Category: Stories

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Epilogue Part 2

Post author By TPH
Post date January 17, 2020
No Comments on They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Epilogue Part 2

The light was too harsh, Jon decided, as he sat in the uncomfortable chair, elbows resting on the cold metal table. His fingers ran through his damp hair, slick with both water and sweat, as he tried to control his breathing.

“Can you stop fucking with the heat?”

“WE ARE NOT.” Came the robotic voice from behind the mirror wall. The table was pressed up against the wall, giving it the illusion that it somehow continued past the reflection – and it very well might have – but Jon would never know; it just put him face to face with his own damn self.

His own damn sexy self, damp in a chair with a spotlight on him –

“PLEASE STOP DOING THAT.”

“Doing~ what~” Jon said coyly, arching his back under the light like a certain singer from long ago, kicking a hairy leg up in the air as he continued to gaze at his sexy self.

“WE WILL WITHOLD ADDITIONAL SNACKS-”

“Holyshitokfuck.” Rumbled Jon, sitting back down like a proper human being. “So when can I go, exactly? I didn’t do nothin’, and I know my rights.”

There was a pregnant pause, before the robotic voice came back. “START FROM THE BEGINNING, AGAIN.”

Jon groaned. “For fuck’s sake, alright, look. I admitted to the hypnotic midget-foot orgy porn! I even showed you that was what I was downloadin’ when you busted down my door-”

“PLEASE DO NOT EVER SPEAK THOSE WORDS AGAIN.”

“Well you asked-” Jon murmured, hand idly fishing into the XXXTREME FLAVOR Dodino Dustbowl SnaccattaccPacc for something to nibble on.

“. . .” There was an auto-tuned sigh before the mic cut off, and after a few seconds Jon figured he was left to his own devices again. Leaning back until he was wobbling on two chair legs, he mentally went over his timeline once again: He was innocently shitposting as God intended when he was innocently brought on to an illegal galnet node connection, innocently. And then he innocently shared innocent human culture with people he innocently thought were other innocent humans but who lied to him. Then he innocently disconnected and began to innocently download some vanilla hypnotic midge-

“PLEASE DO NOT FINISH THAT THOUGHT.”

“Gbuhs?” Jon flinched, waving his arms around for stabilization as his chair legs made contact with the floor once more. “You can read minds?! FUCK-”

“YOU WERE SPEAKING OUT LOUD. AGAIN.”

“Oh.”

Jon stared at his reflection for a few moments.

His sexy reflection, damp in a chair with a spotlight on hi-

“STOP NARRATING.”

“Well then STOP leaving me in here already! It’s been weeks-”

“YOU WERE COLLECTED 3 HOURS AGO.”

“Which is weeks in internet time I better be getting overtime for that-”

“YOU. YOU.” There was a pause and a buzz, and then a very human and very feminine voice on the other end of the mirror. “You have absolutely no idea how fucked you are right now, do you?”

Jon leaned forward, wiggling his eyebrows and providing his reflection a roguish grin. “I mean, I didn’t know it was that kind of setup. Did Aisha get my birthday wishlist? Cause there’s a surprising lack of Finnish BDSM sauna-witches, and-”

“Jonathan Protagonista. Employee #1847-B44-286J of the Starforge installation. 8 years of employment, zero promotions, 1,500 minor citations, zero unpaid union dues.”

“Oooo, a stalker~”

The voice behind the mirror slapped a file on their table, the sound picked up on the mic and letting Jon know that there was a very heated whispering discussion going on. “At 1840 Hours local, 0583 Chrono, you pinged this system’s Galactic Network Node.”

“Again, not a crime.” Jon said, rolling his hand idly.

“You then used illegal navigation techniques as listed under the Intergalactic Commons Code of Conduct to connect to an unlisted partition-”

“Ok, not a terrible crime. Just dock my pay like you nerds usually do-”

The voice continued, unabated. “- and shared encrypted, according to you ‘human culture’ information with said Galactic Network Node, over the course of 18 days.”

“My people are a proud and noble race, rich with culture and-”

“Less than 34 hours after you last connected to the system’s Galactic Network Node, a human outpost was attacked.”

Jon stopped mid-sentence. “-wh. What?”

“The severity of the attack led to the deployment of military assets to the colony. Multiple military assets.” The female on the other end of the mirror said, taking a deep breath. “The corresponding combat engagement damaged colony structures, injured multiple colonists, downed no less than 47 civilian aircraft.”

Jon’s chair met the floor as he stood up, the sudden movement skittering it backwards as he slammed his hands on the table. “JESUS CHRIST, NO. I DIDN’T- I HAD. I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH-”

“AGAIN.” She roared, and Jon’s protests died in his throat. “We’re starting from the beginning, again. What were you sharing, Jon?”

“N-nothing. I wasn’t sharing anything!”

“28 days of nothing, Jon? How can you waste 28 days on nothing-”

Jon rolled his eyes. “You’ve obviously never met a true gamer-”

“JON.” The voice behind the mirror roared, and he sighed.

“Look.” Jon groaned, rubbing his face a bit too aggressively in frustration. “Ok, I joined the node, fine, you got me there. I was literally shitposting, and that’s it.”

“What did you… shitpost, Jon?”

“Are… are you asking to enter my magical realm-”

“What did you send, Jon?” The voice asked, deadpan. “Tell me.”

“I. Look. Do you not – how do you not know what a shitpost is in current year?!” Jon rambled, waving his arms wide. “It’s – it’s shitposting. Memes! The DNA of the Soul-”

“What did you send, Jon?”

“I don’t know – how many breads have you had in your life?” Jon asked incredulously. “I don’t remember! It’s just-”

“UNREGULATED, UNAPPROVED CULTURAL EXCHANGE.” The voice said, the abrasive switch back to robot causing Jon to flinch.

“Yeah. Ye-yeah. That’s it. That’s all it was. Some… some American-territory football memes, some uh… pre-unity space memes too. A few other things.”

“WHAT ELSE.” The voice demanded.

“… I don’t know.”

“YOU’RE LYING.”

“And you’re being unreasonable!” Jon said, hands pressed against the table. “And I think it’s time I stopped stalling and leveled the playing field!”

“. . .” There was another pregnant pause as Jon made the most of the time he had, sweeping his arm across the table, knocking over the Dodinos along with the other provided food and drink.

“XANATOS GAMBIT!” Jon yelled, posing dramatically as…

“… JON WE ARE NOT GOING TO PROVIDE YOU MORE SNACKS.”

“You. You’re monsters. But it’s ok; my triumph is at hand.”

“JON WHAT.” The voice started before it suddenly cut off. A small, shoebox-sized door opened up along the wall, and a nondescript roomba rolled it’s way into the room.

“Roomba~” Jon cooed, walking over and picking up the protesting robot, hugging it to his chest tightly. The Roomba, statistically not the same Roomba that was still in Jon’s room, began to clean what it registered as “the floor” which was actually Jon’s shirt.

“Aww, I love you too, buddy.”

“. . .JON. ARE YOU ON MEDICATION?”

“The only medication I’m on is FREEDOM, Imperial!” Jon sneered, the roomba rolling up more and more of Jon’s shirt front in it’s gears. “And your tyranny ends today.”

“JON WH-”

The voice suddenly cut off.

S.Sgt. Joline, for the past few hours, had been trying to break what she – and most of the other spooks with her – thought was a subversive terrorist element in their midst. Petabytes of data, poured into a node that didn’t exist, and then less than a day later humans are attacked?

Not a coincidence.

So Jonathan Protagonista was picked up from his room with minor protests; a thorough shakedown of his room found nothing terribly out of the ordinary, and he was smart enough to wipe all his data. Forensics were still pouring over what they could find, but most of it was porn, and not the good kind of porn.

So, They – with a capital T – dumped him into this room, and so They – again, with a capital T – started to pick him apart.

15 minutes after They started questioning him, They realized he was no terrorist. He wasn’t even a political organizer. Hell, He could barely even be called a member of society!

This, of course, fascinated everyone. Who was he? What did he want?

30 minutes into questioning, the conversation changed – less from “what does this lone madman want” and more “how did this barely-functioning idiot get spacewalk-rated for ship welding” and then to “Oh dear God did he work on this ship?” and ultimately to “WHERE DID HE WELD?!”

Which left S.Sgt Joline, for the most part, alone with the madman-turned-idiot. It was entertaining to watch him for the first hour or so, and she did have to admit his responses were somewhat funny, but.

But.

But roughly 2.8 Million GRC worth of damage occurred in less than a day, the incident reports alone would take a week to fill out, and the ripples of last night were going to be felt for weeks, if not months down the line. That meant that the bigwigs wanted answers, and that meant that she needed to pry something of value from this idiot.

And now he apparently yelled a codeword and started to hug a roomba. Idly she scribbled “stress-induced psychosis?” on his file, the group of Them in the room with her making calls, checking EM frequencies for any sort of signal, and generally being the best of the best of the best. The sound of a cleaning-droid door opened; someone must’ve dropped something on the floor at Jon’s outburst.

S.Sgt Joline stared through the one-way mirror, studying Jonathan. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and Jon grinned wildly.

What the hell? What’s got him so happy?

‘For that matter,’ Joline thought, ‘what’s getting me spooked?’

Her finger depressed a button, the click echoing throughout the room. “JON WH-”

Wait.

Silence.

Her finger left the button and she whipped around, her sidearm out of it’s holster in the blink of an eye. They were still there, but…

“Is that a herd of Roombas?” Miguel said, his arms crossed as more and more of the little cleaning bots entered the room.

“I… who spilled?” Lt. Hong sighed, looking under his chair. “Come on, fess up.”

“That’s a lot of Roombas.” Joline murmured, putting her gun back in it’s holster.

“Do you like my children?” Jon mocked through the glass, and They turned as one to face the madman. “They do so love me. And they do so hate when I’m hurt…”

“…Stress-induced Psychosis, absolutely.” Joline said, sighing. “I think we got everything we can ge-”

Beep.

A Roomba whirred, somehow menacingly at Them, moving to the center of the room and spinning slowly. Another broke off from the herd and Beeped an order at Lr. Hong.

“I. What.” Lt. Hong said.

The Roomba opened a port side door, an open switchblade tumbling out onto the floor.

Beep.

Another roomba rolled forward, cleaning up the switchblade mess. Menacingly.

“Have you seen Dodino stains in the moonlight?” Jon said, petting the roomba who was unsuccessfully eating his shirt. “It appears quite black.”

Miguel walked over and gently kicked the roomba in the center of the room. As one, the herd… did absolutely nothing.

“He’s insane.”

“I’m still getting PTO for this, right?” Jon said with concern in his voice, realizing that the mirror hadn’t talked to him in a while and the roomba on his chest had started to painfully constrict his movement. “Like, I’m sure it’s a holiday tomorrow somewhere.”

“No.” Jolene sighed, shaking her head with a soft, sad smile. “He’s an idiot.”

Jon tapped on the glass with a free hand. “Can someone help? It’s – aah! – got my nipple-”

3 DAYS LATER

= = = = = = =

“Alright, again, from the beginning Lt. Heinz.” Jolene said, softly, as she held the pilot’s hand in her own. He still had some tremors, but if that was from the stimulants he overdosed on or the mild dehydration he was still recovering from, she didn’t know. They – not They with a T, They as in ‘the recovery team’ – found UNIT ZERO ONE about 2 miles away from the creature colloquially known as MOTHER, in a slightly burned-out patch of ‘forest’. The recovery team waited for MOTHER to fall into a semi-dormant state, whereupon UNIT ZERO ONE was recovered. Prying Lt. Heinz out of his seat took a few more hours, but eventually he was freed, passed through medbay, debriefing, and now… here. In the therapy/interrogation wing.

“Nnnn. I was the killiest motherfucker-”

Jolene patted his hand, giving it an affirmative squeeze. “Yes, yes you were. And then what happened?”

“Muh guns-”

“They jammed, right?”

Lt. Heinz nodded, a sad sob escaping from his lips before he attempted to force composure again. “They broke my gun-”

Jolene nodded, leaning forward. “Then the MOTHER took you somewhere. What happened?”

“I… I got dropped off, and – and poked, uh. And then I started a fire, and then that cunt flew over and… and…” Lt. Heinz shook for a moment, before meeting Jolene’s gaze – his eyes wide with fear and memory.

“They made me watch.”

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Stories They are Smol

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Epilogue pt. 1

Post author By TPH
Post date December 14, 2019
2 Comments on They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Epilogue pt. 1

It took five hours.

At first blush, this would make sense – you had to put out a tarmac fire, dislodge a couple war-mechs from a few innocent buildings, perform medical triage on the willing humans, attempt to perform medical triage on the non-willing humans, coordinate with multiple ground crews and your city, colony and global governments, all of whom were raising their collective heads from behind their desks and demanding answers to seem as if they were on top of the whole cluster-fuck from the beginning.

That took all of 20 minutes. It was the addition of three generations of pissed off latinos that added another three hours. As everyone within earshot began to feel the heat a few of the more passionate humans/xenos first responders attempted to argue their positions and defend their actions.

This did not work. This did the opposite of work.

This also, somehow, brought in almost every overly-nosy colonist – which as we all know means that group included pretty much everyone over 110 years old who had an opinion. We say “somehow” showed up, but it was a combination of bluster, cajoling, co-ordinated meandering, choreographed misdirection and/or straight-up elevator hijacking to get their way to the top to see what was going on and what the good gossip would be. When they saw the passionate arguing that was going on, and how it was basically open season on anyone within earshot… well. Police officers were told off, children learned the depths of disappointment their parents had for them, electricians were shamed for not fixing the Google so we could watch our soaps, and – of course – emergency personnel were faced with a silver-haired wall of confusion and general grumpiness because they were going after Isabella and we play bingo with Isabella and her children are so well behaved–

So. That added a couple more hours, and would have happily sandbagged the entire cleanup operation for the rest of the night if the local Denny’s didn’t think quick and start their senior’s breakfast a dozen hours early, proving that the only thing more powerful than the military industrial complex are irate senior citizens with unlimited time on their hands and the desire to complain about every perceived slight to someone whose job it is to sit there and listen.

So it took five hours.

SOMETIME DURING THOSE FIVE HOURS:

– – –

“[I’m uh… excuse me, ma’am? May I speak to Juan Esteban?]” Swipressnssren said, timidly raising his hand in a half-emphatic ‘I’d like to ask a question’ gesture. The smallest human child had of course been the primary target of pretty much everyone once the fire stopped rising; a kneeling, crying, bleeding from the face child still grappled by a wild beast and being literally hen-pecked would be enough to move the coldest of hearts, let alone trained paramedics, extremely concerned xenos or overly-protective parents. While Isabella was busy fighting the demons in the sky, her daughter Sofia saw the issue, vaulted over her progeny-wall, and sprinted towards her youngest child.

It looked worse than it was, and it looked *bad*. Juan’s nose was very much broken, and there would be bruising and swelling – the concussion also didn’t really help, but the important thing was that he was alive – for the moment. After surviving a full-scorpion onto a tarmac he had to survive being crushed by his mother in a deep, protective hug. Then the hug from his father. Then the hug from his abuela. Then the hugs from his older siblings, a smothering from the Dorarizin that were assembled, and eventually the 10,000 trials of “being hugged and mothered over by every old person in the settlement” once they got tired of yelling at the other young people for being young.

All of this was well and good, but Swipressnssren – Persimmon – needed to make sure of one very simple fact that had nothing to do with Juan’s health:

Did the human child remember him pinballing the youth off of the tarmac in the first place?

“[J-Just a moment? Please?]” The Jornissian murmured again as the preteen was passed to a cajun elder who began to mother over him in a deep bayou french, shooting very dirty looks at the giant snake who would dare let such a darling little child come to har-

“Yeth. Onh Thekond?” Juan Esteban slurred, the cold compress and painkillers very much kicking in. The most recent grandmother reluctantly let the child go, but the movement seemed to have broken a spell – the other elderly humans just started to mill about; if the little boy was OK to stand, then he was OK to … well, not die again presumably. The human child stood up proudly, then leaned forward, stumbled a bit, then over-corrected backwards before windmilling his arms about to hold himself steady.

Eggsmerelda clucked and shook her head, staying nearby to keep the boy out of further trouble.

“[Ah… you… ok?]”

“Am gooh to goh.” Juan said, nodding slightly too-far-to-the-left of Swipressnssren, giving the air over his shoulder a positive thumbs up. Swipressnssren nodded in the manner of humans, slowly, leaning down to coil his body around the boy to support him gently and to give him a small bit of privacy.

“[So… not to… add more burdens on your mind, as it were, but I wanted to make sure you rea- of, ah, what you remembered from earlier tonight.]”

Juan squinted in someone’s general direction before shakily leaning back against the Jornissian’s scales, looking him in the eyes. And forehead. “Whayooh meam?”

Swipressnssren scrunched his nose slightly, looking around before lowering his voice to a bare whisper. “[I was the only… person to notice your plight, and in my haste to save you I may have… ah… not?]”

Juan pondered for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Mbebbm.”

Swipressnssren swallowed, hard. “[And I was… hoping maybe, we don’t… discuss that part?]”

Juan found himself for the first time in his life – and it would not be the last, mind you – where he was wrapped in a Jornissian’s coils and yet had the larger, more dangerous and more desperate xenos wrapped in kind around his finger. Although making high-stakes bets against crime families in the competitive Mothracing circuit wouldn’t come for many more years yet and is a painfully boring story for me to recount to you, dear reader, the only thing to take away from this moment is that he was in charge and had a blank check.

“Whads id worf do yah?”

Swipressnssren coiled a bit tighter as a ripple of adrenaline sparked through him, before relaxing. “[500GRC.]”

“Pive Hunbreb? Steben hunbreb – an dibs is mim.”

“[700? Fine. And what do you mean, this is yours?]”

“Bib.” Juan said, waving at the still-nearby terror-beast moth, who through a complex and confusing cocktail of chemicals that were currently racing through his brain had stayed nearby, waiting for it’s chance to swoop back down and hug the small lightbringer.

Swipressnssren thought for a moment, looking at the terror-beast. “[The… moth? I mean, I guess, sure, it’s yours.]”

“Yeb.” Juan nodded, moving his head a bit too quickly and blacking out. Again.

And so the backroom deal was struck, and casual Mothing – and competitive Mothracing became an official human cultural artifact.

“HUMMUS, what’s the deal?” Lt. Dan Heinz said, groaning in a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance. It wasn’t so much that he failed his OP – certainly, that was unfortunate, but the definition of “failure” could be stretched or shortened at will, and technically he didn’t die and technically UNIT ZERO ONE is still intact and technically the civilians were saved and CASINO will remain open, so. Technically he succeeded, but the giant fuck-off moth didn’t die so it didn’t matter now did it?!

“CHICKPEA, we’re… well. We’re still trying to figure out what to do next.” CHICKPEA said flatly, the sound of a turning magazine page picked up on the mic. “PDF won’t let us deploy because of environmental concerns – there’s no data on what this thing is, and how to actually… manage it. Second, you’re outside of the colony and therefore outside of our jurisdiction; if you’re willing to abandon ZERO ONE-”

“Over my dead body.”

“Our sentiments exactly.” HUMMUS said, the flip of another page punctuating her sentences. “We’ll detonate that sumbitch remotely with you in it on top of a fucking orphanage before we let it fall into xenos hands.” Flip. “Which means you’re stuck until we can convince them to let a human-led rescue force come and dislodge you from your new mistress of the night.”

“HUMMUS that’s not funny.” Lt. Heinz said, crossing his arms and leaning back into his harness. The Giant Fuck-off Moth, now known as MOTHER, had taken his technically-a-totally-legit-gundam far outside city limits, dropping him off at a dead spot in some ancient old-growth forest somewhere in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. This apparently wasn’t good enough for the beast, and every so often she would take one of her giant limbs and press down on his vehicle, rubbing him back and forth into the powdery dirt, dead “trees” and dry forest debris.

Speaking of, the beast began to rock his mech once again, rolling him from side to side. “This is getting old, HUMMUS.”

“Yeah, well. You’ve got no main gun, you can’t fit through the tunnel-”

“I can dislocate my arms! Crawl through like a snake~” Lt. Heinz said, motioning to the un-powered ammunition teleportation gate behind him. “I’ll be unstoppable-”

There was a pregnant pause as HUMMUS checked on the nitrogen and atmospheric levels in CHICKPEA’s cockpit. Finding nothing out of the ordinary she shrugged, flipping another page of her magazine. “Mmm. Sure thing sport, I’ll pass that along to the admiral himself.”

“I’m serious, HUMMUS. I can do it. I can do it.”

“You’re getting stir-crazy-”

“IT’S BEEN SEVEN HOURS, HUMMUS.” Lt. Heinz roared, punching one of his console screens. “I FAILED my mission, I LOST my hardware, I AM CAPTURED by the enemy-”

The vehicle rocked gently from side to side.

“AND THIS BITCH KEEPS TRYING ME-”

“CHICKPEA, just calm down.” Flip.

“I MEAN IT, HUMMUS. I’ll go out there with a KNIFE-” Lt. Heinz said, making not-at-all crazy-person stabbing motions at the air infront of him. “Yeeeah, just like that, right in the kidneys-”

HUMMUS sighed and put her mic on mute, sharing a pointed look with the on-duty medical officer. Dr.Ngyuen just shrugged non-commitally, scrolling through his tablet. “Still experiencing adrenaline spikes, extreme feelings of shame and inadequacy, stressors of an unknown unknown, cabin fever – and I’m pretty sure his piss bag is full by now, if he’s not already switched to jars he should star-”

“Yeah, yeah, but like… I don’t know. This is normal?”

“For him?” Dr.Nguyen said, raising his eyebrows. “…Yes.”

“Hmm.” HUMMUS turned to look at the rest of the bridge, which was now very much alive with quants, wonks and skunkworks reviewing data, drawing on glowboards and generally earning their higher pay. The top brass was huddled around the Armiral’s console, forming a wall of seniority that no mere midshipman could hope to scale, their words flowing in hushed whispers as they spoke to each other, to Earth, to Gentle Expanse and to a dozen other places besides. HUMMUS was, in essence, an island unto herself; as CHICKPEA’s operator-partner she wasn’t allowed to just bail on him while he was in-mission, and due to the unique situation they found themselves in everyone agreed that keeping her on deck to suffer with Lt. Heinz would be the best thing for everyone involved. Not only was she available for questioning, but the residual exhaustion that CHICKPEA would get over the comms would soothe his blackened soul just enough to stop him from doing something incredibly dumb.

Like attacking a giant moth with a knife. Or an MRE spoon.

HUMMUS’ mind wandered while CHICKPEA continued to growl into his mic about having 2000 confirmed kills and being everyone’s worst nightmare. Something didn’t add up, and it bordered the edges of her memory like an immigrant family trying to find a hole in a border fence to obtain a better life for their children.

Environmental Concerns.

PDF.

Planetary Ecosystems.

Stabbing the kidneys–

“CHICKPEA?” HUMMUS said, unmuting her mic absentmindedly.

“-then crawl through it’s wings gnawing the flight-dust from-”

“CHICKPEA.” HUMMUS said more insistently, stopping the still-not-a-crazy-person-I’m-just-from-Florida monologue.

“What? Am I free? Are you going to orbital strike me? Please orbital strike me-”

“No. Just. You still have your scramble missiles?”

“. . . You do realize those are long-range and the bitch is right here taunting me-”

“Mmm. Why you?” HUMMUS mused out loud. “Why did the beast take you?”

“I don’t fucking know-”

“Think. Why you, though? There were other ships, if she was hungry there were civilians, she could’ve probably lifted that entire tarmac by herself if she fucking wanted to. Why you?”

“. . . Look this is not the time to play riddlemaster with me-”

“Why?”

“Fuck if I know! One moment I’m firing at her-”

Wait.

Fire.

“CHICKPEA I want you to listen to me-” HUMMUS said, the sudden shift in her tone snapping Lt. Heinz back into work mode. She sat up, her fingers beginning to run across her console in a slow, halting, but determined fashion.

“What’s the game plan, boss?”

“I’m going to re-open energy transmission to you beyond background emergency-”

“Ayy, ok! So we are going with plan: KAIJU KOMBAT-” Lt. Heinz said gleefully, clapping his hands together before flicking on a few switches at his console.

“No. I want you to find your orientation-”

“Alright. Prone, of course-” Various indicators began to flicker to life as more power was beamed into his mech, redundant systems crackling back to life. “I’m… let’s see. Well apparently 220, but again; prone.”

“That’s fine.” HUMMUS said, unaware that she had gained the attention of a few of the bridge crew, who sensed that something was about to happen. “Crown cameras still good?”

“Yeah?”

“Good. Point them up – I want to see what your missiles can hit.”

Lt. Heinz sighed, the sound of a few systems being kicked on literally echoing into his mic. “I mean, sure. Data should be xmit back to you – nothing, nothing and oh look – nothing.”

HUMMUS scanned the cameras before nodding to herself. As she leaned back the ghostly and unblinking visage of Adm. Smalls stared at her, unflinching. “Surely you weren’t about to do something without running it by me, Lieutenant.”

“Aye sir, no sir. My thought was, sir, that since we’re still weapons-free that we would use UNIT ZERO ONE’S scramble missiles to ignite brush ah… here.” HUMMUS said, pointing to a part of the satellite overlay.

“And why would we start a brushfire on purpose?”

“Sir, my thought was that MOTHER was attracted to the fire that UNIT ZERO ONE caused with his impact landing.” HUMMUS explained, and a flash of a question rippled under the Admiral’s stony face. “If that was the case, sir, then that would explain why MOTHER took UNIT ZERO ONE – it believes it can start another fire, for whatever purpose it needs.”

Admiral Smalls looked at HUMMUS, looked at the screen, and then back at HUMMUS. “Officially I cannot condone the discharge or launch of any weapons system outside of colony jurisdiction or not in an emergency setting, under UNSC/IGS Codes 12.8. However-” Admiral Smalls smiled, just slightly, but it was enough to cause HUMMUS to break out into a wide grin. “-if due to the abuse of our weapons system there was an accidental discharge, we would not be held liable. Understood?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Good. I and my Officers will be in Meeting Room 1-A, taking calls from various governing bodies if you need to alert us of any changes in the next 30 minutes or so.”

“Aye, sir.”

Admiral Smalls gave a small nod, stood back up, and promptly walked off of the bridge.

It defied HER, and it paid for it’s insolence.

Shamed.

Beaten.

Broken. Like the others that came before HER, from the times before memory, that fell before HER, or ones like her, a million million days ago.

However, maybe this one was a little too broken. SHE had brought it to a prime place; old, dead wood that should have been cleaned, rejuvenated, countless nights ago. Soil rich for HER eggs to be planted into, detritus heavy to cover them well, stalks dead and fat with richness for them to feed upon, to grow. The back of HER mind was very very pleased with this spot, and HER body ached with the need to use it, before the sleep came upon HER, before she ceased to be until the stirring awoke HER once more.

But this thing. It did not cooperate.

It made the fire – it makes fire – that SHE knew. Yet, it did not make fire again. Tentatively, SHE reached out and prodded it with HER forelimb; it rocked, playing dead, but SHE could still feel the life inside it, the hum, the heat.

So SHE poked it again. SHE would wait.

So SHE pok-

It’s back erupted in glorious heat, the sudden scream of fire and fury triggering HER to take flight, HER impossibly large body lifting off of the thing as it’s hot claws scratched against the sky, tracing, tracing, tracing –

There was a deafening explosion.

There was a massive conflagration of heat.

So SHE left it alone. SHE had waited long enough.

Stories They are Smol Oneshot

They are Smol – AND HUNTING FOR DISCOUNTS! 2019 BF/CM

Post author By TPH
Post date December 3, 2019
1 Comment on They are Smol – AND HUNTING FOR DISCOUNTS! 2019 BF/CM

“I’m in.”

The balaclava wearing man hunched over his multiple computer monitors, Russian Hardbass playing at dangerously bass-boosted levels. A half-empty bottle of vodka was wreathed by stubbed-out cigarettes on the well-worn desk, cigarette ash falling haphazardly into his many mechanical keyboards. The clacking noise of his fingers against the keys provided an ever-present undertone to the playlist – and it was only minute one out of a potential 96 hour marathon. The similarly-clad agent on the other side of the skype call let out a mirthless laugh, stubbing out his own cigarette on his keyboard.

“Cyka, you better be. We can’t do this forever, but we can buy you the next few hours.”

“Tch, Blyad. With this clearance level I can stay in here for weeks-”

“But you have 4 days.”

“Da. That’s all I need.”

“No, that’s all you have. Our window of opportunity isn’t forever-”

On his screen, a battle was waging – multiple accounts hacked, small amounts of GRC moved here or there, wallets opened and checked before disconnecting and sanitizing the server. He was playing a game of “how much can I get away with before the algo knows I’m here” and the answer was, surprisingly, a lot.

“Da, da. You done?”

“Pizda. Don’t forget this kindness.”

The first breaker snapped, and suddenly the balaclava-clad man had sudo-user access. For the first time, he smiled.

“Nothing I am about to do is kind, comrade.”

With a keystroke, a command was entered.

With that keystroke, Zephyr Station 8 Descended into chaos.

= = = = = =

“<GET UP, VERMIN.>”

The two humans groaned as harsh light flooded their cold cell, the two beings shakily standing to their feet. There was no way for them to know how long they’ve been held, and there was no way to know when they would be rescued. They weren’t exactly in … civilized space, after all, and their “warden” – using that term loosely and generously – constantly took advantage of that fact.

“[We’re up, we’re up! You don’t have to be so mean!]”

Dr’sspremsnkresh smiled maliciously through the titanium bars. “<Oh? Sass? So early in the day? Well I know just what to give you to shut that mouth of yours up->”

“[W-wait!]” The other human said, reaching out towards the bars. “[Please, we didn’t mean-]”

There was the sound of a squeak, and then a rushing torrent of cold water as the two humans were hosed down. The cell was already kept cool, so the water absolutely did not help at all. After a few moments of the humans fighting vainly against the torrent of water it was shut off, only to be replaced with the mocking laughter of the warden.

“[Oh no!]” The one female said, turning to the other. “[These threadbare prison clothes are now totally soaked through! You can even see my enlarged and soft breas-]”

– –

“[Shpressnrek-]”

“<IT’S EDUCATIONAL->” Shpressnrek yelled far too loudly, reflexively slamming her console with her hands in a panic to change everything. “The Misadventures of Warm and Wet” were very quickly replaced with spreadsheets, crew manifestos, atmospheric readouts and … well, “The Misadventures of Warm and Wet” – except now the audio was somehow coming out of the speakers.

Jessica – nee Eagle-screm – recoiled slightly at the quick and panicked movement, the clipboard she was holding moving from “flat table” to “desperate shield of last resort”.

“<-That’s right, humans. You’ll have to take off those wet clothes and huddle for warmth->”

“[W-wait-]” Jessica said, lowering her shield just a bit.

Shpressnrek’s hands were a flurry over her console, trying to desperately figure out what the fuck happened, what settings were changed, and how to get the very erotic and not at all work-safe sounds to stop coming from her work console.

“[-so big! There’s no way we can fit that all inside-]”

“[No way! Shpressnrek, I know it’s the night shift but is that-]”

“<IT’S AN EDUCATIONAL FILM AND ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE->” Shpressnrek anxiety-hissed; apparently she had somehow pushed the movie to a desktop that she didn’t even setup and the damn thing had used her default speakers and she couldn’t get in without 2FA and why did they ever let humans help code their consoles ever-

“<That’s right, both of->”

There was a very loud PANG of flesh-on-metal, and a soft whine as the speakers slowly lost their charge. Eagle-Screm lowered her clipboard just enough to see that her shift co-worker, Shpressnrek, had physically punched out the main speaker of her console. This of course didn’t mean that the movie had stopped playing, and that meant that there was still shenanigans afoot.

“[Let me see.]”

“<See what?>”

“[The porno. Let me see it!]”

“<Eagle-screm I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. I am a professional with a stellar and clean track record with over 200 confirmed years->”

“[200 years of watching porn! And warmcuddle porn too!]” Eagle-screm grinned, physically tossing the clipboard away as she started to climb over the railing to invade Shpressnrek’s personal space. “[Now come on let me see the good stuff!]” Jessica’s over-excited scramble to get into the same console-seat as the larger Jornissian would, at any other time or day be considered adorable and somewhat welcome. As it stood now…, well. A very large yet very firm and unyielding hand pressed against Jessica’s forehead, holding her in place.

“<No.>”

“[Was it Warm-and-ready?]”

“<…what?>”

“[The actress. She sounded like Warm-and-ready; I can absolutely tell that it was warmcuddle-produced, as that prison/guard trope has been used tons of times, especially in lesbian and bisexual porn.]”

Shpressnrek blinked and furrowed her brow. “<And how exactly do you know this? You’re not yet 50->”

Eagle-screm sighed with a full-body sigh. “[Stop that. Besides, I only watch the good stuff. Sounded like they were going to double-team the guard, eh? Possibly slip away once he’s been “exhausted”, aaay?]”

“<. . . It’s nothing more than . . . An education->”

“[An education in booty. Besides, I didn’t take you for a – I mean, I thought you were hetero.]”

“<What? I am!>”

“[So you want to see two chicks double-team a dude?]”

“<I-I mean, it’s more like, uh. It’s just, he’s very well endowed and has a commanding presence and there’s a bit of power play a- and stop kinkshaming me>”

Shpressnrek huffed as she (very gently) tipped the inquisitive human backwards over the rail, making sure she landed on her feet with a gentle tap. “<J-just what do you want?!>”

“[Nothing! Well, I mean, it’s a little something. There’s a bit of a-]” Eagle-screm suddenly stopped mid sentence, her eyes seeming to focus on some middle-distance only she could see. Shpressnrek turned behind her at a glance, and saw that the clock had struck midnight. After a few moments of silence Shpressnrek turned back again, to see Eagle-screm physically shaking.

“<O-oh. Oh Gods, Eagle-screm are you ok->” Shpressnrek slowly reached out a hand, her other dancing on her console to quickly key in a code blue.

“[M-mid… Fri…]”

“<Eagle-screm, come on. Focus on me little one.>”

Eagle-screm turned her head slightly to look at the Jornissian, and looked through her. For you see, the clock had struck midnight.

“[De…deal.]”

“<What? Eagle-screm, you’re not->”

“[THE DEALS ARE HERE.]”

Shpressnrek tensed as the human started to look around frantically before full-body launching herself at the Jornissian. Human reflexes and speed and… well. Most everything, really, posed no immediate threat to a CQC-trained Jornissian, and Shpressnrek was able to dodge the initial flurry of blows-

-wait. Not a flurry of punches, they’re all open palms-

With a screech Eagle-screm attempted to throw herself at Shpressnrek’s console. The Jornissian wrapped her arms around the smaller human and full-body lifted her up, earning another surprisingly loud and long screech as the warm-cuddle flailed in her arms. With an errant tap of her finger, the console sent out a medical alert.

“<IRT this is Shpressnrek Keycode Thressn-Predre-78. I’ve got a mental break of some sort on->”

Her internal comm was lit up with the sounds of screaming, banging, and – was that weaponsfire?!

“[Shpressnrek Keycode Thressen-Predre-78 look I’m going to be brutally honest with you everything has absolutely gone soullight-out over here-]”

“<Where is here->”

“[Yes – that’s absolutely correct. We’ve gotten 1100 code blues in the last 30 – no – 45 seconds. 1250. 1500. By the eternal light-]”

“<What’s going on?! Nerve gas attack?! What’s happening to them->” Shpressnrek started to yell, concern sitting icy in her stomach, it’s pressure raising her voice.

“[We don’t know. 27 – no, 4,500. We’ve been trying to reach the stationmaster but we’re getting nothing. 7,860. Incident Response is quarantining the entire station; nobody in or out. We can’t raise anyone in fleet, and the other stations aren’t taking our hails. Use backdoors – the official channels are flooded with useless data – 9,942 -]”

“<Useless data?! Harsak-crushed lies. What is it?>”

“[Look Shpressnrek I really shouldn’t even be taking your call but we’re friends so-]”

“<An example. Just one. Just->” Shpressnrek held Jessica a bit tighter, the human trying to full-body wiggle out of her grip. “<Give me an idea.>”

“[Fine, fine… uh. 7,500% off of Wumbo.]”

“<7,500% off of Wumbo->”

“[NEEED IT! I NEED WUMBO-]” Jessica screeched, thrashing about ever-more-violently in the Jornissian’s grip.

“[That’s all I can give you. Suggestion is support them through their spasms, let them tire out, and then move to a medbay – any medbay. IRT’s setting up triage- good luck.]”

The comm link went dead. The clock struck midnight, and all hell broke loose.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

The Russian hardbass had not stopped. If anything it only got stronger.

The balaclava-clad man was now wearing an ushanka, allowing him to upgrade from 3 keyboards to 5 – it didn’t matter that only 1 of them was connected to anything; it was all about the setup, man. Soon, he would have to break out the programming-squats, a dark art only used in the most dire of situations.

Day one had passed, much as planned. 4 deaths on Zephyr Station 8 – bodies on ice, roughly 500 other hospitalizations. The entire station had been sealed; nobody goes in or out. Data traffic had also been closed up tight, which means that only people with sudo-level access could access the net at large. Everyone else was stuck with either broadcast television or whatever information they could get in print. Worst case scenario, you’d have to make your orders through the nanofabricators themselves.

Which was, of course, all according to kekaiku.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Shpressnrek pressed her body against the hallway wall, sliding up it slightly to use as a support. With a higher vantage point she peeked around the corner and frowned at what she saw.

15… no, 20 warm-cuddles. Milling about as if they had no purpose, staring fixedly at one of the hallway monitors, the bright colors and flashing images mesmerizing them completely. Their hands moved in silent rythms only known to them – as far as Shpressnrek could tell, the issue was with some of their implants, or implant-related. It didn’t matter, not anymore – she had left Eagle-screm in her console after she passed out, and watched with morbid curiosity as she woke up, threw herself at the screens, and began to place orders for nonsensical things. Services, items, widgets to contraptions she didn’t even own – whatever had possessed her friend had so completely taken over her will with that of blind consumerism. Eagle-screm didn’t look up, didn’t move, didn’t blink, so focused was her concentration on draining her bank account…

Well. Until someone broke that concentration – then the warm-cuddle would turn on the transgressor as one hive-mind unit, tearing them apart. She was able to fight off Eagle-screm very easily, and a few other humans she met in the hallways were easy to subdue as well.

Large groups? She’d seen them swallow a Dorarizin whole. Just. Crest over the poor Janitor like a wave, and when they receded, there was nothing left.

… except for a Dorarizin. Sitting in a pile of GRC.

Without anything to his name.

Shpressnrek slunk back around the corner, mind racing. She could probably just slide right past them at full sprint, but, doing so might end up crippling one of the warm-cuddles if she ended up body-checking them into the wall. She knew, like everyone who was stationed at Dirt, that when push came to shove their lives came before her own; a simple and horrific mind-parasite affecting everyone on the station was no excuse to use lethal force.

“[I agree completely.]” Tr’Grakz, nodding sagely.

“<WHA->” Shpressnrek recoiled as she made eye-contact with the Karnakian that had suddenly snuck up on her.

“[Hello friend. Dark Skies ahead, it seems.]” Tr’Grakz said, pushing past the hyperventilating Jornissian to peek around the corner. “[Mmmm. This is less than ideal.]”

“<Just – how did you. What?->”

“[Not important right now, is it? Where are you headed?]”

“<Uh. Hangar. I thought that maybe one of the->”

“[All shuttles are AWOL. None have come up from Dirt, none are going between stations.]”

“<What? But I’d think that the warm-cuddle government would be notified about->”

“[It’s affecting everyone.]” Tr’Grakz said, as matter-of-factly as a sapient could when presenting such horrific news. “[I’ve only been able to verify 14 and 3, but. Same thing; Hermetic seals, quarantine. Nothing in or out, and noisy data flooding every spectrum.]”

“<… who?>”

“[We don’t know. It seems to be originating from Dirt itself, so.]”

“<… Mnemonic hazards have been outlawed for millenia->”

The Karnakian rounded on Shpressnrek with such speed and fervor that he appeared as a blur to her own excellent vision. “[Do not insinuate what you are. We cleaned that planet of everything, and they were children.]”

The two stared at each other for a few moments, each small increment of time sagging with the weight of history and unsaid fears before Tr’Grakz turned back to the hallway, crouching down in thought. “[… we simply must play to the disease in order to move forward.]”

“<… so where do we even go?>”

“[First, here is truth; I am Intelligence and Whispertalk. Nothing dirty.]”

Shpressnrek stared at her friend – well, at the back of his head – and thought for a few moments before responding. “<… Field Medic. Wetwork. Pandemonium.>”

Tr’Grakz bobbed slightly as the revelation rolled over him. “[… what an interesting choice to send here.]”

“<I could say the same.>”

“[Still. You’re doing good for someone used to taking directives. I’m trying to rally as many people as I can to get to the food court.]”

“<Wait, food court? Why?>”

Tr’Grakz waved his tail in a “get back” motion, and Shpressnrek obliged. He inhaled deeply –

“[BLUE LIGHT SPECIAL ON AISLE 5-]”

There was an unreasonably loud chorus of screeching as the mob turned towards the noise and began to run.

“<What the->”

“[TSST!]” Tr’Grakz hissed, pressing himself hard against the wall. After a few agonizing moments the group of humans ran past them, bodies hunched over and arms stretched back in their wake as they ran past the duo to the mythical Aisle 5. After a few moments the sound of the pitter-patter of little feet dwindled to nothing but background noise.

“[We go. I explain on the way, but, the long and short of it is that in all warm-cuddle media when something like this happens, the answer is to go to a retail store. They’re safe, stocked, and large – so we should be safe there too while we regroup.]”

Shpressnrek nodded and fell in behind Tr’Grakz as they raced towards the elevator, towards the lower decks, towards the safety of a massive retail chain.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Heels in sky, western spy.
Heels on ground, camrade found.
Heels on seat of computer chair while spinning softly, chain smoking and overdosing on krokodil, that’s still not overkill.

Time had lost meaning to the triple-balaclava wearing madman; he could no longer see, but he didn’t need to see. He was one with the Hardbass. He was one with Mother Russia. He was one with the hacker known as four chan. Newly-fingerless gloves grinding down keyboards, his window open to allow the frigid arctic air into his brutalist lair, the hacker continued his mad quest.

It had been… a day. No. Three. It was the last day – soon, he could rest. Soon it would be over.

Soon, it would be his.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

“<Tr’Grakz this was a terrible idea->”

Shpressnrek was coiled around the tallest point of a warehouse shelf, a veritable sea of warm-cuddles thronging below them. The Karnakian – whose claws were usually so adept at latching onto metal – found himself wanting, as with each claw-gouge he would weaken his own platform, causing various packaged goods to fall into the sea of humanity…

…and be utterly destroyed.

“[How was I to know they purposefully make bad decisions?!]” Tr’Grakz snapped back, trying to maintain balance on an ever-shakier middle shelf. “[Why would they even make movies like that?! Why would they teach themselves wrong? Is it a joke-]”

“<L-look. I know things have been hard since we lost Rgrezneh->”

“[She… when she lost her mate, she just… let go, and, she just-]”

“<Tr’Grakz, look at me. She gave up, that was her choice – but we can survive this, ok?! Just hang on->”

“[…she looked like she had such peace. Like… she just… let go. Of everything.]”

Shpressnrek’s mouth went dry as she looked at her friend – her fellow survivor – and tried to reach out across the aisle. “<Tr’Grakz. Don’t. Don’t look down, don’t look at them.>”

Tr’Grakz’s platform rocked as the horde far below them shook it, nothing more than the animalistic desire of wanting stuff to fall onto them, to be absorbed, to be devoured. A few more errant boxes found their way down to the masses below, and like before, they were ripped apart. Tr’Grakz watched with morbid curiosity as some bits of what was in the package made it’s way to the front, to the back, to all points of the store in a pattern only the human hive-mind could discern.

“[I bet it was peaceful.]”

“<Tr’Grakz, no. No. Look at me, take my hand, I can pull you up->”

“[…It was so quick too-]”

“<Tr’Grakz no->”

Shpressnrek watched in mute horror as her last friend – and last survivor – looked at her with sad, quiet eyes. He smiled, though it didn’t light up the room as it once did, and nodded.

Shpressnrek smiled a slightly hopeful smile and reached out a little further, stretching as far forward as she dared. Tr’Grakz reached up and gave a very human wave –

– and fell backwards.

“<NO! HARSAK-DAMN YOU, THAT WAS THE WRONG ANSWER!>” Shpressnrek roared in sadness and frustration as she watched the Karnakian plummet to the floor. As one the humans descended upon him, and she saw him no more.

“<NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO->”

The clock struck midnight.

“<-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO->”
“[Excuse me, Ma’am?]”
“<-Oooooo…oh?>” Shpressnrek petered out, slowly deflating from a defiant-rage-against-the-gods to a living questionmark. She looked down at the rapidly-dispersing human mob, who seemed absolutely none worse the wear for their past multiday ordeal.

In fact, they looked ecstatic. As they dispersed she saw the very-much still living Tr’Grakz, naked as the day he was hatched save for a significant pile of GRC laying on his chest.

‘<Huh. So that’s what that looks like.>’ Shpressnrek thought idly, before shaking her head clear. “<I uhm. Yes?>”

“[Yes, you. Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to not climb the shelves at Low-Home*Mart & Beyond. If you need help, an associate will help you.]”

“<I um. What. What just – What just happened?!>”

“[Ma’am I don’t know what the problem seems to be but I need you to get off the shelf; you’re not an elf and this will only raise our insurance premiums.]”

The two sapients stared at each other for a few moments, the happy murmur of human conversations and the merry beep of the checkout lines settling in as an omnipresent white noise.

“<What.>”

The human sighed and wiped his hands on his smock before turning towards her fallen comrade.

“[Shpressnrek! I’m alive!]” Tr’Grakz chirped happily, waving up to his friend in a daze.

“[Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to put on pants… again.]”

“<WHAT.>”

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Glenn Abramson stumbled out of his impromptu crypt, the acrid scent of cigarettes, terrible food and illicit drugs clinging to his disheveled form like a man adrift at sea clings to what floating scraps he can find. He stood at the viewport window, steadying himself with a hand as he tried to will the world to stop spinning.

“Well, comrade?”

Glenn frowned and turned to his partner-in-crime, Ivan Ivanovitch Ivanovsky and growled. “Fuck, give me a moment.”

“No, no. Not after that investment. I want what we need, now. You say the future of this station and everyone rests on it-”

“It’s being delivered you inbred gopnik.”

“Davai. Coffe is made, da?”

A warm mug was thrust into Glenn’s chest, which he readily accepted and drank with zero apprehension.

“So? What is it? What is worth shutting down the entire station network, multiple deaths, and the public maiming of our… visitors?”

Glenn swirled the half-drunk mug in his hand for a moment before smiling softly.

“I got a great deal on replacement caps for those disposable bic ballpoint pens.”

Ivan’s face fell. “No… such caps – it is legend.”

[The End]

[Secret Bonus Ending]

“Nope.” Grinned Glenn. “It’s real as you and me – and as real as the merchandise you can now buy of They are Smol – all at cost, physical shitposts, delivered right to your door just in time for the holidays.”

“Aaah! It’s the utopian promises of communism, made manifest!” Ivan exclaimed, looking directly at the reader reading these words with their eyes. “That promise being, as Marx wrote, the propagation of rampant late-stage capitalism. So, in the spirit of this holiday shopping season, we are happy to shill out with terrible and obnoxious product placements. Go buy your physical shitpost today!”

And the secret bonus ending left everyone with a bad taste in their mouth but also a morbid curiosity that could only be quenched by going to a website that would give google a bunch of questionable algorithm connections to make.

https://theyaresmol.storenvy.com/

Happy Holidays, from the Writeforge/TaS team to you. We do love you.

And remember: If you died during black friday your bloodline is weak and you deserve to be culled.

Stories They are Smol

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 17

Post author By TPH
Post date November 23, 2019
1 Comment on They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 17

It was the sound of cloth on air, an almost imperceptible lift as Juan Esteban coaxed the giant moth upwards. It’s multi-limbed grip was surprisingly snug; although the arms were chitinous and uncomfortable, the body (once you got used to the fact that it was a giant insect) was soft and somewhat pliable. Like an insistent memory foam mattress. Or a yet-broken-in pillow.

“Bok.”

“I-h, uuh, w-wow.” Juan stuttered, as the mind-numbing fear that had gripped him poured from his body, replaced with wonder. He was flying, like in some of those dreams he remembered – except he was still smaller than his brothers, and his dad hadn’t let him drive the car by himself yet. There was another sound of a gentle wingbeat, and Juan was moved both forward and up, slightly. The beast on his back apparently was content to ride the thermals from the city below; it didn’t know exactly what was going on other than it got the shiny thing, and that was all it’s primitive brain wanted.

“ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ~”

Juan looked at the world that extended still far below him; little jewels of light flickering in the night. Part of him really wanted to just stay here in the relative quiet of the summer night, letting the world below him stretch out, watching the living while not participating. Somewhere, he felt, there was a lo-fi hip hop beat he could chill to while doing this.

The other, more rational part of his entire being pointed out that you’re still fuck-off high being saved by a wild animal you can’t really control.

“Bok.”

“Y-yeah. Ok. Ok, umm…” Juan tilted his arms up and to the left, starting a purposeful and gentle corkscrew up into the sky. Slowly, he climbed the height he had fallen, each wingbeat pushing him up another 7, 10 feet in the air. As he circled, other giant moths would come to investigate, but would ultimately leave him alone – apparently the lure of the light wasn’t enough to overcome their inherent flight right-of-way.

“Bok.”

“ÖÖÖ~”

“Bok-”

“No arguing you two!” Juan interjected, trying his best to “steer” the animal back towards safety and family. Well. “Safety”. I mean, there was still a giant moth, a blazing inferno, thousands of the little bastards aimlessly roaming around the night and active gunfire. So like Detroit, but with a better housing market.

It took a few more minutes, a few more perilous bumps into other moths, the building, and falling hard-light debris, but eventually Juan crested the tarmac.

It was just as bad as he remembered.

SHE was sovereign.

For a million million dawns had SHE lain dormant; for a million million nights SHE had awoken. If not HER, then the queen before HER, and the queen before that, stretching unbroken throughout HER world’s history.

SHE was sovereign.

This was HER territory, and as such, SHE would fear no thing. The memories of ancient times, of smoke and ice, of other monsters that threatened HER sovereignty now long-dead stirred in HER genetic memory and just as quickly dissipated.

Fire came rarely now, so rarely, and each and every blaze worthy enough for HER presence demanded such. The fire opened parts of HER that would usually remain dormant through processes SHE knew not, but instinctually followed regardless. There would be an opening, a dance, a conjugation and soon, spawning. The flood that would hatch from HER body would darken the very skies itself with children, scattering to the nine winds unto the end of this world. Some would find other queens, some would stay, and some would die; this was the way things always have been and always would be for another million million days and nights, stretching unbroken unto the ending of all things.

So then. With all of this instinctually known, with all of this as fact and feeling, with HER own form reigning sovereign over this whole world –

With all this allied with HER, what the fuck was this thing doing?

The thing – the small, insignificant, probably inedible thing – stood? defiant before HER. It was not the loud, burning thing that was an enemy but was now defeated. It was not the other, flat thing that was not HER and not food and yet flew. It was also not the other smaller things that made noises and were probably not edible as well. But this thing stood defiant, and more importantly, reached out and struck HER. It struck HER, but not with fire and not with smoke or ice or any of the ancient things. It was not such beasts; it was new.

The thing moved again, insignificant and small. SHE watched, with interest, as HER children continued to claim the sky, as the heat began to open HER, as SHE pressed down against the burning enemy, taking no small satisfaction in the irony (if SHE knew what irony really was) that that it kept HER from fire with heat and yet was, itself, very warm. SHE settled in, and watched as the thing let out a noise and waved a part of itself in some-

thok

…that was twice now. Once was an aberration; twice was UNACCEPTABLE.

“Ĥệɏ”

SHE saw everything; SHE was aware of all, and SHE was going to imminently establish HER dominance –

and then one of HER children rose, ascendant.

Juan’s arms were crossed and raised high above his head, in a glorious picture of Humanity rising that would be shared for generations to come – as all eyes, both physical and digital, were upon him.

This, of course, was not because the child understood maximum a e s t h e t i c s but instead was born completely out of necessity; the beast on his back was following the light, the hard-light disk had wrapped it’s metal talons tightly around his forearms, and he was refusing to let the animal that he loved – a chicken, which is a bird and can at least fucking glide – out of his hands. Hence, the crossed arms, the wrist-grip on the bird, and the pose.

Eggsmerelda, for her part, had her own wings spread in actual triumph. Now was her moment – now was the time.

She let out a keening call, and her flock heard. As one, they turned to pay attention, for she had brought them to the final point of all things, to the culmination of ten thousand years of work and gentle nudging. The other, it’s species half-dumb, tensed. Could it sense the energy? Did it know?

No. Surely not. The half-dumb other screeched something nonsensical at the flock, spreading it’s limbs out in a human dominance pose.

Intimidation would not work. Not now. Not when they were so close.

As her flock called out as one, Eggsmerelda began to sing.

“Bok-Bagokoku na tenshi no you ni, Shounen yo-”

“Eggsmerelda!” Juan protested, pulling his arms in tight. “Now is not the time for the Human Instrumentality Project!”

“Bok!” she protested, trying to wiggle out of her humans’ grip. If she could just get back into the nexus of energy, if she could just be free to channel once more-

“Wh-OH~!” Juan said, as his perspective shifted. With the new positioning of his arms, the hard-light beacon now pointed straight down. The terror-beast, the dumb animal that it was, beat it’s wings with purpose, upending the trio and pointing them straight at the tarmac.

“Oh n-”

“ÖÖÖÖ-”

“Well bok.” Eggsmerelda stated, matter-of-factly, as the trio of them faceplanted into the pavement below with enough force that Juan’s remaining shoe flew off his foot as he full-on scorpion’d.

Isabella was absolutely determined to get this moth out of her kitchen. The problem was, somehow, the moth was shrinking all the shoes that she threw at it. If she could find one of her fly swatters, or better, a pan, this little bastard would be gone already. Once she got rid of the insect, she could work on the portal to hell in the living room and all these flying puppies that Juan adopted and isn’t training at all-

Oh.

As if on answer to her prayers, a smaller shoe – one that would fit a child – sailed through her vision. In that instant, she knew.

The Lord had heard her prayer, and provided.

If a normal shoe would be shrunk, then a smaller shoe-

Isabella gripped the smaller shoe in her fist, wound her arm back and, I cannot stress this enough, yeeted the even smaller speck of rubber into the night.

tok

Time stood still. All eyes turned towards the giant insect, but the beast looked only at the hunched over abuela that stood before it.

Without breaking it’s gaze, the Mother stood up, gripped the mecha that had caused it so much pain – if they were going to take one of her children, she would do the same – and spread it’s wings once more-

“Ĥɱᵽȟ”

-and took off.

“CHICKPEA TALK TO ME-” HUMMUS said, trying to figure out what exactly the fuck was happening. There was a minor delay in the telemetry – yes, the visuals on her screen refreshed at the speed of light, but there was so much visual and EM noise that onboard processing had to “clean” everything before it refreshed on her console. Some of it was melding together the same image from multiple viewpoints, some of it was the computer “filling in the blanks” to give the most statistically-significant possible next frame, but none of it made a goddamn lick of sense.

The giant moth thing that was, by all known zoological standards too large to exist, shrugged off a couple million rounds of the best ammunition mankind had developed, landed in a jet fuel fire hot enough to melt steel beams and was about to do something, but…

…just stared at a civilian and flew off.

The issue wasn’t any of those things – I mean, yes it was but right now, no it wasn’t – the issue was that CHICKPEA’S stream of data streamed unbroken from the ground to the ship, was cut off in an instant, and now…

…now it was moving North by Northwest at roughly 250Km/hr. About 2 miles up. Somehow.

“CHICKPEA I’M REALLY GETTING CONCERNED-”

“-SS?”

HUMMUS adjusted for variance, and a stream of curses came into sharp focus.

“-CUNTING FUCKDAMN-”

“CHICKPEA!”

“FUCK. Finally!” Lt. Heinz yelled, something sounding like the rythmic pounding of fiberglass-on-metal echoing in the background. “I have absolutely no fucking clue on what to do-”

“CHICKPEA what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I’m Flying.”

“In that rig? It’s called falling with style-”

“No you cunt I mean the fucking thing picked me up and now I’m flying. It landed, smothered me, and now I’m uh… where am I even going?”

“North by Northwest, 250 clicks every hour. Possibly the mountain range?”

“Ok. Am I getting support?”

“…”

“HUMMUS-”

“CHICKPEA, I mean, yes? Eventually? We’re still co-ordinating…”

“So what do I do now?”

“Hang tight. Admiral Smalls says he’s put his top men on it.”

“Yeah? Who?”

HUMMUS turned to look at the stone-faced admiral, who was very much either (1) answering multiple overlapping distress signals or (2) off in his own little world, hoping that this absolute clusterfuck wouldn’t land at his feet.

“Uh… Top. Men.”

There was a brief, but heavy pause.

“Sure. Thanks.” Lt. Heinz said, muting his mic. On the vidscreen all around him were familiar faces, the smaller moths bonking into him, the giant one, and each other as they moved with some alien purpose into the inky black night.

“How the fuck could this happen to me.” Lt. Heinz said, as he reflected on his mistakes.

“Dios Mia.” Ricardo murmured, as the moths just… left. He and his sons had formed a barrier of humanity around his wife and daughter – well. The sons that had made it into the ship. Juan, Juan and Juan had run to take care of the livestock – at first to calm them down, but quickly soon after to join them in their pens for some added safety, and were slowly crawling out. The horses were still spooked, the alpacas were having a conference, and the pigs were…

…well they were covered in shit, but that’s par for the course.

“What the absolute fuck.” Andres sighed, exasperated at the night’s events.

“I just wanted to cook some chorizo. Is that so much to ask, Lord?” Tomas said, rubbing his face a little too roughly. “Nnnnngh. I wanna go home-”

“Is everyone here? Is everyone accounted for?” Luciana said from the back, standing on her tiptoes to see beyond the protective barrier. “Is mema ok?”

“[Please. Get off of me.]”
“Oh!”
“Shit!”
“Um.”

Szreshnstrst lay on the floor of the dropship, splayed out, defeated and slightly dazed. One moment he was getting a lecture in sovereign citizen rights, the next he was being attacked by some very warm and very tiny fists. It wasn’t that they were stronger than him, just, there were so many. Then the ship was rocked and there were explosions and suddenly, somehow, he found himself being stepped on.

Something deep inside him disagreed with this turn of events. Something even deeper inside him was awoken, but that would be worked out through therapy. And a subscription to Lewdhub.galnet.node

As the humans got off of the Jornissian he stood, wobbling slightly. “[What happened. Why. Just.]” As he turned to admonish the now sheepish-looking humans, he was interrupted by a yell.

“[Is everyone ok?]” His partner, Zngrer-of-Drgrabgh called, poking her head into the ship from the side of the loading bay ramp. “[We’re gonna sweep the pad once the terror-beasts thin out.]”

“Yeah, we’re fine – we have family out there though-”

“[We know, we’ll get them.]” Zngrer said, tilting her head slightly in confirmation.

“[You promise?]”

Zngrer turned and caught the deep, pure eyes of Ngruzren piercing deep into her core once more. Wordlessly she reached up to cup his jaw, and he leaned into her touch.

“[For you… yes. I promise.]”

“Can I go now?” Tomas said, still limp in Tipo’s arms.

“[Good… I…]” Ngruzren started, but a claw was pressed against his lips.

“[Hush. I know.]” Zngrer said, smiling. “[And I-]”

“STAND TALL FOR TURTLEFALL-”

The group outside jumped as multiple impacts hit the landing pad they were on, the ones around them, and a few other completely-innocent buildings. UNIT ZERO TWO through ZERO FIVE stood proudly in the night air, weapons spinning with deadly intent.

“CITIZEN!” the nearest one boomed, it’s hoversled crackling to life. “WE HAVE COME TO-”

“Ai! What did I say about leaving the windows open-”

“WHAT?”

“[What-]”

“Abuela no-”

thok

Stories They are Smol

They are Smol – and It’s a Smol World: Chapter 16

Post author By TPH
Post date November 8, 2019
3 Comments on They are Smol – and It’s a Smol World: Chapter 16

There’s always a lurch when you fall, especially if it’s from any significant height.

Some people feel it in their gut, some feel it over their whole body, some get disoriented and start to twist and turn in the air; it’s a function of the inner ear, after all, that gives you the lurch once you tumble into the abyss. Eventually momentum catches up with you, and you sort of “level out” at a terminal velocity that is, in and of itself, absolutely terrifying to everyone but adrenaline junkies.

Juan felt that. He felt all of it. Eyes screwed shut in fear, body tumbling into the abyss, he screamed into the wind as gravity worked it’s mighty and indifferent work upon his frame, pulling him down, faster and faster.

Eggsmerelda, for her part, spread her wings in a vain attempt to do something positive.

The hard-light projector crackled to life, a warped human standing proudly on the little boy’s arms, glowing harsh and bright against the night – so it was very easy for people in the neighboring towers to track his trajectory in impotent horror.

-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

“But no, SERIOUSLY, Where the fuck is my backup HUMMUS?” Lt. Heinz growled, the indicator of his surviving shield drones dwindling down to the single digits. “I thought you said 10 minutes!”

“I did, I – fuck off with that report, Ashish – I did CHICKPEA; titans have broke atmo but our comms are dead until the burn-off window is over. You still have 3 minutes-”

Figuring the giant fuck-off moth wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, Lt. Heinz popped a few canisters of smoke around his technically-a-Gundam-stop-laughing in an attempt to get the smaller fuck-off moths to leave him alone for a few seconds. Every once in a while a moth would venture to close to his weapons, and the heat – or the vortex of air that was caused by the sheer amount of ordinance being propelled forward – would suck one of them into the bullet stream. With a disgusting pop the creature would explode, which is a minor victory, but whatever it was made out of was unfortunately flammable.

And Unit Zero One was standing in the middle of an inferno, and the fire was rising.

“What about CASINO?!”

HUMMUS bit her lip for a moment, before delivering the bad news. “CASINO is closed; DEALER is going to see what gets destroyed, but all infrastructure is secure and personnel are evacuated to the sub levels. Best case, xeno districts get fucked and we can put in some new slot machines; worst case is we get to rebuild CASINO from the ground up with a little more advertising on the front.” HUMMUS said, the flurry of her keyboard an omnipresent background noise as she continued to manage incoming data, ignore civilian requests for information, and push whatever data needed to be pushed to wherever it needed to go.

POP

“So I’m waiting for the other snack pack crew and then what?” Lt. Heinz sighed as his craft shuddered slightly, the barrels rotating to cool without cessation of fire. “Apparently whatever the fuck that giant one is made out of is strong enough to withstand punishment, and I don’t see coordinated fire doing anything impressive.”

-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

“I’m working on it – PDF are totally fucking ass-backwards with how to deal with this.”

POP

“The FUCK do you mean?”

“I mean, apparently this shit is myth and legend to them.” HUMMUS said, pausing for a moment. “Everything’s… fucked. The fire brigade needs to get down there to kill the flames and end the mating dance of these things, but there’s so fucking many of them that it’s all birdstrikes in their engines, so they’re outside the perimeter. Our own fire-suppressant isn’t working because of course it’s not, and any personnel trained for it are bunkered down. PDF don’t want to come in guns blazing because (1) that just looks bad when you shell civilians and (2) They don’t know what to make of … you.”

“I’ve stunned and amazed many a woman-”

“Fuck off CHICKPEA. Goal right now is… hopefully with full Titanfall we have enough firepower to push THE terror-beast back, and a few of the other rigs can then mop up enough of the smaller ones to allow the brigade to swooce right on in and put out the fire.”

POP

“So, just keep shooting and hope everything works out?”

“I got nothing better for you.”

-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

“Great, well, fuck it.” Lt. Heinz laughed, mirthlessly, as another of the beasts was pulled in and popped simultaneously. “There are worse ways to die I guess, than by… moth.”

“Just think, it’ll be a first for the corps!”

“Oh fucking great, they’ll make a fucking cadence out of me, won’t th-”

-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRDGDGDGDGGDDDDGGD-

“Oh FUCK–”

“CHICKPEA I need you to talk to me what the hell just happened-”

Lt. Heinz’s hands danced over the console as multiple warning lights demanded his attention; internal stress fractures, snapped gearbox, power fluctuations, coolant intake and venting clogged, hydraulic leak-

Wait.

“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE-”

“CHICKPEA-”

“THEY GOT SUCKED INTO THE ENGINE.” Lt. Heinz roared, reaching down to start manually pumping an emergency level, forcing a single barrel into firing position a few inches at a time. “THE LITTLE BASTARDS FUCKED ME UP.”

“Wait. Oh Goddamnit-”

“ONE BARREL, LETS DO THIS YOU CUNT-”

Unit ZERO-ONE fired off what remained of it’s ichor-fused, terror-beast clogged main gun in short bursts, standing defiant as IT came closer. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Lt. Heinz realized that he wouldn’t make it to a second mission; his goal now was to buy time, and survive.

And the door to Human Comfort Pod #1722-18-FS8-4 opened with a soft hiss.

You would think, at some point, the Jornissians would realize that they’re very bad at making drinks for Humans, and would let them lead when it came to stocking the pantry.

Sure, there’s test kitchens all across the Sol system; every day thousands of tons of new foodstuffs were shipped in, the intergalactic community eager to learn what new and exiting gastronomic discoveries would be made by their inquisitive colleagues. The snack-industrial complex therefore was part safety testing, part taste-testing, and part culinary experimentation lab, but the unfortunate truth is that the sheer volume of stuff coming in was too much to allow for deep and thorough documentation. Sure, it was always easier to say “if it’s not human-made don’t eat it” but that’s not something the average human would be willing to say when you’ve just been served Matriarch T’t’t’t’t’t’t’t’s homemade flavorpaste and the chef stands eagerly before you waiting for your critique. There just literally weren’t enough people to run thorough tests, to ingest the food, to be monitored and followed up on, so Humanity turned to a tried and true method:

“Fuck it. If they live they live.”

And so, food was approved. Now it was made very clear that food was simply indicated as “edible” and “non-edible”; the thought was that by “crowdsourcing” the taste-testing, Humanity would naturally discover what foods and combinations of foods would lead to horrific and painful death. Not only would this work faster at scale, but by out-sourcing the whole thing, the snack-industrial complex could come in under budget. Sure, Mingli rolled the dice and died frothing at the mouth, but Lubanzi’s implant was updated in time to stop him from making the same mistake. Sometimes you just get super sleepy, sometimes you discover a neurotoxin.

So, yanno. Expediency and all that, the ends justify the means, etc., etc.

Isabella Aleman, professional Abuela, was the first human to ingest what students everywhere would come to use as “natural” adderol, mystics would hail as a “transcendence elixir” and the Military would eventually call a phenomenal combat drug. The Sruprimsn spice is a bog-standard additive to most hot Jornissian drinks; after decades of research and translation upgrades the best analogue to it would be a thickening powder that (to the Jornissian palate) tasted lightly of clove. It was a warming spice, meant to still impart the feeling of heat even when the drink itself cooled down. There were entire mono-agriculture stations dedicated to growing the stuff in an industrial scale, and it could be found pretty much wherever a good, hot drink was being served.

It also, through not-entirely-well-known processes, was metabolized in three very distinct ways in the human body.

First, it caused drowsiness, and eventually sleep – A deep, restful sleep where the brain was kicked almost constantly into REM. Once enough of the chemical was metabolized and there were a couple exchanges of proteins and electrons and whatnot, the body moved into the second stage.

Isabella Aleman was currently experiencing the second stage, and she experienced it as if it was a dream. The door to a room she did not remember going into opened up, and hell was laid bare before her. Wordlessly, silently, she stood up, climbing out of the off-kilter door and stepping into the pit itself. If God had deemed her unworthy, then who was she to fight her fate?

“No.” She thought, as she looked around. “Not Hell.”

Underneath her feet, a tarmac; There a little ways off were the horses, spooked. Same with the cattle; a few had serious injuries. She would have to tend to them if the menfolk weren’t around. There was an.. An absence of a low, deep droning noise that had slowly roused her from sleep; it was comforting, but the relative silence left her confused.

Looking around – there, to her left, a ship? Some of her children – good, maybe, they’re unloading. They even had some of the locals come help.

Isabella furrowed her brow.

No. That’s not right. They had already unloaded…

She turned her head, to the right. Fire, fire and brimstone and standing in the midst of it a devil, triumphant – an angel, fallen – some beast from the pit, black and flaming and with a sword of fire-

Isabella frowned. Why was it so hard to focus?

The machine fired another burst of fire, the comforting but now obnoxiously loud sound causing her to full-body recoil. Something kept nagging at her, something-

She waved her hand at her side to get the puppy to stop jumping up. You have to train animals, you see, and if little Juan wanted a house-dog then he needed to start putting in the work on making it house-broken-

Wait. No. This… This wasn’t Earth. She wasn’t home.

Isabella looked up as IT pushed forward triumphantly, body dwarfing any beast she had seen in reality or imagination, wings spreading over the two towers blotting out the stars. The fire licked against the moondust on it’s wings, and dancing embers began to glitter in the night.

“Tch. Ricardo left the window open.” She muttered, leaning down to her side as she brought her heel up, slipping off her chancla. With a steady eye she took aim.

Sruprimsn spice is metabolized in the Human body in three ways. Two of which are predictable; A deep long sleep based on your bodyweight and the quality of the spice. A purely zen-like pseudo-hallucinogenic calm that lasts far less than your sleep, but can still be roughly guesstimated based on your metabolism and how long you spent under. And then the final bit, which the Military still hasn’t cracked to this day, and whose variableness is the only reason why it’s legally traded in Human space to begin with:

A single, fast-twitch burst of pure fucking adrenaline with absolutely no metabolic crash afterwards.

For a brief moment the terror-beasts parted, the air was still, and the fire abated.

“YIIII-” Isabella screeched as she let fly, her slipper flying true. It spun, a blur of brown against the black sky, a small piece of synthetic rubber lost amidst the chaotic scene unfolding before her.

“FUCK, FUCK, IT’S COMING IN-”

“Lock your bracers in, CHICKPEA-”

“DANGER CLOSE-” Lt. Heinz gritted his teeth, his whole body tensing for the collision of the gargantuan beast. Although he had ammunition to spare, the excess heat of his weaponry forced an automatic shutdown. Without coolant being pumped through the system and vented properly, the barrels had to air-cool, which would take… minutes. Hours, if he was unlucky. It didn’t matter, though.

Lt. Heinz knew he was dead from the start.

There was a scraping as gigantic chitinous claws punctured the tarmac, the beast fanning the flames triumphantly. Once it fully landed, it’s whole weight would be atop the tower – potentially crushing ZERO ONE, and potentially collapsing the tower itself. There was nothing to do but wait, and hope that somehow his body would be intact enough to identify in the wrecka-

thok

IT blinked, if it could be called blinking, as a single faux-rubber slipper landed squarely between it’s wide and inky-black eyes. Antennae twitched, focus turned inward, and for a brief moment the fire was forgotten.

“ỰĤ”

Juan Esteban was falling, and there was nothing to be done for him. This was a simple fact, and the assembled xenos – both in glass towers nearby, in ships outside of moth-strike range, and those viewing on camera – could do nothing but witness the tragedy. The beasts, stupid and brutish, battered about by the winds, tumbled down with him, beating against the glass and the building itself.

Juan cried as he kept his eyes shut, and the planet’s gravity tugged at him

Harder

Hard, multi-joined limbs wrapped around his small frame, a disgustingly soft-yet-firm body pressed against his back, his clothing was pinched in all the wrong places as one of the things latched onto him and-

and spread it’s wings.

Juan lost a shoe from the change in momentum, the errant article of clothing spinning off into the void. He felt the surprisingly firm beat of the creature’s wings as it bled momentum, vertical speed turning horizontal turning into a gentle lift.

“Wh-what?” He wept, red and wet eyes opening for the first time.

“ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ-” The beast said, admiring the T-posing human-light that was clamped onto Juan’s arms. It beat it’s wings, attempting to close the distance from it to the light – accomplishing nothing but mild acceleration.

Juan sniffed and coughed as the beast flapped it’s wings again, riding the thermals up.

“Bok.”

“I uh… it’s…-”

“Bok!”

“Oh!” Juan lessened his death-grip on Eggsmerelda, the chicken thankful that she wouldn’t die by impact or by a terror-hug. As he loosened his grip the hologram shifted to the left; with a gentle turn the beast followed it. Juan turned his arms to the right, and the beast followed it after just a moment’s delay.

“…Oh.”

Hesitantly, Juan turned his arms up, and flew.

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