naturally need less. But when I consulted with him, Captain Borlaug suggested that it could be a 'scar' of your label. That the so-called runts were raised their whole lives to expect little and live off even less than that. So I wanted to take measure from a source that might not be so reserved."

"Ah..."

Even Zidal couldn't say whether or not that was true. He habitually started eating less upon returning to Nysis.

His stomach grumbled after being able to eat to his heart's content at Folstur, but with not just his own life but the humans and Rizal hanging in the balance...he would happily reacquaint himself with hunger to let the others have a little more.

"I'm sorry."

The Third Spire held his chest high and declared plainly. First to Zidal, and then towards all the other cadets in the yard that had been stealing glances.

"I'm sorry. As an appointed leader, it fell on me to look after all Uvei. But you all slipped through the cracks."

"...That is how it's always been. We could hardly blame the one that formed a unit for us and offered us more rations than we've ever had in our lives."

Zidal stood up, sighing softly as he had finished catching his breath and braced himself for the next part of training.

"No. You should. Because ignorance of the people as a leader is a sin."

After that final line, Vellik stood with his usual boisterous grin and slammed his tail on the ground.

"Alright! Let me see how you recruits handle formations and field commands!"

Excerpt from the end of the Transcript of Council Hearing #AR-1783

Hearing One on the Matter of the Eulsic Territory Claim

Presiding Speaker: Doque Rirel

(...)

Balau Elder Councilman Doque (rests his head on an arm dully): My final offer to you is license to terraform Asteroids 42 and 56 as well as Planet IL-03 from the Viten system.

Eulsic Councilwoman Viellri(buzzes wings): That's...the issue isn't the number of new locations, Councilman Doque. We cannot yield selling rights and regulatory authority to the Coalition when it comes to our crop farms.

Canik Elder Councilman Pealy Kauti (turns away from camera): I think our terms have been more than fair to you. By any reasonable projection, you will have an extreme surplus to support your population under even the most modest Coalition payout standards. What could you possibly have to complain about?

Viellri: The surplus is itself the issue. This will cause an influx of supply that we cannot accommodate at our preset market price!

Pealy (shaking his head): Councilwoman. Aren't you ashamed to admit such a thing on the stand? Have you forgotten that you have the duty to enrich your people?

Viellri: That's not-

Doque: Enough. We're approaching the end of allotted time. We shall shelve this discussion for next-

Haneer Councilwoman Sjorn'l of Zhinee (unmutes her microphone): I think there might be a misunderstanding, Councilman Pealy. Doque.

(The Elder Councilmembers turn their attention to the Haneer podium with visible irritation)

Pealy: ...Miss Sjorn'l, Elder Councilman Doque is acting as the Eulsic's patron species. For future reference, it is poor decorum to inject your own opinions into the conversation without invitation. Did your...unusual company advise you to do this...?

Sjorn'l (presenting Eulsic documents from public records): Yes, I understand that, and I'll continue to respect Councilman Doque's decision. But I just felt I should remind you of the matter of Eulsic Regency.

Doque: ...Pardon?

Sjorn'l: I apologize if I'm mistaken, but your protests are because overeating can cause Eulsic to metamorphize from workers into regents, which can cause power struggles, yes?

Viellri: Yes...that's why we need to maintain firm control of our food supply. It is a matter of maintaining peace.

Sjorn'l (to Pealy): Pardon my interruption. I just thought it would help if I cleared up what seemed to be a misunderstanding.

Viellri (buzzes while addressing Sjorn'l): I did not expect you to know of our regency metamorphosis...

Sjorn'l (hues happiness): Because the Haneer aren't Eulsic patrons? Studying foreign culture is just a personal hobby.

Viellri: No, it's even rare for patrons to know of their "worker species" in such detail.

(Elder Councilman Pealy is silent for 8 seconds)

Pealy (clearing throat): ...W-Well...if it's in the name of maintaining peace...the Canik will motion to permit the Eulsic continued autonomy over their agricultural yields.

Doque: Y...Yes. Well, we are out of time, so we must consider this in the follow-up hearing. I hereby close the hearing on the Matter of the Eulsic Territory Claim.

(Participating Council video screens close)

...

(Sjorn'l taps console an extra time, reactivating the video)

Sjorn'l (speaking in the Terran language): For your help again, thank you Shi Pei. That is the last business order today, I believe.

Haneer Accountant Shi Pei (bows head politely): Of course. Then, I shall quickly finish filing the last of the documents and retire.

(When Shi Pei departs the Haneer conference room, Asher Isaacs and Niza Fouze enter at the same time. Asher Isaacs runs up and embraces Sjorn'l forcefully enough to scatter her coating of irritant powder)

Haneer Council Assistant Asher: Whew! Good job to you too, Ori! You're really getting the hang of this! Shall we go have dinner then? I picked out a movie.

Sjorn'l (returns the embracing gesture with her vines): Yes. Let us go. I must be meeting mine Tisal language tutor after, however. I cannot stay long when the movie is over. Understood?

Asher (grins): I know. We just want to make sure our Ori gets her rest.

Haneer Council Assistant Niza (curls tail around both Sjorn'l and Asher firmly): Ori...Are you sure you aren't pushing it? Your universal translator is already sufficient, so aren't your language studies time-consuming?

*Contextual Note: Baring teeth is a gesture of happiness from both Terrans and Uvei. Curling tails is a non-verbal claim of protec...

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John tinkered away at the gauntlet, so close to finishing up the best weapon he could make on such short notice while keeping a close eye on the security tablet, watching one of the lights pulse and fade.

Well, perhaps "security tablet" was the wrong term for it now. John had repurposed several of the magic sensors around the main building for new purposes. Hall-mounted motion detectors were turned into emergency pagers for both Rin and Yosuke; a simple flip of a latch and a thumb over the aperture was all that they needed to get John's full attention. 

In the long run, he could replace the magic detectors with simple buttons, and then implement coded messages akin to simplified Morse, albeit adapted for a language where a character could convey a whole word. Maybe, if he really put effort into it, he could figure out a way to have some sort of locator installed as well, so the impromptu pager could be used to find them in an emergency.

But the one that held John’s attention was the single light which thrummed constantly, pulsing with a steady rhythm. It had taken a few minutes, but John had managed to rig a very, very simplified heart monitor into the fort’s magic infrastructure, letting him keep an eye on Yuki from a distance. If she woke, he'd know. If her heart rate started falling, he'd be at her side in moments. Leaning back, he glanced at the open window, making sure that the wind hadn't blown it shut in case he needed to make an emergency trip to the kitsune's side.

Looking back to his work, he carefully connected some brass fittings with the miniature arm of his workshop before spot-welding the two pieces together with the classic one-two combo of entropy and order. It was a shame that he was going to temporarily lose access to that tool, but needs must.

He glanced toward the half-finished coin minting machine in the corner, looming ominously in the gloom like a horror movie monster.

It was almost insultingly simple in theory. Liquify iron, pour it into moulds, solidify, remove the coins from the moulds, trim, and done. They wouldn't be perfect, but John didn’t need to foil modern counterfeiting rings. He still included a few security features from back home, of course, like the raised, textured rims around the edges, just in case. Normally, he'd need a specially made press to achieve that level of quality, but being able to reduce a metal to the viscosity of thin soup without changing its volume or temperature opened a disgusting number of doors. 

In practice, things got a bit more complicated.

He'd have to tear apart his magi-welder, as he didn't have any working foci elsewhere to scavenge for the melt-solidify process. Then, he'd have to rig something to detect the weight of what's in the moulds to stop overfilling and to know when to fire the order beam.

The mould itself was to be coated with the same magic-resistant sap he used to seal foci, which would hopefully prevent the coins from merging with the housing. Sadly, he would have to manually break the sheets of coins apart and trim minor trailings from them, but that couldn't be helped on such a rushed job. Besides, it was all easily recyclable anyhow.

The designs would be simple, but hard to replicate. With the raised bezel and the pattern next to the denomination, they should be roughly immune to coin trimming without putting in more effort than it was worth. Of course, John would ensure to include a hole in the middle so they would be slightly more familiar to the people of these lands.

It didn't hurt that it saved resources, too.

He wanted to mimic the original coinage's material-based value system, but it wasn't as if he had plenty of gold and silver lying around to make money out of.

It was easy to say "just make them all out of copper or iron" before he remembered the local illiteracy problem. The materials weren't only a store of direct value, but also made them easily understandable, even to those who couldn’t read the characters on them.

The solution was obvious after some thought: make them different sizes and a different number of edges for each denomination. Coins didn't have to be round, after all.

The smallest was to be made of copper and square, with the value on both faces. The other three were made of iron, but gained two sides for each step up in value, and a bit of extra size. That way, it would be functionally impossible to deface a lower-value coin into a higher-value one, the same way you couldn't make a dime into a quarter.

It was a shame that they didn't have a magical debit network here. If they did, Yuki could just declare that cash transactions were temporarily banned and the Nameless would implode in short order.

Shaking his head, he went back to his work, secure in his knowledge that both Rin and Yosuke could get his attention in short order. As time began to blur, he drifted between his projects like some sort of overly caffeinated worker bee, relentless in his constant pursuit of progress.

John connected channels with steady hands. Moulds were cut with unerring precision. More little design problems than he expected were resolved, like when he realized that the main entropy lines in his new gauntlet were too close to the water aspected lines, leading to the latter vibrating unnervingly. Weight sensors were installed. Telekinetic weight reduction was tested.

Then, Yuki's heart monitor started chiming faster.

While he was no expert, he was sure it was a perfectly normal heart rate for a human. Yuki, however, was not human, nor did he have any baseline for her.

Thus, it took him all of eight seconds to fly through the window in a panic, medical supplies tucked under his arm as he landed loudly on the floor with a clunk, not bothering to set the hover disc down softly.

The kitsune sat up in the bed, calmly examining the environment with an appraising eye before turning to him. A gentle smile graced her muzzle. "People might start talking if you keep bringing me up to your room, John. Rin already thinks we're married," she teased, glancing down before removing the thin metal probe John had placed on her chest.

He was caught between sputtering and letting out a dry, airy chuckle, only managing to make a noise that sounded a lot like a car's air intake catching a squirrel. "Yuki!" he whisper-shouted, although it had no heat behind it, a tight grin spreading across his face of its own volition. "I was worried, you know. Are you alright? Do you need food, water?"

She winced, shaking her head. "Unless you have a balm that can heal minor to moderate spirit fractures, there's little you can do to help," she sighed, before a faint smile flickered onto her face. "Destabilizing your gauntlet to use it as an explosive was genius, before I forget to mention it."

"What… was all that, anyhow?" he cautiously asked, as if he might be stepping on some grand secret. After all, Yuki had never mentioned the ability to turn on a lightshow and pop out a sun and moon that seemed more real than reality before. It would have been extremely helpful back when they were dealing with the Nameless out in the woods, even if she collapsed after. "Rin said it was something called 'Transcendent Alchemy,' but she couldn't provide any details."

Yuki's expression darkened almost imperceptibly as she clicked her tongue. "I was surprised that Kiku was willing to use it. It might as well have been a beacon, both in the spirit and mortal realms, screaming that someone powerful is here. We are going to have a delegation of yokai, or their agents, on our doorstep in some weeks' time."

He flinched at the thought of the greater world crawling into his little, not-so-peaceful pocket of it. What terrors would they bring with them? Would they link Yuki to whoever she was before? Could they already have?

"Sounds bad," John commented, voice strained, dread gnawing at his gut at the thought of the Unbound at the edge of the forest. "But what is it? Do we have to worry about Kiku busting it out again?" The quiet question, the one he had been too afraid to ask, went unsaid.

Was Kiku still alive? Was Yuki still herself?

The kitsune frowned and shook her head. "It should take time for her to recover enough to use it again. I know not how close her relationship with the Greater Nameless is, but I suspect it'll take issue with her eating its kin enmasse to replenish her strength, even if they were close enough to be efficient."

Somehow, tension bled out of his shoulders at the confirmation of Kiku's life, even if she was the reason he’d been on the verge of a heart attack for far too long. While the terror of a shapeshifter with the power over both his flesh and mind alike remained, it was buried under the fact that his friend was still his friend.

"It's a shame you had to push yourself to the point of passing out for it. You had me worried," he quietly muttered, settling down on the bedside.

"We have no time to waste, we have to press our advantage," Yuki noted, and made to stand, but was stopped by his hand on her shoulder.

"You need to rest," he insisted, frowning deeply.

"Kiku has an army of Nameless. Do you think she's above sending a grim tide of t...

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Personal Research Log — Dr. Yineth Saav, Xenopsychology Division, Galactic Behavioral Institute

Classification: Elevated / Review Pending

Subject: Deliberate Sensory Corruption in Pre-Contact Species 7,914 (Sol-3, "Earth")

I need to start this log with a correction to an earlier report.

Six standard months ago, I filed a brief note on human intoxication behavior — the consumption of ethanol, a neurotoxin, in social settings. I classified it as a recreational inefficiency, comparable to the mild self-stimulation behaviors observed in eleven other catalogued species. My supervisor approved the classification without comment.

That classification was wrong. Not incomplete. Wrong.

Because ethanol is not the thing I should have been studying. Ethanol is what humans do on a weeknight. What I am about to describe is what humans do when they want to disassemble their own consciousness and see what's on the other side.

Humans deliberately consume substances that cause hallucinations.

I want to be very precise about what I mean. I do not mean mild perceptual distortion. I do not mean blurred sensory input or impaired motor function. I mean the complete, voluntary dissolution of the boundary between self and environment. Visual perception becomes untethered from physical input. Auditory processing generates music from silence. The subjective experience of having a body disappears entirely. The user reports becoming a color, a geometric pattern, a vibration, the universe observing itself.

They do this on purpose. They plan it. Some of them pay for it. Many cultures built entire religions around it.

I need to go through this methodically because the deeper I went, the less I understood, and I am not confident I understand it now.

The substances are numerous but the most well-documented is psilocybin, a chemical compound found in approximately 200 species of fungus on the planet's surface. Humans have been consuming these fungi for at least 7,000 years. Possibly much longer — there is a contested but persistent theory among human archaeologists that some of their earliest known artwork, painted on cave walls over 30,000 years ago, was produced under the influence of psilocybin. The theory suggests that humans may have begun making art because something they ate showed them things that weren't there, and they needed to record what they saw.

I want to sit with that for a moment. One of the foundational behaviors of human civilization — art — may exist because humans accidentally poisoned themselves, liked what happened, and went back for more.

There are others. A plant-based preparation called ayahuasca, brewed in the rain forests of South America for centuries, induces hallucinations so severe that users frequently report dying and being rebuilt. They describe conversations with entities that do not exist in any catalogued form — not gods, not ancestors, not projections of known individuals. Novel entities. Things their brains invented in real time and then interacted with as though they were real. When the experience ends, many users describe it as the single most significant event of their lives. Not pleasant. Significant.

A synthetic compound called LSD, developed by a human chemist in 1938, restructures perception so thoroughly that a single dose, lasting approximately twelve hours, can permanently alter personality metrics measured on standardized psychological assessments. One dose. Permanent change. A human technology pioneer named Steve Jobs — one of the most successful innovators in their recent history — described his experience with LSD as "one of the two or three most important things" he had done in his life. He ranked breaking his own mind alongside building one of the most influential technology companies on his planet.

At this point in my research I contacted my supervisor and requested reclassification from "recreational inefficiency" to "cognitive modification behavior." She asked me to elaborate. I sent her the neurological data.

Here is what happens inside a human brain during psilocybin exposure, as documented by a research institution called Johns Hopkins — one of their most respected medical facilities.

The compound suppresses activity in a neural network called the "default mode network." This network is, in simplified terms, the part of the brain responsible for the experience of being a self. It maintains the boundary between "I" and "everything else." It is the thing that makes a human feel like a specific, individual person.

Psilocybin turns it off.

The self dissolves. And in its absence, regions of the brain that never communicate with each other begin forming connections. Visual processing links to emotional memory. Spatial reasoning links to auditory pattern recognition. The brain temporarily becomes a system with no walls between departments, and the result is a state of consciousness that humans describe in language usually reserved for religious experience.

This is alarming enough. What alarmed me more was what happens after.

The new neural connections do not fully disappear when the substance wears off. The walls go back up, but they are thinner. Doorways remain where there were none before. Humans who undergo psilocybin exposure show measurably increased creativity, measurably expanded pattern recognition, and — this is the finding that made me request reclassification — a measurable, lasting reduction in the fear of death.

I need to repeat that. Humans found a fungus that, when consumed, temporarily destroys the self, and when the self reforms, it is less afraid of dying. They didn't engineer this. They found it growing in the dirt. And they have been using it for millennia.

The Johns Hopkins research was conducted primarily on terminal patients — humans who had been told they were going to die. After a single guided psilocybin session, 80% reported a significant reduction in death-related anxiety. Not a temporary reprieve. A permanent restructuring of their relationship with mortality. From one experience.

I discussed this with Dr. Voss Tereen. His response was unusually brief.

"You're telling me," he said, "that humans can eat a mushroom and become less afraid to die."

Yes.

"And they've known about this for thousands of years."

Yes.

He was quiet for approximately ninety seconds. Then he said: "Add it to the threat assessment."

I don't think he's wrong.

Every species in the catalogue manages fear through one of two strategies: suppression or avoidance. You either train yourself not to feel fear, or you structure your civilization to minimize encounters with things that cause it. Both strategies have limits. Suppression breaks down under sustained pressure. Avoidance fails when the threat cannot be evaded.

Humans have a third strategy. They walk directly into the thing they fear most — the dissolution of the self, the annihilation of identity, the experience of ceasing to exist — and they come back changed. Not hardened. Not numbed. Genuinely, neurologically, measurably less afraid. They found a way to practice dying and survive it, and they've been doing it since before they had written language.

I have studied 211 species. Not one of them treats insanity as a tool. Not one of them deliberately breaks their own perception to see what it looks like from the outside. Not one of them eats something that dissolves the self and calls the experience sacred.

Humans do. And they come back from it with connections in their brains that weren't there before, with creativity that didn't exist before, with a reduced fear of the one thing every conscious being in the galaxy is terrified of.

They are not reckless. They are not broken. They are conducting maintenance on their own consciousness using tools they found in the forest floor, and they have been doing it since before they built cities.

My revised classification: this is not recreational behavior. This is not even cognitive modification. This is self-directed evolution. Humans are upgrading their own neural architecture using chemistry, and they have been running this experiment on themselves for longer than most species in the catalogue have existed.

My recommendation to the Contact Planning Division: do not assume human consciousness operates within standard parameters. It does not. They have been deliberately, systematically expanding it for thirty thousand years.

Whatever they are now, they are not what they started as. And they are not done.

End Log — Dr. Yineth Saav

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I’m glad I forgot to take the cologne Sonja made me buy back in Geneva out of my bag.

Dominick bent down over the small sink in his cabin and splashed his face with some water. It’d been a while since he’d engaged in anything remotely romantic. The last time was probably at the UNIA Academy, right after him and Sonja were paired up. He’d made the mistake of mentioning the date he’d been on the night before, and she proceeded to impersonate an employee of an internet service provider, pull the guy’s search history, and hand Dominick a paper copy that she’d annotated and highlighted, pointing out everything she deemed a ‘red flag’.

It was then that he understood why the higher-ups had told him to ‘keep an eye on her.’

He stood over the limited assortment of clothes he’d brought and tried to put together an outfit. Jeans were always a good option, but another sweatshirt seemed repetitive.

A button-up underneath a sweatshirt…?

Yeah, that was the look. Just a tad collegiate. He was pretty sure that was the right term.

Shoes were easy—he had a pair of beat up trainers that clashed with the navy color scheme he had going on, and tasteful leather dress shoes. He went with the latter.

Was it too much? Too little? Just enough? Did it even matter, since his date was an alien whose only sense of human fashion was two weeks of exposure to the internet and the clothes Dominick himself had recommended he buy?

I’m stalling, he admitted to himself. I don’t wanna be late. We’re literally just getting coffee and playing a board game. He touched up his hair and started walking.

I have to ask him. I have to do it.

Aktet was fidgeting with the collar of his shirt as the agent walked up and smiled. “Hey! Uh, the canteen’s this way, Aktet.” Dominick pointed in the opposite direction of where the Jikaal had just began heading. “Oh! My apologies, it’s been a long day.”

(It was 11 in the morning by human time, but the other man was polite enough not to point that out).

“So the board game I’m hoping they have, it’s called Catan, and the gist is—“

“Sorry Lombardi, I need this one for a minute.” Commander Liu body checked the human out of the way and grabbed Aktet by the arm, then continued speeding down the hallway. “I’ll give him back to you later.”

“Wait, wait, I was gonna—that’s not—” Dominick stood there dumbfounded for a second, and almost ran after them before settling for a weak wave to the other man, who was forced to match the commander’s pace so as to not face-plant (which was considerably more painful for Jikaal than some other species, given the snout).

“Go throw on a blazer and meet us in the SETI lab,” she said, calling out to the man behind them as she speed walked away.

“Commander Liu, what’s going on?” Aktet panted as he tried to keep up with the woman.

“Text Agent Krishnan for me while we head over,” she ordered the ambassador, then took out her own phone and held it up to her ear with her shoulder.

“What?” Her scowl deepened as Aktet tried unsuccessfully to make out what the voice on the other end was saying. “Tell her to get her head out of her ass and—no, Hassan don’t LITERALLY tell the President of the U.N. that, I was—just give her a strongly worded message that her pickleball match can wait. We’ll be there shortly.”

”Hi Sonja,” Aktet began his message. “Commander Liu has requested your presence at the decommissioned SETI lab at your earliest convenience. She did not instruct me to inform you of a dress code, but she told Dominick to ‘throw on a blazer,’ so she is probably expecting some level of formality. Best, Aktet Haymur.” Send.

She replied immediately.

”dude u have GOT to stop sending text messages like emails. be there asap tho”

Aktet was about to put his phone away when he received another notification.

”wait holy shit did they find more aliens???”

“Holy shit, did you find more aliens?” Sonja sprinted into the dusty room and coughed as she inhaled years-old skin cells and lint.

“We found something,” the commander corrected. The lab was packed with various important figures aboard the Collins, including Liu, the two agents, and the two ambassadors. Sonja used her relatively small frame to her advantage as she squeezed to the front and peered at the staticky screen.

“Are we sure there wasn’t just, like, a power surge that turned this thing on?” She frowned. What a let-down!

The captain shook his head. “Hold on.” He put his fingers up to his mouth and unleashed an ear-piercing whistle. “Quiet down for a second so we can hear the speaker!”

The rest of those gathered complied, and Sonja leaned forward. Sure enough, there were strange, rhythmic noises coming from the speaker hooked up to the monitor. Noises that strongly resembled some sort of language. “Oh my god, you really did find more aliens,” she gasped, taking out her laptop. “Permission to hook this up and start running the translation algorithm?”

“Permission granted.” Commander Liu crossed her arms and let out a relieved sigh as the room’s volume level stayed low. “You’re certain it’s speech?”

“One hundred percent,” she said, furiously typing commands into her terminal (it would probably have been quicker to just navigate using the GUI, but this way she looked like a cool hacker from a movie). “I’ll use the translation software the Federation gave us. They figured out our language hours after we made contact, so we should be able to—“

Dominick leaned over and cupped his hand against her ear. “The project. Project Synthesis. They knew well before.”

Sonja froze. “—I’ll figure something out.” She had to. She just… had a gut feeling, that time was of the essence here. It was something about the way those noises sounded like, even through all that interference.

The commander nodded. “The rest of you can go.” They filed out, hurried along by her stern tone of voice. “Call me if anything important happens. Lombardi, are you staying here?”

He looked at Sonja to confirm.

“Yeah. Two pairs of hands is better than one, but three’s a party, or however the saying goes.” That definitely wasn’t how the saying went, but she was a little too frazzled to bring her comedy A-game to the table.

“Alright. Hassan, Haymur, let’s go.” The latter man jumped at the unfamiliarity of being referred to by his surname, but quickly recovered and waved goodbye shyly as he tailed the two humans.

“Okay. Here’s what I need you to do,” Sonja began.

“If I put music on, will the aliens be able to hear it?” Dominick was minutes away from falling asleep, his feet resting on the dusty desktop that was still decorated with mugs and accessories and other personalizations from its previous occupants. Sonja had him on ‘trying to send a message back to the aliens duty,’ which meant following her instructions exactly as she simultaneously guided him through a SETI transmission software she apparently had seen in a video once three years ago, and working on deciphering a novel extraterrestrial language. “Better question,” he amended. “Will you make fun of my music taste?”

“Not unless they hack into the microphone or something, and not unless it deserves to be made fun of. Knock yourself out.” She waved dismissively for him to control the ambiance.

Then snort laughed when his playlist came on.

“Oh, come on, are you kidding me? The disco revival of the 2080s was a historically significant movement that had intricate ties to—“

“DISCO MUSIC? You’re telling me you—you—“ She scrambled to come up with an appropriate jest, but found none, on account of her inferior knowledge of late 21st century art history.

“Shh. Boney M. is on.” He made a show of propping his head up with folded hands like he was lounging on a beach someplace tropical. Which normally would’ve elicited a laugh from Sonja, but…

“Are you okay?” He paused the music and spun around to face her.

“Yeah, I just….” She trailed off, her words shaky. “I don’t know. I’m getting a bad feeling about this. I wasn’t expecting this to work as well as it is, but I can’t help but think that it’s the calm before the storm, you know?” She nibbled on her fingernails, the paint on which had long since chipped off, leaving nothing but ragged edges. “As if things can’t go this well without there being a twist later down the line.”

Dominick scooted over to where she was seated. “Don’t freak out on me when I say this, but—“

“Yes, I’m in therapy. You don’t have to suggest it.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I know I’m an anxious mess. But listen to the noises,” she said, drawing him closer to the speaker. “Tell me that doesn’t sound panicked. Like some kind of distress signal.” Her forehead was wrinkled with concern. She… had a point. The captain had described it as ‘snuffling’ (Dominick was more inclined to call it shuffling, but close enough), but the static made it hard to discern anything. Even with the static, though, Sonja was right. There was an urgency that underlaid the speech.

“Hold on, I’m getting something.” She sat straight up and pulled her laptop close. “I have it set to play back what they’re saying in English to us. You ready?”

He shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“This is the ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ Triumvirate requesting a ceasefire and/or immediate aid. I repeat, this is the ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ Triu...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1rqcoa8/the_x_factor_part_42/

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Betty-Adams on 2026-03-10 21:59:32+00:00.

LINK TO HAW COMIC #1

Humans are Weird – Automated Responses - Audio Narration

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Original Post: https://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-automated-responses-audio-narration

Gentle red lights gleamed down from sconces in the general recreation room. The weak rays were hardly enough to read by. They provided enough light for their human partners to maneuver safely without disrupting their oversensitive vision, but really served no purpose for healthy lizard folk. They did however, cast an ambiance of slow burning chaff piles. A bit of comfort on nights like this, with the wind moaning softly over the main hab buildings and the falling external temperature causing the hab struts to tense and flex ominously, well, it was more than comforting to curl around a beanbag in the gentle light with a mug of broth at one paw and a companion against your side.

Doctor Drawing let himself indulge in a contented rumble and stretched his hind talons into the pliant yet sturdy furniture. It had been sent to them in advance of their newest human addition. One Grimes. The beanbags had actually been their first indication that a human was coming. They had requested a human agricultural consultant years ago, but their distant colony world had been far down on the priority list. Therefore it wasn’t surprising that the first human they did receive had been something of a chance happening. The doctor ground his molars over the classified notes he had received on Grimes’s mental health. No real fungus in the grain of the mammal, however he had been warned to watch for signs of lingering long term stress.

“A mutually beneficial situation,” Doctor Drawing let the words rumble out through his jaw.

Beside him Base Commander Beater gave an amused grunt and then made quite the production of rolling over onto his back on the shifting beanbag. His movements were far too stiff and awkward and his scales left not a few flakes on the rubberized material. The old grinder really should have retired long ago. Doctor Drawing mused as he compensated for his companion’s movement. However competent commanders for mixed species colonies at the edges of explored space were not plentiful.

“Snuggling usually is,” Beater finally commented, when he had recovered from his efforts.

Doctor Drawing mulled over weather he should respond. Technically Base Commander Beater had made an incorrect assumption. However his mental gears unlatched as a pleasing, low rumble echoed through the base, rattling the windows and vibrating the floor. Base Commander Beater gave a contented sigh that was have gurgling sinuses. It made Doctor Drawing fight down a wince and resist the urge for force the old grinder’s snout open for a sinus inspection. He must be more than half scar tissue to make that-

There was a distant thump from the sleeping quarters. The human’s door slammed into it’s slot as the human, previously assumed to be asleep, came flailing out of his room and staggering down the hall towards the recreation area.

“Lehaaaa!”

The human was clearly in that state of both emotional panic and trained response where a being’s sapience had little input on its actions. He appeared to be attempting to pull on his upper layer of thermal insulation as he moved but was wearing neither his lower layer of thermal insulation nor his paw armor.

Base Commander Beater sighed and opened on eye to glare at the approaching mammal.

“What does that word mean?” the Base Commander demanded as the newly arrived human’s behavior caught the attention of the rest of the room.

“I’m not sure it is a full word,” Doctor Drawing said as the human tried to repeat it, adding another sound to the mix.

“Well,” the Base Commander grunted, reclosing his eye, “tell him that-”

The Base Commander gave a disgruntled squawk as the human, now moving more fluidly, swept down on them and snatched up the hefty commander, tucking him under one arm. Doctor Drawing stared up at the human in bemused shock.

“Where’s the nearest high-ground escape route?” the human demanded frantically, his head swiveling around disconcertingly.

“And what exactly are we escaping?” Doctor Drawing asked, fighting back the urge to sniffle in amusement as Base Commander Beater attempted to wriggle out of the human’s massive arms.

“The lahar!” Grimes burst out as if that was explanation alone.

“And what?” Doctor Drawing asked. “Is a lahar?”

The human blinked down at him in blank astonishment even as his hands absently kept the commander trapped to his side.

“The mountain,” the human finally said, and Doctor Drawing was relived to see signs of thought reappearing in his eyes, “it blows, gas escapes, mud, rocks sliding down. So fast. Gotta get to high ground.”

“Ah,” Doctor Drawing felt a vague flicker of understanding.

That had been in his notes as the source of the stress Grimes had come here to recover from. Some natural phenomenon had destroyed no small part of that colony’s food production and Grimes had been responsible for the response. The doctor wasn’t a geologist by any stretch of his tail but it had had something to do with mountains and flows of some sort. The goal now however was to calm his patient and free his commander, not expand his understanding of the natural sciences.

“We need to get to high ground you say?” he asked. “You studied the local terrain coming in. Where is the nearest high ground?”

The human’s face tensed as his attention turned towards his memory. The was the briefest flash of panic on his face and he clutched the commander tighter.

“There is no-” Grimes burst out, and this his voice trailed off as he face contorted with confusion. “Wait…” he said slowly. “If there’s no high ground around here...where’s the mountain that caused the lahar…?”

“That noise you just heard?” Base Commander Beater snapped out in human. “That was the main mill venting excess gas produce.”

The human stared down at the commander and blinked several times before nodding and carefully setting the disgruntled commander down.

“Go to sleep Grimes,” Doctor Drawing said. “We can review the local dangers in the morning.”

The human nodded and somehow leaned his way back to his room. Base Commander Beater gave a low snarl as he pulled himself laboriously back up on the beanbag.

“What are you grumbling about?” Doctor Drawing asked. “Grimes, instinctively offered to carry you out of the way of horrible danger! It was quite touching how fast he bonded with you.”

“Humans carry the old, the sick, and hatchlings,” Base Commander Beater snapped.

“A fairly common priority set for most cultures,” Doctor Drawing pointed out.

The commander grunted and shoved his rather offended snout into the beanbag.

Indiegogo: https://www.indiegogo.com/en/projects/bettyadams-20737048/humans-are-weird-i-did-the-math

Youtube: https://youtu.be/6dMQj4hoq8I

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

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