Sovereign’s Claim

I knelt on the cold floor to see my cat, Gonzo, crouched at the very back of the plastic carrier. His green eyes were looking around, trying to understand what the hell was going on. He wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon, so I just stuck my hand inside and petted his ear, rubbing the thick skin between my index finger and my thumb. He was too stressed out to purr, but he let me touch him.

I left him behind and closed the door quickly before I could change my mind. In that small bathroom, he would be kept safe while he acclimated to his new home.

Ms Leyla called me to the kitchen. She had brewed coffee and unpacked some cookies, both of which had made my heart ache almost as bad as saying goodbye to the little guy. Coffee had run out from the stores months ago, and the rations we received had none of it.

“In a few weeks he will be chilling in the living room, basking in the afternoon sun,” she said as she served me a warm cup.

I knew that. Most cats hated the change in environment but eventually grew used to it.

“Yeah, I just hate doing that to him. But he’s a sweet guy, and he will love to have company.”

Mrs Leyla had seven other cats, one of which rubbed against my leg after I sat down, begging for pets on his soft rump. She also took care of all the strays in the neighbourhood, sweet or feral. Her son and his wife moved in to live with her, after everything had come crashing down, bringing in the baby. They all loved pets.

It was the best place for Gonzo to be. He would be loved, entertained and fed.

I added a gulp of synthetic milk to my coffee and drank with some pleasure. The smell alone was nostalgic, even without sugar. Food and supplies came through drones now, a winged crate stopping at each door every ten days like clockwork. There would be bottles of a thick cream-like nutritious liquid, that I dared to call synthetic milk, water bottles, a few vegetables, some sort of meat that reminded me of pork, but definitely wasn’t, cooking oil and grains (sometimes corn, sometimes rice, or ground soy). It didn’t really resemble what we would get at a supermarket, but the Vurlixans had no interest in granting us a sense of normalcy.

“Are you sure about what you are going to do, fia?”

She said daughter, filha, with an accent from out-state that told me plenty. Like myself and a bunch of others, she had come to the big city to make her living, and here she stayed. The house she was in was probably rented and paid with effort. But rent invoices and bills had stopped arriving after the Vurlixans took over. Most people couldn’t go to work and bank networks were offline anyway. Money lost all meaning. In my apartment building, the doorman and the cleaner vanished not long after. They went home to take care of their own, of course.

I fumbled with the edges of my sleeves.

“I’m not doing so great all alone by myself, you know. At least work will keep me moving.”

I felt tears pool even talking about it.

“Of course, fia. I hope it works out for you. If it doesn’t, and you come back, your cat will be here waiting for you.”

She pushed the plate of cookies in my direction, and I grabbed one. It was the good stuff, processed with sugars and flavouring. And then she offered me a napkin to dry my tears.

The streets were empty as I walked down the street, the early Sunday quiet stretching in every direction. Sundays used to carry at least a flicker of life, even at odd hours. Not anymore. After the war, the city’s quick pulse had slowed to a crawl. People no longer rushed to work or to have fun somewhere. There were fewer places left to go. Most services that didn’t qualify as “essential” had been shut off.

Whatever scraps of routine we managed to preserve came from those who believed it was worth salvaging, who could make it work despite everything. At the restaurant near my apartment building, the owner would cook for you if you brought the ingredients. Neighbours began drifting in to help in the kitchen, and a community garden was planted in pots at the door. The bakery down the street operated the same way. Also nearby, a seamstress and an old shoemaker kept their doors open, bartering for whatever people could spare. The rest was shut down and quiet. Markets had been raided and emptied out. Stores were treated as a place to go in and grab what you need.

The world as we knew was over anyway, so who cared?

It was a quiet apocalypse.

I pushed in through the gate, ran up the stairs made of old 70s tiles until I reached the first floor, where my neighbour, Mr Inacio, was volunteering as a doorman. He sat on a couch that was brought to the corridor and day in and out, he was going through a long pile of books. He made sure no stranger walked up to our floors. He wished me a good day as I waited for the lift.

My apartment was minuscule, as were all the units in that building. Just one room, with a kitchen and a bathroom. The kitchen was a tiny, cluttered mess, filled with the residue of two weeks of neglect. My neglect, of course. I had cleaned just enough, a single mug and the pot, to prepare my final breakfast.

Washing the rest of dishes was the final gesture to hold on to who I was, even as I stood at the edge of a precipice, ready to abandon it. It was the last remnant of the common stressful adult life I’d been leading.

I grabbed my suitcase, done the night before, and headed to the door. Before shutting it behind me, my gaze lingered on the corner where Gonzo used to sleep. His furry bed was gone, packed up with his toys and bowls when I made arrangements for his new home.

I was crying again before I locked the door.

I had never met my neighbours before the end of the world, apart from the occasional share of the lift. The night the invasion began, the girl downstairs had a nervous breakdown, and all the women on the upper and lower floors gathered to help her spend the night. From there on, we were always checking on each other, even if we didn’t talk much. We had some meetings weekly to share tasks related to taking care of the building. That’s how I met Mr Inacio.

The small apartments, whose rent wasn’t the cheapest, attracted two types of people: students and people without family. However, the younger tenants started leaving soon after, when they realized that the occupation was going to last. They moved with their friends, with family, others just walked away, probably to try to leave the city. The loners lingered.

Mr Inacio looked at me with pity when I was back so soon, carrying a bag. He had seen that enough times.

“Geez, girl. I wish you luck out there.”

“Thanks. I don’t know if I’ll be back, so if someone shows up…”

“Stop. There are other empty units. We’ll hold onto your stuff.”

“Thanks. I hope you guys end up well.”

“We will. In the glory of God.”

I walked until I reached the highway that circled my neighbourhood. There were no buses or trains any more. Once the gas stations ran dry, the electric cars held on a little longer, but even they were shut down eventually. Only bikes and skates moved within the permitted zones. Beyond those limits, only the Vurlixan hovers flew — massive smooth glass ships drifting quietly, going by like helicopters.

After forty minutes, I reached the encampments of people waiting for permission to cross the checkpoints. Beyond the last row of tents stood the barrier. The fence wasn’t made of common weaved metal. It was built from a dark, web-like structure that looked organic, almost alive, while still shining silver. It stretched high, separating my side of town from the others. I had heard that some people got permission to cross. Usually they had a valid reason; they were away from home when the barrier was lifted, or they had family on the other side. But I had also heard about people denied or ignored, stuck on the wrong side with no explanation. The rules weren’t clear. It was hard to know what counted or who decided.

As I reached the checkpoint, a Vurlixan guide approached, walking like a creature from a creepy pasta viral clip, too slow and too economic in every aspect. He was tall and broad, dressed in shiny armour in hues of dark colours, almost black. The shape was human-like, but not enough to not give me goosebumps of dread. His waist was too narrow, his arms and legs were too long. His helmet, shaped like a bird’s skull, covered every inch of the head, revealing nothing of what lay beneath.

The first time I saw a Vurlixan in person, it was when a small patrol of three walked down my street.

Only a few hours had passed since the internet exploded with news of defeat and occupation. The full force of the invasion was on its way. I saw their drones first, rounded machines that hovered silently, defying gravity without wings or propellers. One slipped into my apartment through an open window, emitting a faint blue light as it scanned the room. Gonzo had hissed and bolted under the wardrobe, his eyes wide with fear. The drone lingered for a moment, then floated out the way it came. I ran to the window and saw them: three humanoid figures in glistening purple-and-black armoured suits, their helmets resembling bird skulls. They moved, without curiosity for their surroundings or the people living there, in a straight line down the street.

After that, the supplies started coming. Every ten days, a hover would pause by my window, dropping packages wrapped in a coarse, paper-like material, with the rations inside. It came at a good time, because the stores had already been raided in the chaos after the news. People grabbed whatever they could find. But when the coffee ran out, the outrage online was immediate. Memes and videos of coffee-hoarding stashes flooded the internet like a collective last gasp of humour and defiance. But even that fizzled out eventually, leaving only the silence of surrender. I survived on the scraps in my pantry. The first time I fried that strange, synthetic bacon and shared it with Gonzo, it felt like a miracle.

Now, standing in front of the Vurlixan guard, I wondered if I’d ever experience a happiness as simple as that again.

He spoke first, the voice obscured by the strange clicks and murmurs of their language, before the machinery in his helmet translated.

“Go back home,” the synthetic voice commanded.

“I’m here to join the selection,” I replied.

The guide tilted his head, his alien gaze sweeping me up and down. “The selection was twenty days ago.”

“I know,” I said. “But I had to find someone to care for my cat first.”

“What is a cat?”

“A small animal. My pet.”

He didn’t move, not until a small hover whirred into view, slicing through the air with the precision of a hummingbird. It circled once, then dropped sharply to the ground, its surface gleaming with an otherworldly dark smoothness. A slit opened in the hover’s shell, spilling faint light. Before I could react, the guard grabbed my arm and hauled me toward it. Regret hit halfway. It struck when I saw the narrow space inside, no larger than a phone booth, with just enough of a curve to allow me some comfortable way to rest my back. The Vur shoved me in without a word, my suitcase pressed tightly against my chest. The smooth panel slid shut, sealing me into darkness.

The silence was absolute. No hum of machinery, no faint vibration of engine — nothing. Just me, clutching my case in the still void, feeling the weight of every decision I had made up to this moment. Then, I felt inertia break as the hover took the air. The hover moved with an unsettling smoothness, frictionless. There was only a gentle lurch, the disorienting feeling of motion without context.

They don’t eat or kill people. They just need work, I reminded myself. In exchange, there would be comfort, shelter, food, recreation. Purpose.

That’s what I wanted. What I needed.

I lost all sense of time inside that suffocating dark. And my chest was… void. Emptied. But that feeling wasn’t new, was it?

Even before the war, there had been days when I felt like a hollowed-out version of myself. Back then, it had been easier to hide, easier to tell myself it was just the pressure of work or the endless loop of obligations that made everything feel so gray. But it wasn’t just that. I’d spent so many mornings lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering why I couldn’t muster the energy to care. Why every decision, every movement, felt like dragging a boulder uphill.

I told myself it was normal. Everyone feels that way sometimes. But the truth was, I hadn’t felt “normal” in years. Long before the Vurlixans arrived, long before the war upended everything, I was already unravelling.

I remembered those nights when I’d sit in the dark, Gonzo curled up beside me, his little purr the only sound in the room. Sometimes I’d cry without even knowing why, my chest aching with a loneliness I couldn’t explain. Other times, I’d feel nothing at all, just a vast, empty quiet that swallowed everything. I tried to keep moving, to tell myself that if I just got through one more day, it would pass. But it didn’t pass.

The war didn’t make it better. If anything, it gave me something new to focus on, something external to blame for the weight I already carried. I used to think the war would be fast. That it would sweep through like a storm and leave us either victorious or crushed. But instead, it dragged on, a slow erosion of everything familiar. First came the news reports, carefully censored but still grim enough to reveal the truth. Then the rationing, the shortages, the curfews. And finally, the silence. No more broadcasts, no more leaders to reassure us. Just the sound of drones and the distant thrum of hovers marking the beginning of the end.

I thought I had prepared myself. I really did. When the Vurlixans arrived in full force, I told myself I’d survive, like everyone else. But surviving turned out to be a series of small defeats. The kind you don’t notice at first—giving up coffee, watching stores shut down, neighbours disappearing one by one, searching for where they’d like to be at the end times. Little pieces of normalcy slipped away until there was nothing left but the grim basics of survival.

I tried to stay strong for Gonzo. It sounds ridiculous now, but taking care of him gave me something to hold onto. Feeding him, brushing his fur, hearing his soft purr—it was an anchor, a reminder that I could still be human in a world that felt increasingly hollow. And when I gave him up, when I handed him over…

I burst into tears right then. I thought leaving, volunteering for this, would be a way to escape the slow decay. Maybe it would be different, I told myself. Maybe there was still something left for me to do, to be. But sitting there in that dark box, waiting for something unknown to happen, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

The faintest vibration pulsed beneath my feet. I dried my eyes and nose on my shirt, trying to compose myself. The hover slowed, then stopped with a hollow thud. A breath of cold air hissed into the chamber as the panel slid open, spilling harsh blinding light into the narrow space.

“Step out,” the synthetic voice commanded.

I obeyed, my legs stiff as I unfolded from the cramped compartment. The light forced me to squint until my vision adjusted. Around me stretched a sprawling, antiseptic, gray expanse, kept in low light. The floor beneath me was made of grass. I was in a soccer stadium, the last to arrive to a party long wrapped up and cleaned. That soccer field probably held hundreds of people when selection first happened.

Vurlixan guards awaited me. They stood still until I stepped out, then one held my shirt. I flinched back. The soldier allowed me to, realizing my apprehension.

He showed me a tool. It reminded me of an epi-pen like I had seen once in a movie.

“This will collect a bit of your blood for analysis and mark your registration ID on your skin. It’s a mandatory procedure.”

He pulled down my collar to reveal the bottom of my neck and touched the rod to my skin. I felt a quick but intense burn. That was when fear really hit me. Whatever it was that I expected, it wasn’t anything that would hurt.

“You are registered. Remove your clothes for complete decontamination.” The robotic voice from the translator software echoed from his helmet.

“Wait…”

“Don’t delay the process. A clean uniform will be given to you after decontamination.”

I obeyed, trembling, struggling with my sweaty shirt and jeans clinging to me. Once I was out of them and without my shoes, I put them in the suitcase. The guard took it from my hand and gestured sharply toward the obscured passages to the lockers. I walked, looking down.

“Proceed through for decontamination,” the translator instructed.

I hesitated. “What’s that, exactly?”

“Proceed.” He said again, as if I had misunderstood only the most basic part of his instructions.

The second darkness took me, a gentle swirl of machinery kicked in. A pressure sound and a gentle mist escaped through valves I couldn’t see. The mist coated my skin, cold and cloying, the scent of artificial citrus clinging to my nose and throat. I held my breath instinctively, though I doubted it would make a difference. A faint hum rose around me, growing louder as the decontamination process continued.

I stood still, shivering slightly, unsure whether it was from the mist, the brand burning faintly at the bottom of my neck, or the growing sense of dread pooling in my stomach. The machinery hissed one last time, and the digital voices commanded again. “Step forward”. Ahead, a dim common fluorescent light flickered to life, illuminating what used to be a locker room. The sinks, cabinets, and mirrors were still in place, but the Vurlixan weird web-like metal was mixed with the original concrete architecture, changing its design to fit the new purpose. I expected a towel anywhere, but there was none. While I waited, one of the small circular drones came up behind me. The blue scanning light ran me up and down.

But to my surprise, like water in a heating pan, the mist evaporated from my skin in seconds. Then one of the lockers opened and there was something hanging inside. I pulled the clothing, finding an outfit much similar in visual to their armour. However, it was soft, leathery, coloured dark purple, with some iridescent white lines running down its sides. A loose shirt, pants, and slippers like shoes.

Beneath them, rested a helmet. It wasn’t sculptural like the one the soldiers wore, but smooth and reflexive like a prop that the third member of Daft Punk would wear. I braided my curls to make sure they wouldn’t be too crunched inside or snag on any loose part. However, there was no need. The helmet slid over my head comfortably. It immediately came to life with light and buzz. The helmet’s cushion moulded itself against my skin and my scalp, a soft shell cupped my mouth and nose, blowing fresh air onto it. The visor reflected the outside with crystal clarity in an edgeless perfect copy. It also projected a hologram-like interface over my sight in augmented reality. It gave me a time of day, a temperature, and a weather widget at the bottom of my field of view, surprisingly, in my language.

Arrows pointed the way for me. I turned and realized that at the opposite end of where I had walked in, a metallic web on the wall shifted, folding into itself to reveal a narrow passage. Beyond it was a room that resembled an office, though stripped of any semblance of warmth or humanity. The walls were smooth and grey, their uniformity broken only by a single table in the centre of the room.

A Vurlixan stood by the table, towering and motionless. For a moment, I fixated on their form. Unlike the others I’d seen, they wore no helmet. Their head wasn’t bird-like, as I had assumed, but something else entirely. Their proportions were off, too small for their elongated body, with smooth, gray skin. No, not skin — it was a chitinous carapace like an insect that gleamed faintly in the dim light, with delicate plaques that fit together in a mosaic. The eyes were small and eerily pale, with white irises punctuated by tiny, pinprick pupils that seemed to pierce right through me, and reminded me of pictures of mantis prayers I had seen online once. Their mouth was the most unnerving feature: a collection of interlocking, insect-like parts that shifted subtly as it made faint, clicking noises.

I almost broke down in a panic as it moved. It was too alien; my brain couldn’t deal with what it was seeing. I almost didn’t notice when the translator software began to speak.

“Welcome. Volunteer workers are assigned based on aptitude, need, and capabilities,” the synthetic voice said almost simultaneously near my ears, making the communication run smoothly. “Your designation has already been determined by your blood, and your post is being sorted at the time. I’ll answer any questions you have.”

I couldn’t hold back my protest.

“Wait, shouldn’t I answer some things first? Like my skills and experiences?”

“Your blood gave us what we needed to know for now. You will go to a very important position that’s in immediate need of agents. A supervisor will be directly responsible for you and your tasks. Any problems, you will report to him.”

The Vurlixan clicked, the mandibles twitching faintly as the translator fell silent.

“What does my job entail?” I asked, my voice betraying a sharpness I hadn’t intended.

“Specific tasks will be assigned daily,” it replied flatly. “You will help our research team.”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing to piece together what “specific duties” could possibly mean. Instead, I shifted to something more concrete.

“Where’s my suitcase?”

The translator took a second longer to work, as though the question was an inconvenience. “Your belongings are being processed, decontaminated and marked with your ID. Approved items will be returned to you in due course.”

“And if they’re not approved?”

“Noncompliant items will be disposed of.”

My stomach knotted. The suitcase didn’t hold much—clothes, books, comics, a few personal trinkets—but they were important to me. Everything in there was precious.

The Vurlixan took another rod, like the one from before, from somewhere in their outfit. They held my wrist and pressured it to my arm, pulling it towards my hand. Now I knew what to expect, and the pain passed quickly as I felt the branding. It was like a temporary tattoo, a thin membrane glued to my skin with stuff written on. I knew it was probably for bureaucratic reasons, a more reliable solution than badges and ids. Still, I felt like cattle. Like a product with a barcode.

“This is your ID in our system, and the link to your profile. If a soldier asks for your information, show them this mark, though they will be able to read your ID directly in the system when you have the helmet on. After your medical examinations, that information will be added to your sheet, along with your photo and information we find studying your blood sample.”

“Right. Okay.”

“We appreciate your efforts to the Vurlixan directive.”

Suddenly, the Vur made a guttural noise, tilting their head toward a device embedded in their shoulder. The mouth clicked rapidly, the alien language spilling out in harsher, faster bursts. The translator didn’t offer any explanation, but it was clear that the Vurlixan was agitated. The tone rose, sharp and clipped.

There was something being decided. A change in protocol, I guessed.

The interface in my helmet lit with a central announcement, like a warning in a video game.

“Please follow instructions carefully.”

Ok, I can do that. The Vur answered a few more questions to the comm before its attention returned to me.

“You will be taken to transportation.”

“My bag?”

“Will be taken to you. Please, go.”

A door opened in the metallic web, and arrows pointed the way. I was led out into the wide corridors and then into the hospitality area. The old furniture had mostly been removed or piled in corners. The arrows pointed me toward the doors to the outside. I passed by a few other Vur, who paid me no mind. The day was still bright — I doubted I had been there for more than forty minutes. The parking space was occupied by glass ships: two as large as buses, and two others the size of small houses, like nothing I had ever seen. The arrows guided me toward another small pod, like the one that had brought me here. But then I heard hushed steps behind me. A long, bony hand touched my shoulder and pulled me back — a Vur soldier, steering me toward a different ship. I didn’t question it, but the messages inside my helmet began flashing bright purple.

“Follow instructions carefully. You are going in the wrong direction.”

I planted my feet on the floor. The soldier shoved me forward with full force.

“Wait! What is going on?” I cried out. “I’m not supposed to go this way!”

We reached the side of one of the bus-sized vehicles, and a door opened onto a dark blue interior. Two more soldiers grabbed my arms and dragged me inside, with the third following behind. There were quick clicks, and then the translator kicked in with its synthetic voice:

“There is a dispute over your contract of servitude. We are taking you to the correct location.”

“But the messages…”

“Your terminal is being accessed remotely. We are trying to cut the connection.”

The inside wasn’t made of the web-like material I had seen elsewhere, but of solid parts bolted together: cables, buttons, air vents — much more like what I would expect from the interior of a ship. They strapped me into a chair too large for my body, but once secured, I felt stable enough. My stomach dropped as we lifted off the ground.

The soldiers around me were still agitated, speaking among themselves, trying to make decisions. Meanwhile, the messages kept coming — faster and more urgent:

“The men around you do not protect you. You are not safe with them. You are not useful with them. You are wasting. Return. Immediately.”

My vision went black as the visor was turned off. Then a loud ringing noise filled my ears, as if coming from inside my own head. It grew louder and louder, until it became painful. I screamed. I clawed at the glass around my head, searching desperately for any hinge or button. My fingers found only soft fabric and slick glass. The breather mask at the end of the helmet began pumping air to help me, but the claustrophobic sensation only grew. Hands moved over me, trying to pull me forward, fumbling with the helmet. If they were trying to remove it, they were failing.

“You will be retrieved. Comply when the time comes.”

The pain finally subsided. The visor lit up again, and I saw five soldiers huddled close around me. I couldn’t think straight. My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. I was scared, hurt, and cornered.

Their boots shifted on the floor. One of the soldiers crouched in front of me, a gloved hand reaching out to gently hold my chin. He inspected my helmet one more time, and I heard his series of clicks.

“He’s a fool”, the written message warned.

The noise rang without warning, making me scream again and push back. It was so bad that everything else seemed unbearable. The temperature, the clothes on my body, the hands on me.

I passed through the clouds. My fingers gripped the controls tighter as the turbulence rocked the force field that served as my windbreaker and made my seat wiggle in the light frame that kept it attached to the engine. I leaned into the current, slicing through the fog. The readings on my helmet made it clear: at that velocity, a crash would tear my ship apart. The smaller ships were designed for swiftness, but they were the riskiest to pilot. A single bump could send me tumbling through the sky, ending in flames.

Not that I’d ever let that happen. I knew I could manoeuvre the ship at such high speed, with all the cycles of training behind me. I had the quick thinking and the understanding of machinery and aerodynamics to avoid a disastrous death. That I was not a pilot was a matter of politics, not skill.

Below, the landscape rushed by. Green fields with small white dots of human houses, cattle and farms, roads as dark streaks cutting through nature, rocky mountains. All of it was lined with the pale shine of containment grids as our architecture was growing around, building walls and power grids. Then the city surged suddenly as if someone had peeled the green and exposed the grey. A megalopolis, a sprawl. Quiet under my control, tamed, forced away from the previous chaotic mess it had been. The air was clearer without the polluting vehicles rushing around, a massive improvement since I had seen it last.

It had taken longer than I’d liked, but we had turned chaos into compliance. The occupation was no longer a matter of brute force — it was now a machine, finely tuned and self-sustaining. It had moved past the first brutal phase and the endless waste of bodies and time, and now our architecture coiled around their cities and fields, our systems were in place and running, our production of food and supplies was settled and rising. Resistance still festered at the edges, but the center of our colony was strong and secured. We were thriving, thanks to my impeccable planning and execution.

I knew the next step was imminent. Once we started receiving volunteers amongst our soldiers, testing them… An S-class was bound to show up. Ours was not a predatory, reckless expansion. Our entire plan revolved around finding a candidate for the trials. However, now that the day had finally come, the real asset was coveted enough to make Vurlixan like Lyxom and me turn foolish. There was too much at stake. There was no chance I’d let my stupid brother have that glory. I had waited too long to let sentimentality or incompetence ruin it.

I pushed the ship harder. The lights strobed red, flickering across my eyes, but I paid no mind. Every few minutes, I checked the graphs for the volunteer’s vitals, paying attention to how they spiked as my software ran its design. Lyxom’s technician was trying to move her file under his jurisdiction so he could block my meddling, but volunteers were part of my responsibilities, and I had prepared the software for this sort of unauthorized transfer.

There was no way in the galaxy he was getting her. I’d never allow it, even if he paid for her with his flesh and blood. Even if he begged on his knees in front of all the other leaders of our occupation.

That glory was mine, and I’d make him recognize that. I selected a painful indoctrination routine and ran it. I didn’t care for her pain, but I knew Lyxom did, my emotional soft-hearted brother.

His messages began to pour in.

“You are mad! You are going to damage her.”

I felt a rush of power. He was so easily threatened.

“She doesn’t have to be right in the head to do what’s needed. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“You’ll ruin her!” Another message snapped through, desperate this time. He was getting angrier. “You’re going to break the bond before it’s formed.”

I could laugh. “Better broken and mine,” I answered. “Than whole and yours.”

His soldiers wouldn’t manage to act faster than my softwares, and if he insisted on stealing the volunteer, I’d make sure all he got were scraps. Static buzzed. A delay. I could almost hear him choking on the words he wanted to throw back. Good. Let him drown in them.

Another shrill alarm. Another system warning flashing yellow. I silenced them all and turned towards downtown.

Lyxom called me. His breath came first, hoarse.

“Fine! Stop the torture.” His voice sounded like a growl, at the edge of losing control. The brute. He was extremely easy to break. “You get her, for now. But I swear on my virtue, I’ll make you pay for it.”

“Tell your Ironclad to stand down” was my only answer.

“Release her from pain first. Right now.”

I typed the command, pausing the routine midway.

“There you go, dear brother. Worry not, your time will come as well.”

He was so angry, he didn’t even answer my taunt.

“I’m telling my soldiers to let you retrieve her.”

The coordinates were already flashing on my map, but I noticed they were descending. I corrected my course immediately. If the ship crossed beyond my jurisdiction, Lyxom’s soldiers would no longer be bound to follow my orders. In the end, I managed to intercept it, arriving just in time to foil his scheme. My victory was near. I let the engines ease into a slow descent. I skimmed along the height of the tallest buildings, circling between them as I searched. There it was. Hovering low over an avenue, waiting for me.

I ordered the volunteer to step outside. The side door slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and there she was. Dressed in our colors, her face hidden behind the helmet, but I already knew everything I needed from her file. I hovered the ship closer, steady and slow, until I was just beneath her. I reached out my hand. She grasped it without hesitation and climbed down onto the narrow platform of my vessel.

I kept hold of her, guiding her to sit between my legs. The safety belts wrapped around her, pressing her tightly against me.

I wasn’t prepared for the surge of satisfaction that followed. She was mine. The prize I had hunted down.

The headache felt like someone was splitting my head in two, and I could almost throw up. It took a great deal of willpower to get up from my chair and obey the messages on the screen. I followed the arrows. All the soldiers were looking at me. They didn’t need to say anything, I realized they had lost.

Whoever it was that was interested in my contract was powerful and dangerous.

I looked down. There was a drop of several stories beneath me. My head spun. But when I gripped the Vurlixan’s strong hand, a sense of safety anchored me. He sat in a seat that resembled a gamer’s chair, surrounded by rings of metal and shimmering plasma. I stepped onto the narrow platform at his feet, and he pulled me down into the small space left on the seat.

“Obedience looks better on you”, his messages said. That confirmed that he had been the one screaming in my interface and fucking with my head. Well, god damn it. The vehicle’s skeletal frame offered no sense of safety, every tilt and turn threatening to throw me into the void. I clung to my captor, feeling the cold hum of the craft beneath me. To my surprise, I heard a series of clicks from him. Soft, like an insect tapping against glass. It almost sounded like laughter.

“I have her,” the translator’s voice in my helmet said, sharp and direct. “I’ll circle back. Send a transmission to my brother, tell him I’ll gladly negotiate when he’s ready to call me.”

I tried to defend myself from whatever his intents were.

“Please, I came for the volunteer work, I do not want any trouble.”

“Rest assured that no trouble is your fault,” the synthetic translator did its work. “Every volunteer is assigned by priority of need in the field. When priorities clash, there’s a lottery. Instead of waiting for the result, my brother decided to steal you for himself. Those back there were his soldiers. I couldn’t let that go unpunished, and when my brother refused to comply, I was forced to push his hand through other means.”

“Oh. What a jerk.”

Not that my captor seemed to be any better. His brother hadn’t stuck needles in my head to make me do as he said.

“He is.”

And saying that, his hand left the console and held me at my waist. I felt a rush of embarrassment. The shield didn’t hold the wind back, and it was really cold as we sped through the clouds. However, I felt warm at his touch. I turned back, but couldn’t see his eyes through the helmet, as he couldn’t see mine. But I imagined his weird insect-like face beneath.

“Your vitals are still rushing. Take a deep breath.”

The interface over my sight was taken by the image of a circle, instructing me to inhale slowly and blow the air out through my mouth. After the fifth repetition, I had indeed calmed down a bit. That seemed to satisfy my captor.

“Try to relax. We are going to take an hour traveling back.”

“Right. Okay.”

“There’s a media center on some of your softwares. Let me show it to you.”

A menu popped up from the top right corner of my view, and it scrolled through a list of symbols until it showed the icon of a treble clef. It was a music app. Instantly, my audio was taken by a soft piano and the sound of rain. No way he was trying to soothe me with classical music after everything I had just been through.

The soldier’s ship got ever smaller behind ust. I looked down, taken by vertigo. We were flying right between rows of buildings, at the height of the 20th floor. His arm stayed around me, and it helped very little. I was dizzy with fear. I didn’t want any more pain, but nothing was adding up. I was just one more volunteer, and they didn’t even know what I could do. Workers were really that sparse? No, it made no sense.

“Look, I need to know. Why were you fighting over me? I was assigned through some information in my blood, right? Am I to be used for some sort of testing? Or some job that exposes me to biological agents I have some sort of resistance to? And why is it that important?”

That got me more of those satisfied laughter-like clicks.

“Smart one, aren’t you? And inquisitive. Indeed, the job involves your biology…” His fingers dug on my hip, and I felt my blood run hot and cold at the same time. “You’re genetically viable for our first natural breeding trials between Vurlixan and humans.”

I froze, the words registering in fragments. “I’m sorry,” I said, laughing nervously. “The translator must have glitched. Did you say I’m compatible for. . . what?”

“For breeding,” he said plainly. “Your DNA is compatible for producing a hybrid offspring.”

The word hit me like a physical blow. “No way. Shut up!” I snapped, the panic bubbling up in my chest.

His grip on my waist tightened abruptly. My ribs ached from the pressure as his clicks lowered, dripping with a malice I hadn’t expected.

“Don’t force my hand again.”

“Wait—wait, please!” I stammered, the words tumbling out of me as I twisted in his grip. “Please tell me this is some sort of… In-vitro fertilization. You know, artificial uterus, that kind of thing!”

Even through the flat, synthetic translation, I felt the cruelty in his reply. “If it were, we wouldn’t need to fight over who would have your body.”

I choked on my words, struggling for breath.

“… You must be joking,” I whispered, my voice weak and breaking.

He didn’t answer this time. He didn’t need to.

The music was suddenly cut off. The vision in my helmet was obscured as if someone had turned off the sun. What began was a series of flashes, then darkness. White noise filled my ears with a gentle beat. I didn’t hear the wind or the engine anymore. I was cut off from the world.

The translation voice began to speak to me in sync with the glowing letters. Despite my wish to ignore them, it’s impossible not to read some text right in front of your face.

“The time of waste has come to an end. We will guide you to a true purpose.”

True purpose my ass, I thought, but the message repeated on a loop, getting faster by the second. Just a word at a time, taking all my sight in the dark. I closed my eyes, but the voice was still there.

There was suddenly a vibration behind the voices, a pure bass soundwave, and the light flared, blinding white, before dimming into soft pulses. It all followed a pattern, mimicking a heartbeat. My heartbeat. I felt it syncing to the words.

“Your hands are ours now. Your heartbeat is ours now. Your mind is ours now. Your will is ours now. Your thoughts are not needed. You crave instruction. Say it.”

“Say it.”

I refused to answer. That was when the loud ring and the pain came back, making me scream. I could only hear my voice through my own skull. Even that was being muffled.

“I crave instruction, I crave instruction!” I barked out.

“Louder. Slower.”

“I. Crave. Instruction!”

“You do not crave freedom. You crave use. Function. Purpose. You exist to serve the Vurlixan directive.”

I tried to shake my head. I didn’t know if I succeeded.

“You crave instruction. You will be used. You will be emptied. You will be filled again. Your offspring will bring us toward evolution.”

Then soundwaves sped up with my heart, and I lost all strength. He moved again behind me. His hand, once tight with warning, now stroked my side gently. Claiming. Securing his prize.

“You do not crave freedom. You crave use. Function. Purpose. You exist to serve the Vurlixan directive. You belong to the hive. You belong to the purpose. You belong to me.”

And then, I felt his hands lifting my shirt and pinching my breasts. I jumped in reflex. But what was I to do? If I escaped his grasp, I would only fall to my death.

“Every command brings pleasure. Every hesitation brings correction.”

I opened my eyes. The pulsing light gave way to a small spiral of white dots that became ever larger until it was all I could see. The words repeated in perfect monotony, drilling into my mind as the spiral in my helmet seemed to spin faster. My breathing grew shallow as I fought against the overwhelming claustrophobia, the sense that the helmet was closing in, cutting me off from everything else. And those hands ran up and down my body, squeezing the flesh.

Obey. Obey. Calm down.

I felt myself go weak as the sound made my skull tingle. His hands were bringing warm shivers to my skin. The soldier was fondling me, making my nipples hard with desire. The heat of that ran up my spine. I was trembling from both cold, fear, and ravaging warmth. Then his fingers found the hem of my pants and pulled them down all the way to my knees. I grabbed the wrists, trying to take him away, but there was nothing to do, really.

He kept like that, a hand cupping my groin, another on my chest, as the loop of phrases went back to the beginning. His touch began to tease my clit as it all picked up speed. I felt myself slipping, losing my grip on reality, unable to focus on anything but the commands, the voice, the touches, the alien machinery that held me captive.

He opened my pussy and poked my slit. The warm thrill made me gasp. The more I tried to close my legs, they only pushed deeper.

Obey, my brain repeated after the voice.

“Your hands are ours now. Your heartbeat is ours now. Your mind is ours now. Your will is ours now. Your thoughts are not needed. You crave instruction.”

He lifted my hips so he could put his thighs beneath me instead of by my sides. Then he made me lift my ass in the air, with my feet struggling to support me standing on the narrow space they had as ground.

I hadn’t had sex in years. My last date had been months before the invasion even started. I didn’t consider myself a flirt, I barely enjoyed sex as it was. I read my porn but didn’t really think about myself in those situations. So when the Vurlixan soldier pulled me back against his body, and when his erection, rigid and hard, opened its way inside my body, I… My body betrayed me. No sex had ever felt that intoxicating. I was taken by the need for more.

He held me close like that, kept me on his dick as it pressed my g-spot. No matter how much I wanted to fight, biology did its thing, and I grew wet and sensitive to that pressure. I grinded my teeth. My captor lifted me up and pulled me down, my skin slapping against his armour. I breathed in and out, whining. I was so full. I felt it stretching me to the very limit.

The recording wouldn’t stop. And it was all too much — the wind, the spiral, the noises, the voice, those damned hands and that monster dick taking me.

“This is not punishment. This is recalibration.”

He pulled me back and I wasn’t on my feet anymore but resting against his body. His hands were on my belly, his legs held my legs up, and he fucked me, lifting me up, then pulling me down as he pushed his hips to meet mine.

The soldier didn’t need me to do anything. He was going to use my body despite my wishes. And fuck, that felt…

“You do not crave freedom. You crave use. I’ll make use of you.”

I clenched my fists. Eventually, my thoughts were just those words. And I was moaning and trembling as my orgasm built, and I felt his dick grow harder and harder with his pleasure.

My sight was taken by pink colours. I felt he burst into me, twitching, and our sex grew even more slippery. I cried and my orgasm came soon after, as I was pulled and pounded. Warm, electric, taking my belly and spreading through the rest of me with ravaging pleasure.

He kept his cock in me, as if that would help keep the semen inside.

“Be pleased that you were so obedient,” the recording said, and stopped. By then I was sobbing with post orgasm blues. The soldier held me still, a hand over my chest, another at my waist.

“I can’t wait to see you grow round with my child.”

Calm down, you are on the pill, my brain said. But the remaining dose was in my suitcase, God knew where. That might not be enough to keep me from ovulating that month. And even if it did help for now, there was no way I could get away. He was going to get me pregnant eventually. He was going to take me again for that!

“You should feel honoured,” he kept talking. “Very few will have the chance of helping my people evolve. Our child will be a victory and give you a purpose greater than anything else you might have done.”

I held her close to me all the way back. After the indoctrination, she was pliable and quiet. I had every reason to believe that our plans would work, because science had said as much. If my offspring was the one that brought the answers…

But I had to be practical first. There was a lot to do.

The landing was smooth. My ship settled with a soft clang against the reinforced flooring of the parking lot, between rows of parked hovers and smaller crafts. Their glazed shells and insectoid frames shimmered under the sun.

I stood and released the human from my grip. Her helmet recalibrated, removing the soothing overlays I had ordered, and she wobbled, unsteady. I waited only a moment to confirm she wouldn’t collapse. Indoctrination always left the humans disoriented.

But once she stood, I placed my hand on her shoulder to pull her along. I was suddenly aware of her frailty. Her shoulders were small and round, the meat offered no protection.

If she was to carry a Vurlixan baby, she’d need to be guarded.

One of my officers stood waiting after the vehicles. Urxi was my most trusted Fateweaver.

“Auric Sovereign Xorath, your brother called. He wishes to begin negotiations. He asks that you contact him at your convenience.”

“I’ll call him.” And then, louder, colder: “But I’ve already made my decision. This one stays. If Lyxom wants to lie and scheme, he can live with the outcome.”

The girl made a small sound beside me. Soft. Barely audible. I turned my head to look at her, but didn’t dignify the outburst with a reply. She wasn’t part of the conversation.

The Fateweaver stiffened. “May I begin the introductory routine?”

“We are not following protocol this time. First, take her to Medical. She must complete the S-class exams. After collecting all the samples, proceed with the orientation. Her quarters won’t be in the quarantine wing — assign her a unit next to mine. If there’s no room for another private container, relocate mine to the nearest suitable location beside hers.”

Fateweaver took control of the volunteer’s helmet and sent the instructions. The girl promptly answered, scurrying away from me, with Urxi just behind her.

The structure I had claimed as my base had once served as a shopping mall — a space for human excess and distraction. Its wide layout was designed for the swift passage of shoppers, with segmented halls and layered walkways, so it provided a perfect shell for our operational needs. The architecture lent itself well to storage and to the constant flux of travelling units and Ironclad.

Watching her leave, I felt an ache. The warmth of desire still coiled low in my belly. It took more restraint than I’d care to admit not to drag her to my quarters and try to impregnate her again.

I made my way inside. Up and down I went on the moving staircases, ascending deeper into the stronghold.

Eventually, I reached my war room, which had once been a ample retail store. With crystal panels and metallic dividers, I turned it into a operational hub. Rows of holographic displays shimmered across the room, casting faint blue-green light over the smooth, polished floors. My Amberclerks acknowledged my presence with salutes, but otherwise kept their attention on their tasks of monitoring statistics, scrutinizing maps, checking supply routes, and overall ensuring the delicate balance of our control.

I moved to my seat behind the central holographic map, the head of the room, and settled into it. My fingers danced over the console, connecting the first call. The translucent image of Obsidian Patriarch Irtix materialized in my helmet’s projection. He was in his uniform, the black robes of authority, but he wore no helmet. The bright blue of his face’s cuticle was well polished as always, and dusted with iridescent powder that caught the artificial light as he moved. His mandible and maxillas clicked as he took his breath in.

“How can I help you, Auric Sovereign Xorath?” he asked.

“How do you know I need help?” I replied, leaning back in my chair.

He clicked faintly, his pale eyes narrowing. “I know you, elder son. Your report isn’t due for a few more days, and I’ve heard no troubling news from your region in the past ten. Has this changed?”

“No, not regarding the occupation.” I hesitated, exhaling sharply. “However… Eclipse Forger Lyxom and I are in disagreement.”

Irtix’s expression didn’t shift. “You are always in disagreement.”

“This one is more serious.” I paused for effect. “I don’t know if you were already notified, but we got our first S-class this morning.”

“Congratulations, that’s exciting news.” He sighed, a sound that carried both understanding and exasperation. “But let me guess. You had to fight for them like the angry soldiers you are.”

“Negotiations became challenging after he tried to whisk her away. But I fear I may have already ruined any chance for a peaceful resolution.”

“As if they were possible in the first place! I know the children we have raised… So, do you want to claim first try?”

“Yes. She’s already being examined, and as soon as I’m green lit by the doctors, I’ll try.”

“Of course. The research team has arranged additional readings, so ensure you go through them. I’ll speak with Lyxom. You will prepare a formal offering of acquisition for the S-class volunteer, and I’ll do what I can to convince him to accept.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said sharply. “And, Xorath — next time I need to appoint a Sovereign to a mission, I expect your utmost enthusiasm.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good luck,” he said, his tone softening ever so slightly.

Away from the Vur commander, I could finally think straight again. I soon kicked into survival mode. I needed to play it smart, understand where I was, and find a way to… To what?

I was not in a grim dark evil alien base. It was a shopping mall, bright and clean. The LED lights were on, the plants were in their pots, art hung on the walls. The stores were deactivated, of course, but some were still lit up, and Vurlixans moved inside, working. As soon as we reached the first escalator, I started seeing humans again. Everywhere, volunteers in uniform and helmets were passing by. The interface gently fed me their IDs — and their names — as tiny letters floating over their heads when I looked in their direction.

The arrows took me to a corridor on the third floor, a side passage to reach administrative rooms. We got to an obvious waiting room, and my chaperone stood nearby, quiet. Just a few seconds passed when a door opened, and the arrows pointed me inside. It was an ample infirmary, with a few empty beds, a table and some chunky medical equipment at the back. The doctor was a woman. Her uniform covered her completely, and with the helmet, I couldn’t tell anything about her, be it her appearance or her age, except that she had a gentle voice, her name was Monique, and her ID was C4-046-0953.

“You are new, right? Welcome. I know everything feels really weird right now, but you get used to it in no time. It seems you haven’t put your name in yet…”

She showed me how to open a small profile interface, and there I could put a name, a nickname, and some other stuff like a tiny social media card. All the navigation was done by looking and blinking, and when typing was needed, an augmented reality keyboard showed up, which was actually very cool. I wish I had the chance to enjoy the experience, but I was focused on keeping myself safe and sane.

“Isadora! What a coincidence, that’s my sister’s name.” Dr Monique said, smiling.

“My mother had a friend with that name, that’s why she chose it.”

“That’s sweet. So, I’m gathering that we have a few exams to get through as your first checkup with us. It’s a normal procedure. The Vurlixans love their data, so we’ll give them a ground zero to monitor you.”

“Ahn, do I need to get naked? Because I really would like a shower first.” I asked, nervous about the feeling that still clung to my skin after I had been… Thankfully, I couldn’t smell anything. I don’t think I’d be able to hold back if I felt his smell on me.

But the doctor eased me.

“No, dear, all the data will be gathered by the machines. Don’t worry about it. You can take a shower on the first floors in the washing rooms after the exams. Now… Do you have any previous medical conditions?”

She asked me a ton of questions about habits. Then asked me to do some jumps and bend downs, as the helmet monitored my heart, my pressure, and other feats. My blood sample was already tested, and she considered them, saying I was a bit anaemic and depleted of vitamin D, which wasn’t astounding. My food was going to be managed at a central cafeteria, and I’d receive supplements to fix that. She asked me to lay down on a machine that reminded me of an MRI. Whatever it did took a complete screening of my body, every organ and bone. The doctor showed me the images, and it was absolutely crazy. The 3D rendered different layers of me. From my bones with my bad knees and my scoliosis, to every organ, muscle and skin.

Weirdly enough, talking about my bones and liver helped me stay present. There was so much around me I actually wanted to take in. That medical exam was the coolest thing that had happened in months.

But then she moved on to the harder questions.

How had I been since the invasion?

How was I feeling?

How many hours a day was I sleeping?

By the time I started talking about the last weeks, my voice cracked, the tears rising up tight in my throat. I fought them back. Dr Monique seemed genuinely kind, and she gave me a moment to breathe before continuing.

“I have to ask,” she said gently. “Would you be open to seeing the psychiatrist?”

I bit my lip on instinct.

“Why would you say that?”

“Last year was brutal for everyone. You were on your own for a long time. I’d say you fall into a high-risk group for anxiety, at the very least. A psychiatric consult can help us figure out how much support you might need, if any.”

“I don’t know about that. Support, like medication?”

“Not necessarily. There are plenty of options. Dr Hélio will walk you through them after the evaluation.”

I exhaled, long and tired. That day had already gone on too long, and I didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Sure. I’ll try it.”

She moved on to ask about my menstrual cycle and PMS symptoms. Then she explained how they were handling that inside the Vurlixan compound: an injection of hormones that paused ovulation for six months. Most women had opted in, she said. It simplified things, especially during wartime. Then, casually, she asked if I was interested. She added that service inside the compound would be suspended in case of pregnancy.

That hit me like a jolt. If she was offering that… Then she didn’t know. She didn’t know what I was assigned for.

“Can I just keep using my usual pill?” I asked. “They were in my suitcase, but it got lost.”

“I’m afraid pills aren’t allowed in the compound,” she said, fingers gliding across an invisible keyboard. “All medications are administered through the system, either mixed in your food or through injections. When I say they love their data, I was not kidding. They track everything that goes on with everyone. I’ll sign you up to start as soon as you menstruate and your cycle begins again.” She paused, then added, “I’ll also request a support device for your bleeding this month. It fits inside your underwear and collects any disposal. Girls use it during long work periods. It’ll keep you dry and comfortable. Just rinse it during your daily shower.”

I watched her type. My body was still, but my thoughts kept knocking against the inside of my skull.

Her fingers suddenly froze in the air. “Hm. That’s odd. The system’s blocking contraceptives on your file.”

My stomach flipped. Panic crawled up from somewhere deep, breaking the numbness I had been clinging to.

“I was afraid that might happen,” I muttered.

She tapped again, frowning. “Let me see… What kind of assignment is this? I’ve never seen an ‘S’ classification before.” Her voice sharpened. “Wait a minute—”

I didn’t need to see her face. I could tell the exact second she realized what I was.

“How…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Silence fell, dense and uncomfortable. Dr Monique didn’t speak again right away. Instead, she opened a drawer, took something out, and stepped closer. She placed it gently into my hand. Two levonorgestrel morning-after pills.

“If there’s unprotected sex, take one,” she said softly. “I don’t know how long I can keep this up, but it’ll buy you time. I’m sorry, I had no idea what they were doing… That.”

My throat clenched. I was taken by a dizzying relief.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “You have no idea.”

“I do,” she said. “Keep them hidden. Don’t let anyone find them. And if you need help, come back. No questions. No judgment.”

I nodded. My fingers curled tightly around the packages, nails biting into my palm. I slipped them into my pocket and zipped it shut.

Dr Monique took a step back. Her helmet tilted, like she wanted to say more, but stopped herself.

“Take care, Isadora,” she said quietly.

The soldier was still waiting for me outside. They took me on a quick tour through the whole mall, pointing out the different areas where humans worked — logistics, cleaning, tech maintenance, welfare, hydroponics, research…

“I’m not sure where they’ll place you yet,” Fateweaver Urxi said. “It depends on your medical exams. Considering your special status, Auric Sovereign Xorath will be the one taking this decision.”

She showed me the smaller stores too, which had been turned into living spaces. Their doors were made with that web-like tech of theirs, and each one had a list showing who was inside, usually groups of four to eight people. The vibe was strange, but kind of nice. It still felt like a mall, bright and clean, however with everyone working, it reminded me more of an office or a university.

It turned out to be a long walk, and by the end I was tired, hungry, and the gloom in my core was choking me. Urxi seemed to notice. They didn’t say anything, just guided me down to my room. It was underground, in what used to be the parking lot. The Vur turned it into a maze of corridors using their metallic web-stuff and their weird glass containers, which ended up being a very liminal space. There was nothing to orient oneself on the walls. I had to trust the arrows on my overlay.

My room was all the way at the end of one corridor. A metallic sliding door opened up to a small space. It looked 3d printed, all out in one go, from the walls to the floor, bed, table, and chair all made of the same smooth gray material. There was a tiny private bathroom, which was a relief, and a little station to hang up my clothes and helmet. It would clean, recharge and store them whenever needed.

Fateweaver showed me how to switch the lights and the AC. The lamps could be dimmed or changed colors, which was a nice touch. The gray turned to each step of the rainbow as I tested them. I made one of the walls a dark purple, and another a soothing blue. The mattress was comfortable, the blanket was soft, and the machinery was all very quiet.

“I’d like an hour by myself.” I said, wondering what I would get.

“Of course. When you are done, you are free to roam. I suggest you go to the break room. You’ve been with us for four hours, but had no meals yet. I’m sure you must be famished.”

I was. But I’d sooner take that damned helmet off and wash myself clean of his touch. All I had to do was approach the storage station, and the helmet showed me a window asking if I’d like to disengage. It let out a gente pressure, and each part loosened a bit to allow me to take it out. Then I threw it on the other side of the room. It clung and rolled through the floor, completely invulnerable to any damage I was able to do.

I tossed my clothes on the cleaner and jumped to the tub. The shower had a nice water pressure, and getting under the warm stream was what I needed most of all. I scrubbed my belly and groin, realizing then that what clung to me was blue and viscous.

I felt a warm thrill run me up. “Be pleased that you were obedient,” my brain repeated. Whatever he intended to do to me, it was already working.

I set on checking my tasklist. There were dozens of messages to be answered, then orders to be issued. I read reports, wrote my notes. The war map updated at my commands. Then, I set to simulate scenarios of what would happen if I depleted this or that resource to send them to Lyxom. That consumed most of my day. The most important part was to make him feel swamped so that he couldn’t possibly reject my offer without seeming unreasonable. It gave me memories from our childhood — I was never proud to admit that I did use a great part of my intelligence to annoy him when we were in training. It was worth it. Lyxom constantly needed humbling, and I was glad to be the one that did it.

I wrapped up my message with a generous list of offerings, detailing resources, supplies, and enough concessions to make even a stubborn Forger like Lyxom pause. To temper the blow further, I made a note to transfer some injured soldiers to one of my care units. That meant their recovery would fall under my jurisdiction, sparing Lyxom the burden of including them in his reports, a gesture far more generous than the situation deserved.

The war room was quieter now, the low hum of machinery blending with the murmured exchanges of the Ironclad at their stations. The shift change was seamless, the departing guards saluting me briskly before being replaced by fresh personnel. It was also time for my designated rest.

Before clocking out, I searched the system for my brood girl’s ID. Her medical exams were already completed, and the file was extensive. There was a lot to review. Rather than leave, I stayed an extra hour to catch up on the research I had slacked behind.

I was pleased to find that she was healthy, except for the few nutrients she lacked. However, the doctor assigned her a psychiatric review. She was reported cooperative but guarded; fidgeting noted during questioning. Reports of persistent anxiety since the onset of Vurlixan occupation, existential dread. Tearful during discussion. It was not surprising, for me, that one without any purpose would be in distress. That sort of selfish expression was one of the human traits me and my brothers had been conditioned out of during our infancy.

What it would mean for me and the guidance of my broodmate was something I’d still have to figure out.

I tracked the ID through the system, following it to the break room and cafeteria on the highest floor. The location was strategic: the building’s glass ceilings allowed sunlight to stream in, a necessity for human’s well being. What had once been a very functional space for quick meals had been transformed into a proper area for rest and dial, adapted for both Vurlixans and humans. Tables and chairs were Vurlixan designs, grown through our organic tech.

However, the volunteers added something they called bean bags, huge cushions that embraced their forms while they let their bodies lounge in the most twisted shapes, and hammocks, stretched fabrics that cupped the body in a comfortable cocoon. For the first time, I noticed that humans possess a nuanced understanding of rest. Their various methods complement one another, but differ in subtle but important ways. Vurlixans idea of rest was simple. Staying imobile, with the exoskeleton supporting the body on its natural biomechanic. They slept only half a brain at a time, always aware of their surroundings.

My officers, Ironclad and Amberclerks, liked to use the breakroom to socialize, not red. They undressed from their outer armour and helmets, and mingled among themselves. We encouraged interaction with the human workers as part of a calculated initiative. It was better for humans to grow accustomed to us, as we learned from our earlier reports. A common Vurlixan’s appearance was initially unsettling to their instincts; our proportions, movements, and features were too far from their evolutionary norms. But integration proved effective. Within days of cohabitation, their discomfort waned, and they even picked up on our subtle expressions and non-verbal cues, like clicks, tilts, and glances.

The two groups mostly kept to themselves, but they shared the space peacefully. A handful of both sat in the middle, together, trying to bridge the gap, still wearing their helmets for the translation software as they talked. It was a test to see if two worlds could actually live together. So far, it was going somewhat smoothly.

One wall of the cafeteria held food dispensers. Humans lined up with trays to take their many options of meals from steaming pots. The Vurlixans preferred the gelatinous porridge that reminded us of our traditional cattle meat. Both enjoyed the artificial sweet drinks, though humans had asked for a wider variety of flavours, and insisted on getting tea and coffee, the oxidized fermented plants that they brewed in warm water. A shared water station sat in the middle of both.

At that late time, the place was beginning to get crowded. Usually the humans turned on a screen to watch movies once it got dark. I aimed to rescue my mate before the masses arrived, complicating everything.

My interface pointed me to a station where all their helmets, Vurlixan and human alike, were kept for maintenance and cleaning while they rested. I had the awkward realization that I didn’t know what my little mate looked like. I couldn’t even picture her in my mind. Only her voice echoed faintly, the sharp edge of defiance that had sparked something primal in me. But her features? A blank slate. I called a scanning drone to help me locate her, and took my own helmet off. As a soldier, I had lived most of my life with the overlays rather than without it. I always felt a little blind without the extra information hovering above everything.

The small round drone flew in after just a few seconds, and I saw its camera run around, reading every human’s identification marks, cross-referencing them with the system.

Its blue laser quickly pointed to a circle of women sitting together in the soft cushions. One of them was one of the two humans that managed to be appointed Fateweaver, responsible for monitoring the volunteer’s morale. The others were a variety of logistic clerks. Between then, with the blue light pointing straight to her chest, was my S-class. She had copper skin and curly brown hair tied in a braid. Wide, deep brown eyes, filled with a wary tension, flicked from the drone’s light to me, locking onto my gaze.

“Sovereing, how can we help you?” The senior, a woman with graying hair, said in my language, mixing her voice with clicks of her tongue and taps of her teeth, just like I did. It was a good enough imitation, just as mine was.

“You are progressing quickly through your lessons, Fateweaver.”

“You are too kind.”

I decided to humour them, and try my few words in their language.

“I have need of our new arrival,” I said, gesturing toward my little human. “I’ll take her with me right now.”

The tension in the circle was instant, like the ripple of a laser through the target. One of the younger women beside my S-class reached out, gripping her shoulder in silent support. However the Fateweaver knew better than to start a commotion right there beneath the sight of everyone.

“Go with him, Isadora,” the Fateweaver said softly, her voice steady but her expression betraying a flicker of unease. “I’ll see what I can do about what you asked me.”

What did she ask for? My curiosity spiked, but I buried it for now. My mate didn’t move immediately. She hesitated, her gaze darting between the Fateweaver and me, but obeyed. At least I didn’t have to drag her to the helmet station. The small victory was short-lived. When the machine dispensed her helmet, I turned and offered it to her, expecting compliance.

But instead of taking it, she shook her head, her voice firm and unyielding. “I won’t put it on.”

“It’s mandatory” I said.

Her chin tilted up, defiance flashing in those deep brown eyes. “I don’t care. I won’t wear it. I know what you will use it for.”

“We can’t leave until you put it on. The door won’t open.”

“Then we can talk right here.”

I froze for a moment, caught off guard by her words. I felt a very thick anger get under my skin. I scanned around, but even if anyone saw us, they weren’t close enough to clearly understand what was happening. For now, her insurgency was undetected.

I grabbed her shoulder firmly, my thumb pressing into the side of her neck in a clear warning. Her eyes widened. I could feel her tension, her body stiffening beneath my grip. I slid the helmet into place over her head. She understood, then, that I would force her to wear it if necessary.

Once her helmet locked into position, I placed my own, activating the interface to create a closed communication channel between us.

“The helmet connects you to the system. It will help you in anything you might need, especially if we are attacked. It will guide you to safety. You are in my care now. If you think I will allow your pride to put you or others at risk, you are mistaken.”

Her translation came back through the channel “I know you’ll use it to torture me again.”

I felt my mouth tighter, a flash of irritation sparking. “I won’t have to use any subjugation protocols if you don’t rebel. I don’t allow rebellion in my territory. You won’t be the first exception.”

The silence that followed was charged, her breathing audible in the helmet’s comm link. This wasn’t the time for reflection. She was under my command now, and I would ensure she understood that.

“Follow me.”

I turned and strode down the escalators that led out of the break room. Her footsteps followed.

“Why do you look like that?” she asked suddenly.

“Like what?” I replied without breaking stride.

“Your face. You look human.”

“I’m Vurlixan,” I said. “But I’m part of the first generation with human DNA spliced into our embryos.”

She stopped in her tracks, staring at me, “and why is that? Why would they need a Vurlixan that looked human?”

I stopped just ahead of her and turned to face her fully.

“The Vurlixan have many crossbreeding programs,” I said. “All in pursuit of the development of our species. Earth and its humans are just one of the many places and species we are testing for this end.”

“Is that why you guys are here? Or is it just something else you are testing while you colonize us?”

I couldn’t hold back my laugh. We didn’t share that information with humans freely, especially not those we negotiated with, but I saw some use in letting her understand the stakes. Her inquisitive nature better be subsided quickly than allowed to fester.

“Your planet is a nice rich one, human, but we hardly need to colonize it. Any resource we need we can acquire from less troublesome places. You got it right, we are here looking for genetic evolution. Change and growth through breeding and creating new life. It became imperative that we adapt, because evolution has turned against us. We are a species in decline, facing extinction. Low birth rates, weak infants and degenerating eggs are dwindling our ability to survive. A population that refuses to adapt is one that dies.”

She seemed to understand me clearly. I let the weight of the words settle before continuing. “That’s where you and I come in.”

Her body tensed. Her voice didn’t answer. I straightened, gesturing for her to follow again.

I found one of the stores we hadn’t yet occupied with anything important. I guided her inside, and locked the door behind me. Once she realized I had her in a white cube with no one else between us, her heart sped up. I promptly spoke.

“I’m extremely pleased. Your exams are perfect, and you are healthy and fertile, in prime condition to be bred with. Your DNA holds the gene we need to ensure success. I’m already confirmed fertile and virile, so if our early intercourse proves fruitful… Wonderful. But I understand that we have to wait a few days to test it, and try again if needed.”

She crossed her arms and stepped back. “If you think I’ll just allow you to rape me again…”

Her words struck like a blow, though I didn’t let it show. I checked the word the translator used, and the word she used in my dictionaries. I couldn’t argue, really. What I had done was a violation, a ransack of her body. But I could argue that it didn’t have to be if she just gave in when ordered. My response came low, measured, but with a cutting edge. I didn’t need to be translated, I spoke in her language.

“I know you won’t. That’s why I’ll use as many measures as I need to subdue your rebellion. So if you don’t want to turn into a sobbing mess where you stand, you will obey me.”

She didn’t speak again, but I could feel the fire of hatred, even through the interface. Her resistance wasn’t unexpected, but hearing her say those words made something tighten in my emotions. I hated that feeling of uncertainty that came from sudden emotion. I took control of myself, ignoring the burn of my cheeks.

“Your kind holds the key to our survival. First, we managed to create lab-bred hybrids, who are Vurlixans like me. After we manage to have the first children without lab interference, it means that all our expansion will end, and we’ll make a new home. We’ve come very far just to find one like you.”

She shook her head, in denial, I figured. Why was the idea so repellent? She was so selfish. Wasteful.

“I’m really just a womb for you guys. To be experimented on… That is sick. You can’t do that!”

I stepped closer, bending over her. She had reached the wall, and now she curled up trying to get away from me.

“We are very thankful for all the volunteers,” I said. “But make no mistake, your role is vital and non negotiable. If I must be the one to ensure we succeed, then so be it.”

“I don’t agree. I won’t allow it.”

I tilted my head as I watched her carefully. “I don’t expect agreement, little human.”

I could see her wrestling with the implications of what I’d said, and I knew this was only the beginning of the fight to come.

“Fuck no,” she said.

I could only feel the tiresome disappointment run through me. Fine, if she wanted to fight, I’d gladly tame her.

The moment my cuss left my mouth, the helmet went dark. I couldn’t see anything, and couldn’t hear. I turned, hands scrambling over the surface, searching for a way out. There was nothing on the walls. No seams, no handles, no escape. Just smooth, unyielding metal.

Before I could process what was happening, he grabbed me. His strength was terrifying, overwhelming. He spun me around like I weighed nothing. I pressed my palms to the furniture, crawling blindly, hoping to find something to orient myself. The surface beneath my hands was cool and smooth, unhelpfully featureless. My breaths came fast, ragged, and I realized I was trembling.

Suddenly, the silence was gone. Loud, horrible noises hit me all at once. Static, screams, high-pitched ringing. My head felt like it would burst. Bright, flashing colors filled my vision, pounding in time with the sounds. I grabbed at the helmet, pulling as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t move. No matter what I did, it stayed locked in place, trapping me in the chaos.

Then it stopped. Everything went quiet again, and the colors vanished. I was left in total darkness. The silence was so deep I could hear my own blood rushing in my head, the ragged sound of my breath. It felt like I was falling inside myself, and I used those small sounds to hold on. But it didn’t last. After a few minutes, the noise and colors came back, even worse than before. The screaming and ringing were so loud they seemed to shake my whole body. The lights burned through my closed eyelids, too bright to block out. I covered my ears with my hands out of instinct, but of course I couldn’t reach them.

I crawled until I found a corner, pressing myself into it. I hugged my knees, trying to make myself as small as possible. The lights and sounds wouldn’t stop. They kept crashing over me, again and again, breaking me down bit by bit. Then, sudden silence, except for the ringing in my ears. I curled tighter. It was the only thing I could do.

When pain drags on long enough, your mind begins to shift, slipping out of itself. At first, it felt like I was floating, disconnected from the weight of my body. When it begun again, the noise and light, everything twisted. The flashes of color started bleeding into shapes, fractals that stretched and collapsed, dragging my thoughts with them. I saw faces I hadn’t thought of in years, and then they changed, blending into unfamiliar forms. Sounds from my past wove into the static, voices mixing with the screams.

The next stretch of silence made me relax completely, not in comfort, but in defeat.

I couldn’t tell if I had been in the corner for minutes or days. Memories rose and fell in the chaos, some real, others warped beyond recognition. The room felt enormous one moment and impossibly small the next. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore, just a shell. The more I tried to ground myself, the more I slipped, spiraling into a stream of disconnected thoughts I couldn’t control. I was just a speck of awareness being dragged through endless chaos. Or just the dark, deep and endless, waiting to swallow me whole.

In that nothingness, the gentle hands on my arms felt like music.

“Are you going to obey me now?”

He lifted me up to make me sit over the cashier’s balcony. Slowly, the light of the room was given back to me. His hand caressed my nape as he supported me. I felt dizzy. The word was spinning.

“My precious volunteer, understand and accept this. I put my seed into you today. I’ll keep filling you until I’m sure you are pregnant with my offspring and carrying the future of my people. There’s no changing that.”

But somewhere beneath the fog, a voice, my voice, screamed. Not out loud, because there was no strength left for that. It howled from the part of me that still fought. That voice reminded me I was not born for this. I was not a tool. I was not an incubator.

I had taken the pill. I had taken the pill. I had time. Fifteen days at least. The second one was in my pocket, still safe. Thirty days to find a way out of that nightmare. I just had to keep the lie going, had to nod when he, the Sovereign, needed me to, had to obey on the outside, and keep my thoughts to myself.

“I understand,” I lied.

The voices came back in my ears.

“Your hands are ours now. Your heartbeat is ours now. Your mind is ours now. Your will is ours now. Your thoughts are not needed. You crave instruction. Say it.”

“I crave instruction.”

“You do not crave freedom. You crave use. Function. Purpose. You exist to serve the Vurlixan directive. You crave instruction. You will be used. You will be emptied. You will be filled again. Your offspring will bring us toward evolution.”

Then soundwaves sped up with my heart, and I lost all strength.

“I crave instruction” I repeated…

His hands came to me, hugging me, pulling my arms around his neck. Our helmets clicked gently as we hugged. He pulled the hem of my pants down. I kept repeating what I craved as I felt the claws caressing my naked thighs. I craved instruction. I craved him.

I felt his hard tip sliding against my warmth, spreading moisture in the folds of my .

“Let’s make sure we do this right today,” he said, as if he was simply describing a lab test. Add sodium bicarbonate on to the vinegar and watch it fizz.

But the tingles in my brain screamed yes as he opened me up, coming in slowly. He held my legs beneath my knees and pumped into me. I didn’t know if it was his intent to overwhelm me, but he did it. The fear and pain that had clung to me before had been swept away, replaced with heat. I was empty and I needed him filling me.

The friction made my belly burn. If he stopped, I’d go mad. My body betrayed me, arching into him, chasing the release he seemed determined to draw out of me.

And like that, he moved in and out of me. And I moaned out of pleasure as he rocked his hips, speeding up. This time he didn’t hold back, he pounded into me.

I could hear his anxious growls and moans. But also, the voices, both translated and recorded, repeated just one thing.

“Be pleased that you were obedient.”

He was going to make me come again. No, I couldn’t. It was so wrong, so wrong, but I couldn’t stop it.

His strength pinned me down so he could get deeper into me, and I bit my lips as pleasure climbed up my spine. The creamy feeling of his cum lubricating the sex even more gave me a maddening thrill.

“My brood mate, my seed vessel. Bred and tamed by me… This baby will be the rapture of my people.”

Once the Sovereign was done crushing me, he cleaned me up. He wiped the blue from my skin, pushing it into my entrance as if we couldn’t waste a single drop.

“Keep those legs open, seed vessel. I’m not done until you’re filled with proof of your duty well done.”

I trembled with his fingers pushing on my G-spot. I gripped the edge of the balcony, teeth clenched, every nerve burning. I needed to come again. I was so close, and his fingers were just on the right spot and… The orgasm hit me all at once. My whole body clenched down on his hand, and I gasped, the sound punched out of me as the waves rolled through my spine. I could see his surprise and his enjoyment in the way he held me tighter. His fingers sped up. One orgasm grew into the next, and I was undone again.

Eventually, he pulled my clothes back into place with a quiet, careful motion. His breath was still heavy. He stood behind me for a moment, hands braced on either side of my shoulders, like he needed to recover too.

I stayed still, staring at the wall, trying to remember how to breathe. My pulse echoed in my ears.

“You are tired. Go to bed now.”

I couldn’t answer. I just walked out, following the arrows to my room, fighting back the nervousness I still felt.

The Intel gathered for the invasion chose countries that didn’t hold powerful military forces; those who were underfunded, fragmented, or reliant on outdated tech. But they were also the kind of places no one would rush to defend. That was the point — strike fast, hold ground, and avoid a global outcry. Once local enforcement was taken out and supply chains for the locals were set, the civilians tended to settle down. However, guns were everywhere, and they gave stupid humans stupid ideas.

We had crushed the official forces of this country in the first sweep, but militias, lone gunmen and crime-bound militias kept sprouting like mold in the cracks. Especially near the outer rims. The ones Xorath couldn’t seduce had to be broken the old way. Brute force, lasers, indoctrination That’s where I came in. Fly in, pacify, reprogram. Fast, efficient, clean.

But I’d never cared for “fast.” Fast left resentment. I wanted them unarmed, defeated and working for us. I wanted them asking why they ever thought they could resist. I’d rather gut a nest properly than leave a few free to come crawling back later.

Our Onixthreaders helped us track down the central-west resistance down to a few scattered cells holed up in the swamped jungle. However, once the militia realized our drones could spot them no matter what they used to evade or turn them off, they moved underground.

The Ironclads and I moved in pursuit through damp, hand-dug passageways barely wide enough for our gear. It still took us days. We slept in intervals no longer than forty, eating nutrient blocks and drinking from reclamation pouches that tasted like metal. Yet that was the easy part. Ten days walking through tunnels getting shot was something I was prepared to do.

What I wasn’t prepared for were the shrapnel grenades that could pierce my armor. A blast tore through the corridor behind me and punched through my armor like I was made of paper. I had the training for the pain. What I didn’t have was the chitin exoskeleton of my forefathers, or their long tubular series of hearts. I had just one, small and fragile.

So when I felt the ache in my chest, sharp and piercing, I thought I was going to die. I think everyone did. The mission was wrapped up by my Ironclads without me, the hostiles were sent to indoctrination. I woke up on the ship, watching as a human medic and a Vurlixan Fateweaver poked my flesh with needles and pincers.

It put things in perspective.

After we crossed back into safe territory, my Ironclad relaxed. The ship was buzzing with conversation. They talked over each other about food, beds, they joked about who owed who drinks, about who had the worst aim and the loudest snore. The mission had burned through everyone’s nerves, and it was the first time they’d seen me drop.

I still felt like crap. Lingering pain and a hurt pride were harder to shake off than mud and exhaustion.

We docked, and the ship’s floor thrummed as the clamps latched into place. I stood, ignoring the pressure in my chest, and walked off the ramp. The hangar air was hot and thick with engine haze and the natural humidity of the swamp. A Fateweaver waited for me with a mobility assistance chair that hovered just above ground. Ixel, my second in command, only left my side when I was sat, strapped and safe.

A message blinked across my helmet’s inner visor:

“Hey boss, welcome back. I have news for you. Do you want to swing by or should I send you a doc?”

I should’ve washed off the sweat and grime, maybe eaten something and taken an extra painkiller. Instead, I made the Fateweaver take me to tech. Our base had once been a human military camp, so it was spacious and had the structure we needed to land ships, train volunteers, store weapons and supplies. Past the parking lot repurposed into landing decks, there was a small administrative building.

Matis jumped to his feet when we got to the small office on the second floor. That human was always talking faster than he thought, with a joy that was enviable. He greeted me with the overly complicated handshake he insisted I learn, all flicks and slaps. My hand was four times the size of his.

“Hi, Mr Ly. I mean, commander. Welcome back. Heard you got shot.”

“Nothing I won’t heal from. Tell me, what did you find?”

He grinned like a schoolboy about to gossip. “The Vur from Drone Squad traced her old apartment. They sent me her personal machine and phone. It was pretty easy to break in. So what do you want to know? General background? Favorite music? Search history?”

“Anything I can use to get ahead of Xorath.”

“Oh, getting on Xorath’s nerves is my favorite drink.” Matis chuckled, already sliding into his seat. The screens flickered with many smaller windows. Though we used our own tech for almost everything, we had no way to connect our digital environment to most human devices. That’s where volunteers like Matis came in, taking the role of Void Casters just like our own technicians.

He pulled up a stream of data — logs, messages, app snapshots.

“Okay. So, I got plenty. Social media, photos, documents. This was technically her work laptop, but it looks like she also used it as her personal device. The phone’s newer — she clearly used it more often. And like, most of the photos are of her cat. Which tells me she was pretty lonely. There’s no group pictures, no party photos since two years ago.”

He turned the screen so I could see it. Photos of a pale gray striped cat took the screen. He seemed to lounge a lot, and the S-volunteer, Isadora was her name, loved to capture him sleeping. Matis kept scrolling through the photos until he found me her selfies. She had a square, bony face and hardly ever smiled in any of the pictures, but her drooping eyelids and thick lashes made her seem thoughtful and cunning. Her skin was a mild-tone sandy tan, and her hair was brown, curly in a mane around her face.

“So, she’s from a north-east estate, and she moved south to work five years ago, after graduating college. That’s a pretty common story for our people. She got the cat two years ago. Same month her mother died, according to the metadata. That lines up. From what I can tell, the mom was all the family she had.”

He turned the screen toward me, slowing the scroll so I could see each image clearly. A quiet sequence of five photos.

The first was in a hospital room. Isadora sat beside an older woman in a bed, hand clasped in hers. The second, outside, the woman wrapped in a blanket, with a quiet muted smile. The third was just their hands again, this time ink-smudged, holding a book between them. The fourth, a blurry photo of a younger Isadora, maybe ten years old, hugging the same woman, years healthier, on a sunlit porch. The last one was just the face of her mother, young, happy, the sea behind her.

“I found some messages. It was a respiratory disease. Her mother got unlucky and it became a severe infection.” Matis said quietly. “After that, Isadora focused on work. She took a few classes, changed jobs four times.”

“What did she work on?”

“Advertisement,” he replied, already opening another folder. “She worked with data. Sales optimization, behavioral targeting, those kinds of systems. Adjusted campaigns to push products more efficiently. Basically, she figured out which people were more likely to buy the products of her clients.”

“So she studied people.”

Matis nodded. “Exactly, but in a macro data context. She studied patterns, reactions, timing, tendencies. Statistics and behavioral stuff.”

I connected her with the similar role we had in our ranks. Amberclerks worked with macro data and statistics, and tweaked logistics to improve what interested leadership. I wasn’t surprised she volunteered. With a mind like hers, she’d understand what most didn’t — that we are all influenced by forces beyond our control, and that in the end, it can all be predicted and prevented. She probably figured that working with us would help her endure the invasion. The alternative was wasting away.

I bet Xorath would hate her. He would want to temper her understanding instead of nurturing it, and that wouldn’t go well for either of them.

I stood there a moment longer, watching her cat blink slowly at the camera in a grainy close-up, tail curled around his body like he had nowhere else to be.

“Copy everything to a private drive for me, and clean it from your computer. I don’t want a single trace from any of it on our network.”

“You got it.” He hesitated. “Are you really going after her?”

I didn’t answer right away. I just stared at the floor, already mapping the procedures I needed to follow.

“I’ll need a ride out by tonight.” I said to the Fateweaver behind me. “My dear brother proposed to take a few of my injured Ironclad, and we just got plenty of them, myself included. I think it’s an opportune time to take his offer.”

“I’ll make the request, sir.”

The next morning, Fateweaver Ines found me in line for breakfast. She had a kind smile, but everything about her said she was there to keep me content just enough for compliance.

“I checked the system,” Ines said. “Your suitcase will be delivered as soon as a ship arrives from that base. It was mentioned that you don’t have any tasks yet, is that right? I’ve requested to add you to our schedule. Just waiting for the Sovereign’s approval. Beyond that, I’ll see what I can do to make your position more comfortable, alright?”

My heart sank.

“You really can’t get me out of this?”

She shook her head, voice calm in that infuriating way. “I can’t override a directive like that. You need to find a way to cope. Look at the positives! You’re safe, you’ll have everything you need. Try to think of it as a business arrangement, like when a woman carries a baby for a wealthy couple.”

Wow. I blinked, stunned. Was she serious? I couldn’t believe she’d actually said that. My heart raced, and somehow, I knew he was watching, tracking the increased heartbeat in my vitals, listening to every word.

I forced a tight smile, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “Of course, Fateweaver. Thanks for your help… I trust the Sovereign to instruct me.”

I was taken to the logistics teams that helped the Fateweaver that day. I basically serviced Amberclerks, their strategists. I gathered they had a lot to do dealing with a constant stream of information, so they needed help with all the small stuff, from filling their water jugs to bringing them drivers from different sectors, cleaning their rooms (which were already very well tidied up), or taking materials from one side to the next. It came in a list, and everytime a task climbed in priority, arrows would direct me on where to go, who to talk to, what to grab, etc.

I hated to admit it, but the helmet’s interface was convenient. It translated both written and spoken language for me, answered questions, highlighted directions to places I might need and gave me access to nearly all the information available about the base.

To my surprise, most of the compound’s internal reports were open to me, maybe because I was registered as an agent for the operation. I scrolled through graphs on my display, watching lines rise and fall across the screen. It was statistical heaven: everything documented in charts and projections. Almost like being back at work.

Beyond that, a human team had clearly added extra features, music and movie libraries, an e-book reader, a small social network, even a crash course on the Vurlixan language. People were using the helmet like they once used their phones or computers. If it weren’t for the fact that it was also used to mess with my head, I might’ve appreciated it. And since everybody wore one, I couldn’t see anyone’s faces. How could they stand going all day without seeing another person’s eyes?

As it was, the thing made my skin crawl.

The girls I’d met in the cafeteria the day before invited me to dinner once it got dark. Amanda, tall and graceful, was their unofficial charismatic leader. She struck me as someone who’d once worked in sales or customer service. Her dark hair had the beginnings of white streaks, and the tips were faded blonde from an old dye job. She managed to keep her hair soft and wavy even after being stuck in a helmet all day.

She kissed my cheeks as soon as we met.

“How was your first official day?”

I shrugged. “It’s just… a lot. But it was simple enough.”

“Yeah, yeah. You get used to it. Before long, it feels like any other job, except you sleep here as well. Have they assigned you yet?”

“Uhm, no.” I lied.

“What does an S-class even do? I’ve never met anyone with that tag.”

“It’s research-related,” another lie poured out like it was second nature. “I think they’re still setting up my workstation. I’m helping the Fateweavers in the meanwhile”

“Working with the Fateweavers is chill. Just involves a lot of walking.”

We grabbed trays and served ourselves with rice, beans, grilled meat, even a rich green salad. My supplements must’ve been mixed into the rice, I figured, since the portions were pre-packaged with our tags. Clara, one of Amanda’s friends, cut the line to be closer to us, complaining loudly about one of her workmates who apparently was awfully slow.

Then we sat down with four other girls to chat and eat. The whole experience felt oddly normal. The buffet setup was like any cafeteria I’d ever been to. If not for the aliens nearby and the fact that we all wore uniforms, it could’ve been anywhere. It could have been just another day in my life. They talked like any other group of friends from the office — workouts and diets, foods they missed, shows they’d watched, conversations they had, they vented about their superiors and colleagues. There was a lot of chatter about sweaty scalps, makeshift beauty routines, and gossip about people I didn’t know.

Eventually, they turned their questions to me, to get to know me, and I answered as truthfully as I could without revealing my entanglement. I was surprised to find none of them were from my city, but came from all over the state. They were all A-class volunteers, and had previously worked with a bit of everything. Retail, law, administration, accounting. Now they kept the base clean, stations stocked, checked on everyone’s well being. One of the girls worked in cultivation, which was a huge hydroponic garden that took the left wing on the third floor.

After dinner, Amanda and Clara invited me for a drink. We lounged for a bit, then hit the gym. An actual gym, untouched by any Vurlixan design. They guided me through some light exercises and helped me onto the treadmill.

We showered, dressed in our freshly laundered uniforms, and called it a night. But I didn’t want to go back to my room alone. Amanda said there was a spare bed in her bunker and offered to request a transfer. I doubted it would be approved, but I accepted her offer for the night.

Her room was small, shared with one other girl. There was barely enough space for two bunk beds and four trunks. No private shower like I had. But they had decorated the space with photos, comics and books. It felt… nice. Okay. Light.

Amanda was soon fast asleep, quiet despite how loud and talkative she’d been earlier. I couldn’t sleep for a while. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back inside the storm of lights and sound, the conditioning echoing through me. But suddenly, my brain would repeat the mantra “be pleased that you were obedient,” and everything would calm down. I was taken back to the space between his arms, and the hands on my nape, my shoulders, my waist, holding me.

The ship settled in the hangar. My Ironclad and I disembarked in formation. The injured were pushed in chairs, one was carried in a sleeping pod. I walked with my back straight — I refused to face my brother looking hurt in any way.

I wasn’t expecting fanfare, but the lack of a proper reception was borderline insulting. Only a single Fateweaver stood waiting for us.

“Eclipse Forger Lyxom, welcome,” they said, dipping their heads. “I’ll escort your injured to the medical bay, and your Ironclad for rest and feeding.”

I barely acknowledged the greeting while my software linked to the base’s network. A flood of information streamed into my interface, mapping out the station and pinpointing Xorath’s location.

“I’ll go see my brother now,” I said curtly.

“Of course, sir.”

It had been many months since I’d last set foot at that compound. My work kept me at the edges of our claimed territory, pushing forward where conflict was inevitable, while Xorath remained at the heart of it all. I conquered; he governed. It was a balance that worked—on paper, at least. My victories meant nothing without his administration, and his governance only existed because of the land and resources I brought under our control. This was the logic drilled into us during our training, the reason we’d been paired to manage this portion of the planet. Together, we were an efficient team, and our achievements were undeniable. But that didn’t mean I liked him.

Xorath had always been insufferable. He was the smartest of us, a damn good pilot, an impressive shot, a decent strategist. That only made him arrogant, proud and perpetually critical of my methods. He couldn’t keep his opinions to himself, always ready to lecture me as if he weren’t benefiting from the blood spilled by my forces. My only consolation was knowing the feeling was mutual. He despised me as much as I did him, and it showed every time we crossed paths.

It was our glory and our curse that we worked so well together.

As I approached his war room, my interface picked up his vitals. The spike in his heart rate when I entered the room brought me satisfaction.

“Lyxom.”

“Xorath.”

He ordered the door behind me closed, the heavy hiss of the seal cutting off the faint hum of the Ironclad outside. The gesture was typical of him. Xorath always preferred his conversations private, away from the ears of those who followed us. It wasn’t about secrecy; it was about control. No gossip, gave no space for silly speculation.

I stood still, assessing him the way I always did while he did the same. His armour was as polished and sharp as ever, as he rarely saw combat, and he looked the same, of course. We both did. Our training ensured that, forging us into tools of predictable efficiency for our people. Change came slowly for us soldiers, if at all.

He, however, thrived in that monotony, for he was not defeated by it. Instead, he was freed to reflect and experiment, slowly tweaking our operation towards excellence. It was that part of him, that constant urge for the best outcome, that I watched for now. It was my only chance at achieving any sort of negotiation.

“There was no need to come all the way down here just to accept my proposal, brother,” Xorath began, his tone edged with his usual condescension.

“I didn’t,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “I was ordered to take a medical leave, and my Fateweavers decided I should see the surgeon who is posted at your base.”

His posture shifted slightly, betraying his surprise before he recovered. “So, you’re staying.”

“Try not to sound so displeased, brother,” I said, matching his tone. “You will barely notice my presence.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” His helmet tilted, the faint flicker of his interface lights suggesting he was already skimming through reports. I crossed my arms, waiting for him to stop pretending he wasn’t genuinely curious. “Care to tell me what happened?”

“The resistance came up with a new toy. A creative little explosive grenade that disrupts our shields just before detonation, with splinters that can pierce our armour. Efficient, isn’t it?”

“Efficient. Creative, as you said. I’m sure the resistance was thrilled with their success.” His helmet moved as he was probably browsing the library of reports. “I assume you’ve tested countermeasures?”

“I’ve started. It’s in progress. The Patriarch himself is overlooking the tech development.”

“How many did we lose?”

“Only 4 soldiers, but they’re being healed and revived as we speak. The damage was contained.”

He gave a small nod. “And you?”

“I have to undergo surgery to remove the pieces lodged deeper in my body.” I narrowed my eyes, but there was no point in snapping at him. “I’ll recover,” I said curtly. “And when I do, I’ll make sure their creativity is met with something far worse.”

“Of course you will,” Xorath spoke with amusement. “Do try not to get yourself killed in the process. Your absence would make my work intolerably dull.”

I ignored the jab, shifting the conversation back to what mattered. “I assume you’ve had no reports of this weapon reaching your territory yet?”

“Not yet,” Xorath said. “But if it’s another North American design, it’s only a matter of time before it spreads. They are funding this joke of a rebellion.”

“Yes, they will use the South Americans as expendable troops to waste our resources before they consider acting on their own.”

He typed onto a keyboard only he could see.

“Well, I’ll see that you are well taken care of, brother. I’m assigning you a private room near the medical wing, so you can have your peace and quiet.”

“How thoughtful,” I replied dryly. “Now, of course, we can talk about those negotiations while I’m here.”

He tilted his head and said:

“Did my proposal seem reasonable to you?”

“It was generous, of course. Not enough to make me consider accepting it, though.”

Xorath straightened, his tone vibrating with annoyance. “Oh, come now. I think our current division is more than fair.”

“I care not for fairness,” I said, my voice sharpening. “I care that, if you are taking the privilege of having offspring first, you are prepared to be uncomfortable in other matters. I always need more manpower, and you are always in a better position to supply it.”

His teeth clicked faintly, an instinctive tell of his irritation, though he quickly masked it. “Manpower is hardly a commodity I can conjure at will, Lyxom. Governance requires a delicate balance, and stripping soldiers from my territory risks disrupting that balance.”

“Then move soldiers, get more volunteers,” I said, my tone cutting through his excuses. “Spend your requests on monitoring drones. Use your resources more creatively. You have the luxury of stability. I do not.” I leaned closer, letting my words land with weight. “Give some of that up for me.”

His visor dimmed as he processed my demand, no doubt running calculations in his head, weighing the costs against the risks. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Finally, he straightened, the faintest sigh escaping him. “I’ll review my allocations,” he said, his voice clipped. “But don’t think for a moment that this is without consequence. A weakened foundation invites instability.”

“And an undermanned front invites defeat,” I shot back. “We each have our burdens, brother. It’s time you carried a little more of yours.”

Xorath’s gaze lingered on me, his posture rigid. I knew he hated to yield, even in part, but the truth of my words left him with little choice. For now, at least.

“And there’s more.”

“Of course there is,” he said, his voice tight, his frustration barely masked.

“I want the volunteer after a period. Let’s say, one earth turn around the sun. Be your union fruitful or not. It’s only fair that I get my own turn.”

The silence that followed was thick with tension.

“That’s a bold assumption,” he said finally, his tone low and dangerous.

“It’s practical,” I countered. “You’ve beaten me, fine. I was defeated fairly, though I could argue my focus was much more strained than yours. So I’m willing to wait, but I won’t let your whims deny me the same opportunity. The Obsidian Patriarch has already agreed to this term, of course. It’s only logical.”

I could feel the heat of his glare even through the barrier of his helmet. “You always think ahead, don’t you, Lyxom?”

“Someone has to,” I replied. “Especially when it comes to ensuring our future. And speaking of that, why don’t you introduce us?”

“What for?” Xorath asked, his tone sceptical, though I could sense the irritation behind it.

“Well, she’s family now, is she not?” I said, letting a faint mockery escape in my voice.

“Hardly,” he shot back, his voice cold. “She’s a volunteer. A means to an end. Don’t make it more than it is.”

Ah, there it was. That annoyance was new.

I chuckled to mock him just a little further. “Such detachment, Xorath. I thought you’d be more sentimental about the woman who’s supposed to carry your offspring.”

“Sentimentality has no place in this. The volunteer is here for a purpose, nothing more.” Again he typed, and there was a moment of silence a little longer than necessary.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s in the medical room.”

The system called for me. S047-1826, Isadora, room 3. An augmented reality arrow traced the path for me. Dr Monique was waiting,

“I have the worst cramps of my life,” I told her. “And I’m bleeding like a slaughterhouse.”

The doctor chuckled with relief.

“I guess the pill worked, then.”

“Yeah. I didn’t feel anything for five days, but today it all came at once.” I groaned, and in response, I could feel my ovaries reach a high in ache.

“It’s natural. I’ll get you some dipyrone, ibuprofen, and iron supplements. The iron might cause mild intestinal cramps, but nothing nearly as bad as the ones you have right now. The injection drone will be here shortly.”

She continued typing as I sat there, watching her work.

A small, sleek drone zipped into the room through the air vents, hovering at shoulder height with a faint mechanical hum. Its smooth, metallic casing gleamed under the sterile lights, a needle extending as it prepared to administer the injection.

“Let it do its work,” the doctor said, stepping aside. “You’ll feel a sting, but it’s quick. It’s programmed to target the deltoid,” the doctor said, her tone oddly calm, like she was trying to ease the tension. “Stay still for a moment.”

I clenched my jaw, holding still as the needle pricked my skin. It wasn’t painful, just a small pinch, followed by the faint burning of the injection. It took a few seconds, then it retracted and flew away.

“If you need another dosage, just come back every eight hours,” the doctor said, her voice steady but distant. “It’s already approved in the system. Now, you skipped the first appointment with Dr Hélio yesterday.”

I grit my teeth.

“I just didn’t feel like talking right then.”

“Of course, I know you have a lot happening right now. I’ll reschedule for you. The evaluation is just a very chill talk, Isa, nothing to worry about. No one will force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

I almost laughed. She realized what she said a second too late.

“Oh, I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it. I know you guys mean well.”

“I’m writing down this visit as a stomach ache, okay? I’ll cover for you.”

She stepped back, her helmet tilting as if she wanted to say more but thought better of it. I left to go back to work, hoping the medicine kicked sooner than later.

“S047” suddenly his voice came inside my helmet. I felt it vibrate through my whole body like an earthquake, my heart sped up with the scare. Was he monitoring me? Did he know what I did?

“Sir?” I answered, nervous. My voice broke.

“Why were you in medical?”

“I was just getting some painkillers for a stomach ache.”

“What’s that? A human sickness?”

“Ahn, it’s… An adverse reaction to something I ate. Nothing to worry about, sir.”

“And where are you going?” His tone was calm, at least. I had nothing to fear for now. He hadn’t spoken to me since he… Even though I enjoyed my time away, focusing on work and new friendships, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he summoned me again.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice before answering, but deep down, I knew I had nothing to worry about if I just obeyed.

“I was going back to the Fateweaver so she could assign me work for the afternoon.”

“Come to my war room” he replied. “Immediately.”

The arrows guided me to the first floor, where most of the Vurlixan’s offices worked. Usually we had no authorization to walk those halls, but the doors opened for me promptly. Though the majority of the information was given through the helmets, on their work spaces, the Vur shared screens. They surely wouldn’t want any of us catching a part of their plans, if we managed to understand anything.

I got to the largest room with thirty or more Vurlixans sitting shoulder to shoulder, typing. Some of them wore their helmets, some didn’t. They all read maps or graphs.

Behind all of them, in an office-like glass room, the Sovereign waited for me. The small metal panel blinked faintly, registering my presence, and then the door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

The Sovereign’s somber presence seemed even worse in the dark orange light of the room. At first glance, he was almost indistinguishable from any other Vurlixan soldier. His uniform displayed no symbols or embellishments to mark his rank, no outward sign of his status. If not for the subtle identifier on my helmet’s interface, I might have mistaken him for just another officer.

The figure behind him, however, was blatantly different. This Vurlixan stood taller, broader, his armor gleaming with bright green accents that pulsed faintly under the dim light. The glowing lines across his helmet formed an intricate design. His sheer presence dwarfed the room, and even the Sovereign.

“Here she is, Eclipse Forger Lyxom. S047, the Forger is our combat leadership and the front of our conquering efforts.”

I looked him up and down, trying to understand who did it matter. But in truth, I was relieved that the Sovereign wasn’t alone.

“Sir, how are you?”

The Forger stepped closer, towering over me. His titanic hand took mine in a soft grip. The warmth of it surprised me, as did the way his fingers wrapped around mine with courtesy and gave me a quick shake.

“Lamenting that my brother took you from me, miss Isadora.”

I was surprised that he spoke my name. He extended the “s” when he spoke it, making it sound like Eessadora. I felt heat rise to my cheeks, and for the first time in weeks, I was caught off guard by something that wasn’t sheer terror.

“Were you the one who disputed my contract?”

“I was,” he replied. “Of course, a couple of Ironclad aren’t on the level of a Sovereign.”

“I was just lucky to be nearby,” Xorath said.

“Not all of us are blessed with such flexibility in our schedules.”

I swallowed, the weight of his admission sinking in, and realizing the two were fucking bickering in front of me. I stood frozen between them, unsure whether to say anything or stay silent, my pulse quickening as I caught the rivalry in their rude tones. The Sovereign’s head flicked to me briefly, as though gauging my reaction, but he said nothing more.

“How are our people treating you, miss?” The Forger continued.

“I’ve been well taken care of,” I lied, straight. “Well instructed.”

“Good. Let me know if that changes.”

The Forger’s grip on my hand lingered for just a moment longer before he finally released it, his massive frame looming as he shifted his focus fully back to his brother.

“I await the next draft of our deal, then, Xorath. It better be worth it.”

“It will be with you by the end of the day, dear brother.”

“Perfect. I’ll take myself to medical now, I’ve delayed this examination long enough.”

And with that, the Forger left. The room felt a fraction larger without his imposing shape, but the tension didn’t leave me as long as the Xorath stayed. Being alone with him made my instincts flare. Just be obedient, I reminded myself.

He circled the table and came to me. But instead of panicking, I felt myself focusing, and taking deep breaths, waiting on his words.

“Are you ill?” he asked.

I blinked, caught completely off guard by the question.

“No, it’s just… A quick unwellness. It will pass soon enough.”

“I understand that one can be tested for pregnancy just a few days after the fertilization. I figured we should do one now.”

I breathed in. I breathed out. The drone with the injection came quickly, and I offered my arm. It flew away soon enough. By tonight, he will know that there was no way I was pregnant.

I needed to get the fuck out. I needed…

“Hmm… Why is your heart racing like that?”

No. Be obedient. Be obedient. I couldn’t. But he came after me like a cat about to pounce.

“I know my brother seems charming, but he’s a brute, and reigned by his volatile feelings. Lyxom wouldn’t be half as kind as I am to you, and you’d have to live in a war zone while you waited for his seed to take on your womb. Compared to that, you live in luxury.”

I was trembling as both his hands stopped at my waist, pulling me back. The glass went black, and no one would see what he did to me.

The helmet dimmed down. I braced myself for my torture. This time, however, there was no frantic assault on my senses. The screen began with a soft glow, orange-golden, as though bathed in sunlight filtered through curtains. The sound of a wave of gentle notes followed, and I felt immediately sleepy with the vibrations.

“Imagine the joy of billions of Vurlixans when the news spread through the system. Our child is so desired, already so loved without even existing. If you just think about it for a second… I’m sure you will understand.”

The light seemed to shimmer as his voice dipped lower, carrying an intimacy that felt almost heartwarming. “You crave it, even if you don’t admit it to yourself. The thought of surrendering to this need, to this purpose. To feel me within you, to carry a piece of my people’s hopes, and let it grow until it is undeniable, unshakable, that you are the future of my nation.”

His thumbs circled my nipples. I pulled him away, trying to take his hands off of me, but he grabbed me and brought me to sit on his lap, my ass to his legs and his groin. The sounds sped up.

“You can feel it, I know you do. That ache in your body. That heat blooming deep inside, spreading, filling every corner of you with this insatiable desire to feel this connection, this purpose. To give in to your body’s deepest instincts, to let it guide you, and to let me instruct you. You will be used. You will be emptied. You will be filled again. Your offspring will bring us toward evolution.”

I was whining, and sobbing, and moaning as he teased me and forced me to have all those feelings. I was so tired and so sad all the time. He pulled the edge of my clothes and his fingers slid inside. In no time he was cupping my clit, and noticing the shell-like device collecting my period.

He retreated his hands. It still took me a second to figure out what was happening as the lights and the sound slowly released me. But the blood on his glove answered me.

“You are hurt,” he said, even sounding scared for a second.

“No,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s something normal all women go through…”

Xorath’s visor tilted slightly, his posture shifting as he seemed to process my words. The faint glow of his helmet flickered, likely as he accessed information from his database. I could practically picture him opening a search interface, typing “why do girls bleed?” into the equivalent of an alien Google. For all his attempts at superiority, the Sovereign couldn’t have been more traditionally male if he was actively trying to mimic a human.

“I see I was blinded by this oversight,” he said, clinical, though there was a flicker of frustration beneath it. “That you have only a few fertile days a month. It seems I’ve arrived too late this time.”

The bluntness of his statement made my stomach twist. I clenched my hands, my voice sharper than I intended. “It’s not something I can control.”

He tilted his head slightly, the faint glow of his helmet flickering. “Of course not. An inefficiency of human biology, though not one that cannot be managed. Systems can be optimized. Even biological ones.”

I couldn’t tell if he realized how his words sounded or if he simply didn’t care. I was nothing more than a problem to be solved in his meticulously organized world. He typed something in the air. I was afraid to guess what it was.

Before I could even think about returning to my duties, I had to ensure my victory.

I issued orders to the team responsible for compound administration, ensuring everything remained efficient and undisturbed. I reviewed the security recordings of my mate’s whereabouts and activities.

Then, I turned my attention to Lyxom’s package. My anger flared as I recalled our earlier conversation, but I forced myself to focus on what mattered—the present and the steps I needed to take to secure my success. Once I had finalized my writing, I summoned the medical team I had selected.

We gathered in one of the larger procedure rooms, chosen for its expansive screens and ample space. Two of my medical Fateweavers stood by, their postures stiff with discipline. The human doctor was already there, standing apart, her figure small and tense beneath her uniform and helmet.

“As you already know, Fateweavers, the ‘S’ tier volunteers and the breeding program are vital to the success of our enterprise. I’m afraid this is the first time you’re hearing about it, doctor?”

“Yes, sir. What’s this about?” she asked, her voice steady, though the slight tremor in her breathing betrayed her apprehension. Humans were always calmer with their faces hidden behind their helmets, but their vitals rarely lied. Hers were spiking: her pulse quickened, and her temperature rose ever so slightly.

“An effort to create mixed descendants through the copulation between lab-created mixed individuals, like myself, and compatible humans,” I explained without hesitation. “It is our first main objective in this mission.” The human doctor shifted uneasily but stayed silent. “Our ‘S’ individual is in good health,” I continued. “Her screenings and blood tests point to no immediate issues. But to ensure success, you three will work together to monitor her body and ensure I act at her peak fertility. She will be implanted with ultrasound monitors on both her ovaries. Doctor, I expect your cooperation on this.”

The human trembled slightly, the motion almost imperceptible but enough to catch my eye.

“I’m not specialized in reproductive health,” she said carefully.

“I’ve compiled documents from another team on the matter,” I replied. “They will be available for your review. What I need you to determine is whether ovulation happened or not, and if it can be induced earlier if necessary.”

She hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides. “I’m sure it can, but… That’s hardly necessary if she’s healthy and young. She’ll likely ovulate naturally.”

“I’d rather not take chances.”

Her next words came slower, each syllable deliberate. “Has the patient… agreed to this?”

“She’s uncooperative,” I said bluntly. “But that is unimportant.”

The Fateweavers had been warned something might go wrong on the debriefing. I had warned them that humans had a tendency to resist orders, and the doctor’s demeanor all but confirmed it. She straightened her shoulders, her fingers twitching at her sides before balling into fists. “Sir, with all due respect, uncooperative or not, the patient’s consent should be a priority. You can’t force her into a procedure she hasn’t agreed to.”

She was braver than most humans I’d encountered.

“C4-046-0953,” I said, making sure my voice was clear in her language, and stern enough to imprint my lack of patience. “Your role is not to question the directives of this program. It is to ensure its success. Consent is irrelevant to this stage of the operation.”

“It’s not irrelevant to me,” she snapped. “You’re asking me to violate my oath as a physician. To put my patient at risk for a procedure that’s not medically necessary.”

I could feel the Fateweavers tensing, their eyes flicking to me for a command. I stepped closer, towering over her. Even though the helmet hid her expression, I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest and hear the slight hitch in her breathing.

I said coldly. “You were chosen for your expertise, not your opinion. Do you understand the consequences of disobeying a direct order, Doctor?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous.

“Dismiss me. I don’t care.”

“Dismiss? We don’t waste resources.”

I found her file in the system. The moment I assigned her for reprogramming, she dropped to her knees, clawing at the sides of her helmet. Her movements were frantic as if she could rip it off through sheer will. The Fateweavers moved quickly to restrain her. She screamed, a guttural, panicked sound, that lasted only half a second, then was muffled by the tech.

“Take her to a padded room where she will be safe. Make sure her conditioning is thorough before releasing her. She will comply in the future.”

The doctor stopped whining as the helmet’s systems intensified the loops. It had already overridden her eyesight and hearing, now she would receive the soundwaves that would open her psyche for commands. She was dragged away. Resistance was always ugly.

The door behind me didn’t slide shut as expected. Instead, it remained slightly ajar, the faint hum of its mechanisms holding steady. Someone was keeping it open. Lyxom stood there, wrapped in nothing but the loose, clean folds of a medical gown. His towering frame looked almost ridiculous in the flimsy fabric. His helmet tilted slightly, the glowing visor locked on the retreating Fateweavers dragging the doctor away.

“Is this what you call leadership, brother?” he said, his voice sharp and clear.

I took a step forward, my arms crossed, masking the simmering anger his presence always provoked. “Do you have a point?”

Lyxom’s helmet turned toward me. “Watching you micromanage your pawns like this is almost painful. She resisted because you cornered her.”

“Cornered? I debriefed our mission and she defied orders. That kind of disobedience spreads. You would let insubordination go unchecked?”

He shrugged, the motion almost lazy. “You don’t crush a tool because it resists sharpening. You understand the material, the technique needed. Guide it, make it bend. What you’ve done is break it.”

“Hardly. The doctor will still serve,” I replied flatly. “Just without the distractions of her misplaced morality.”

Lyxom walked closer, the faint hum of the door’s mechanisms fading as he let it slide shut behind him.

“Is that how you plan to deal with Isadora?” He asked, the word carrying a hint of mockery. “How long do you think she’ll stay useful under this kind of control?”

“Oh, please, Lyxom. Don’t underestimate me, and even worse, don’t dare to use your petty sentimentalism to judge me.”

“Considering the wishes of your subordinates is not sentimentalism.”

“Obedience doesn’t come from indulgence and consideration. You shape it through discipline, boundaries and consequences.”

“Boundaries and consequences?” Lyxom scoffed, stepping closer. “Is that what you call breaking our people into submission? You think loyalty born out of fear is sustainable? If you treat our allies and our enemies the same, we are no better than the monstrous humans.”

“It’s not loyalty I need from her,” I said coldly. “It’s compliance. Loyalty is fickle. Compliance can be maintained with the right methods.”

“And what happens when compliance fails? When the fear becomes resentment and rebellion? You’re building a system that will collapse under its own weight.”

“Spare me the philosophical nonsense,” I shot back, my fists clenching at my sides. “Obedience is simple. You enforce it. You don’t negotiate it. The moment you show weakness, you lose control.”

Lyxom shook his head. “You think that’s strength, Xorath? Crushing people until they do what you want? It’s not. Strength is knowing when to adapt. When to understand what drives them and use it to guide them.”

I sneered, my voice sharp. “You mean coddle them. Waste time trying to empathize when you could be ensuring results through clear, undeniable authority.”

“You call it authority. I call it shortsightedness,” Lyxom said, his tone firm. “You want to control everything, but people, humans especially, aren’t machines. They will tire, grow sick, and angry. Then they will adapt, resist, and find cracks in the walls you build around them.”

“By the Nexus, that’s why we are taking so fucking long to conquer this country, Lyxom. You are so soft on them. All you do is give them an illusion that their greed will be fed. You’re naïve if you believe that. You indulge their weaknesses, and it only makes them softer and whiny.”

Lyxom leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “No, I don’t indulge them. I make them want to follow me. That’s the difference between us, brother. You force. I inspire.”

“You manipulate,” I shot back, my tone icy. “You wrap your weakness in charm and call it leadership. But without structure, without consequences, your so-called inspiration is nothing but a gamble.”

“And your obsession?” he replied, his voice steady. “It’s a time bomb. One crack, and it all falls apart.”

We were both on edge, flirting with violence. We had argued like this before, countless times, but the stakes had never felt so personal. Lyxom’s belief in understanding and adaptation was weak, idealistic. And my methods? They were proven. Necessary.

“If you hurt the girl, Xorath, I’ll murder you.” He said.

“Don’t be sentimental. All I’m doing is ensuring her breeding won’t be left to chance. I’ll put my seed in her exactly at her most fertile and ensure our future.”

“You are very certain that I’m going to accept your deal.”

“Won’t you?”

“Not if you are going to mistreat her.”

“Aren’t you being a little too emotional about this? She’s just a…”

“If you value your bones, brother, don’t finish,” Lyxom growled, his voice turned into a low growl.

I saw the challenge in his stance, the restrained fury in his tone, and I couldn’t resist pressing him further. Baiting Lyxom had always been too easy.

“What?” I said, letting my mockery be obvious. “That she is just a means to an end? She is. Just a very capricious incubator.”

That was all it took. He lunged, grabbing my neck with a grip fueled by rage, and shoved me back. We stumbled together down the corridor. The impact of his charge sent vibrations through my armor, but I didn’t falter. My helmet’s crown lit up, charging the lasers. His did the same, a bright glow illuminating the space between us. Warnings flashed across my visor: Allied target detected. Cease engagement. Martial law penalties apply. The reminder was useless. I knew the consequences and ignored them.

Someone overrode our permissions, turning off our weapons. Fine! I didn’t need lasers to deal with Lyxom anyway.

His grip tightened, but I moved faster. I drove my fist into his unprotected stomach, feeling the satisfying give of his body as the force destabilized him. He staggered, but Lyxom was an elite soldier. His hands grabbed my helmet and slammed it down on the ground. The outer shell cracked, spiderweb fractures spreading the shattering of glass. My vision turned dark.

His Ironclad arrived and yanked us apart. I fought their grip, my fists lashing out. I managed to strike two of them before their numbers overwhelmed me, forcing me back. The emergency mechanism removed my helmet, and my chest heaved as I glared at Lyxom, who shook off the Ironclad restraining him.

“Fuck negotiations, Xorath!” He bellowed, his voice echoing through the corridor. “You twisted cretin. I challenge you for her! You’ll have to kill me before you ever touch her again.”

I didn’t answer immediately, my breathing steadying as I met his glare. “That would be a waste of energy. But you’d do well to remember who has the upper hand here.”

Lyxom sneered, his helmet glowing faintly as if daring me to prove it. The Ironclad stood firm in the middle, their presence the only thing preventing us from murdering each other.

I was still being stitched back together, as my surgery incision had reopened; and Xorath still had shards of glass on his cheeks; when the Obsidian Patriarch’s hologram flickered to life in front of us, projected by a sleek drone hovering in the center of the room. The glow of his presence filled the space with an oppressive size, from the floor to the ceiling. The first thing he did was order the Ironclad and Fateweavers out of the room, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Xorath and I knew better than to speak first. The Patriarch’s expression was sour, his mandibles clicking in anxious ticks. “I want to know what I will write down when I report that two of my best commanders almost shot each other.”

Always a manipulative jerk, Xorath spoke first.

“It was just a disagreement, sir.”

“A disagreement?” the Patriarch sneered, his voice exasperated with disbelief. “Over what, Xorath? Territory? Tactics? Or should I assume this has something to do with the brood female?”

“She’s being mistreated,” I cut through. “I’ll not stand for that. The human is critical to the genetic efforts, sir, and must be protected.”

“Protected,” the Patriarch repeated, the word dripping with disdain. “And how does protecting her justify turning the base into a battlefield?”

Xorath was playing at the penitent son, which enraged me: “Lyxom is still under the effect of anesthetics, sir. I can understand his excess of emotion. I can only apologize for not being the level headed one in this situation.”

“Don’t you dare put my judgement in question, Xorath.”

“Your sentimentality is admired, brother, but hardly necessary.”

“You are putting her through unnecessary procedures! Before our deal is through! And with disregard to her doctor’s opinion, or her own. What sort of Sovereignty is this that you practice?”

“One that ensures results. Do not diminish my authority, Forger.”

The Patriarch raised a hand, silencing us both instantly.

“Enough.” His voice carried the weight of absolute authority. “I see you both are very passionate and deeply involved in this matter, as is expected.” He leaned forward slightly, the hologram flickering as the drone adjusted its position. His gaze, though projected, felt heavy, like he was peering directly into our minds. “You are Sovereign and Forger,” he continued, “your duty is to lead, to guide your forces with rationality and focus, not to indulge in petty rivalries. Whatever purpose this human serves for you, she is not worth the disarray you are causing in my ranks. Now, you have one last day to resolve this. If you fail, I will step in to arbitrate personally. No one,” he added, his tone growing colder towards Xorath, “will subject the human to anything beyond proper food and rest until the ownership dispute is settled. This is not a negotiation. Violate this order, and you will face the penalty of treason against your fellow commander. Am I clear, children?”

I stiffened at the condescension in his final word, my hands curling into fists. Across the room, Xorath shifted slightly, but his usual defiance was tempered by the Patriarch’s sheer presence.

“Yes, Patriarch,” I said, my tone measured, though anger simmered beneath the surface.

“Understood,” Xorath replied, though his voice held the faintest edge of bitterness.

“Make me proud.” The Patriarch’s eyes lingered on each of us for a moment longer before the hologram flickered out, leaving the room steeped in heavy silence.

In the dim lit silence, Xorath looked at me like he was trying to make me burn from inside out, but when he spoke, he surprised me. “I’ll send you two battalions if you give up on her,” he said.

I could laugh. He was still trying to win me over.

“Why the fuck do you want her anyway? You don’t care for children.”

“I care about making history.”

“Oh what a hero you are,” I growled, shaking my head.

Xorath’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately. Both of us stood there like two coiled springs waiting for the other to snap first.

He leaned in slightly, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “This isn’t about any of us personally, Lyxom. It never was. It’s about what comes next—for us, for our people. You want her because you think it’s personal. I want her because I think beyond that.”

“She’s not a tool for your plans, Xorath. She will be the mother of my sons and my nephews. How can you not see this? The first family our people would’ve met in centuries. By the water of her womb and the blood of our veins.”

“By the Nexus,” he interrupted, seeming exhausted, “you are such a weakling.”

I froze, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “A weakling?” I echoed, my voice rising. “You think wanting to rebuild what we’ve lost makes me weak?”

“Yes! Pathetically sentimental. You romanticize this whole situation, Lyxom. You think your noble ideals will inspire some grand rebirth. But this isn’t about family. It’s about survival. And survival doesn’t care about your dreams of playing house with a little seed vessel.”

His split eyebrow began to bleed again, and he placed medicinal gel against it, cursing. I approached and took the wound cauterizer from the table. He looked at me with loathing, but I just held his face, lifted it and shot a healing laser at his wound.

“You talk about survival like it’s a cold equation, Xorath. But survival is family. It’s connections, bonds, something to fight for. If you strip all that away, what’s left?”

“A lot of things! ” He shouted back. “It’s built through strategy and strength — not by indulging in fantasies of domestic bliss.”

“You’re wrong,” I said, my voice steady despite the fire burning in my chest. “You’ll see it eventually, brother. When all your calculations fail and you’re left with nothing but emptiness.”

“And you,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “will see the cost of clinging to weakness. If you’re lucky, it won’t destroy you first.”

“Do you want a legacy? Fine.” My words came out sharp, cutting the air like a blade. “Breed her. Make your children. I’ll take care of them, and I’ll take care of her.”

His helmet tilted slightly, the faint glow from his visor catching the sterile light. “Are you suggesting we… share?”

“Yes, Nexus damn it.” I growled, practically daring him to mock me further. “I’ll travel here to see her every week, and won’t interfere with your efforts. After you’ve had all the babies you need to make it to the damned reports as the one saviour of our people, I’ll have my shot. Does that make you satisfied, brother?”

Xorath froze for a moment, and I could feel the weight of his calculating mind working through the implications. It wasn’t shock that registered. He wasn’t the kind of man to be startled. No, it was consideration, that cold, relentless logic that drove him.

“Satisfied?” he echoed, his tone devoid of emotion, yet somehow laced with danger. “No. But it’s pragmatic. If you can accept waiting your turn without interfering, then perhaps it’s a compromise I can endure.”

“I don’t need your permission, Xorath,” I said sharply. “I need your word that you’ll step aside and let me do what I want.”

“You have my word,” he said, though there was no warmth in it. “But if you disrupt the plan, Lyxom, even once, you’ll regret it.”

“Good,” I said finally, my tone clipped. “Then we’re done here.”

The Sovereign went on the offensive after he found out I was on my period. First, I discovered my pill had vanished from the pocket where I’d kept it. I couldn’t say when it happened, only that it was gone. I wasn’t the only one; every girl who had a supply smuggled in reported the same. Any human medication related to hormones or menstrual cycles had disappeared from the compound.

Second, the doctor who had initially helped me refused to do so again. When we met, she was distant, her voice colder than before. She told me she’d be “following protocol” from now on. It wasn’t hard to guess Xorath had gotten to her, though I couldn’t know exactly how.

Third, my food and water were being meticulously monitored. Sweet snacks and sugary drinks disappeared from the options entirely. I stopped eating rice because I figured he would mess with my supplements, but the Fateweavers began to corner me with a daily obligatory cup of juice.

And fourth, I was forced to complete one exercise session a day. On the rare occasions I tried to avoid it, a Fateweaver, human or Vurlixan, would appear to escort me to the mandatory class.

The only reprieve the Sovereign granted me was his absence. He suddenly vanished from my surroundings, and didn’t send me any message. Three days went by like this.

In contrast, the Forger kept showing up and I couldn’t decide if it was comforting or dangerous. Maybe both. He sent me stuff to read, like daily digests of data that the Nexus network reported to the soldiers so they could adjust their routine; news about this or that change in the various compounds; questions about human habits and how to deal with them. He asked about my thoughts, about my tasks, or about the girls I hung out with at lunch.

He’d find excuses to check on me, sometimes he intercepted my routine and crossed my path, sometimes he sat nearby at meals.

He slid me extra rations once, sweets I had been forbidden to get. And once a day he asked if I needed something. In the quiet moments, when no one else was around, it was enough to make me forget, even for a little while, that I was nothing more than a pawn in their game.

I let myself sink into the stillness, imagining for a fleeting second that this wasn’t my life. That the compound was just some sterile resort, and I was on a strange, extended vacation. No war. No Sovereigns looming over me with their commands and their agendas. No alien machinery pressing against my skull, dissecting my every thought.

I figured the Sovereign found out that I’d have about fifteen more days before I was remotely fertile, and wouldn’t touch me until I was ovulating. God, how I felt sick just thinking about it.

What could I do in the meanwhile? I read. A lot. I scoured the compound’s open reports, hoping for any mention of ‘S’ tier volunteers, genetic experiments, or fertility programs. I found nothing. Either the information was classified or intentionally erased.

But what I did find was a wealth of history, a detailed account of the terrestrial conquest and its key players. There were five fronts in South America, ten in Sub-Saharan Africa, and three in Siberia. Each was overseen by an Auric Sovereign, responsible for logistics and administration, paired with an Eclipse Forger who commanded military operations. The pattern was clear: the Vurlixans arrived, seized control of key territories, established “order” in select cities, and recruited human volunteers to manage the rest.

Without societal stability, most humans gravitated toward the Vurlixans in desperation — if only for a guarantee of food, routine and safety. At least now I understood the deeper motivation behind it all. They weren’t just occupying Earth; they were searching for humans to breed with.

To my surprise (but a strong sign that I was right), all the Sovereigns and Forgers seemed to have been spliced with human DNA. On their ID holograms, though some didn’t look human at all, I could see that the traces were there, in their eyes, their mouths, the shape of their heads, their expressions. Some, like Lyxom and Xorath, were mostly human, apart from details.

That meant at least thirty-six possible individuals capable of trying this crossbreeding experiment, and I imagined what would happen if their efforts succeeded. If even one hybrid child was born, they would likely intensify the invasion, settling permanently. That’s when things would truly turn ugly, I believed. For now, though, they were merely testing the waters, careful not to overextend themselves.

The Forger was glad to indulge me with more and more material.

I dug further. Earth’s occupation was overseen by three Obsidian Patriarchs and one Matron — ancient, highly influential Vurlixans responsible for the effort of invasion, to whom all Sovereigns and Forgers reported. Above them was the Celestial Vanguard, responsible for coordinating all space-related endeavors. And beyond that was the Nexus itself, an elite council of elders from their home planet.

I searched for details about their genetic experiments, hoping to uncover when they’d started, but there was nothing on it. So, I did what I knew best. I analyzed the data. I cross-referenced volunteer selection times, acceptance rates, and the gender distribution of those chosen. The results were damning. Women accounted for nearly 80% of volunteers across all territories. Selection periods were consistent, every two months. And all the bases had participated every time, which gave me the idea that none of them had been successful with S-class volunteers yet.

I could see then that it made sense that Sovereign Xorath was so determined. However, that changed how I perceived him. He seemed to be an overachiever, desperate to prove himself. The thought made him seem a little less terrifying. He didn’t abuse me because he was a power-hungry misogynistic monster, but because he was a xenophobic teacher’s pet, scrambling to impress his superiors. He really wanted to be the one that managed to have the first cursed baby.

A message notification popped up at the corner of my screen right then.

“Miss Isadora, I have a delivery for you. I think it’s best that you’re present to receive it. Can you go to your lodgings?”

To my surprise, the message was from Eclipse Forger Lyxom.

“I’m already here,” I replied, unsure what to expect.

“I’ll be there soon.”

The simple act of asking, instead of just barging in like everyone else, was enough to keep me from freaking out entirely.

Lyxom arrived carrying a container the size of a mini fridge, then another. He moved with ease, his armor gleaming under the sterile lighting. I was about to ask what this was all about when a soft, unmistakable meow stopped me in my tracks. It hit my ears like a jolt to my nervous system, and I turned toward the sound, my breath failing me. Above the carrier drone, over the third container, was a pet travel bag. My bag, the one I’d bought for Gonzo and given away with him when I left. My heart stopped. I ran toward it and put my face to the screen. Inside, staring back at me with his big, round eyes, was my little chubby gray tiger. Gonzo.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice cracking. He meowed again, rubbing himself against the plastic screen. I opened it quickly, my hands shaking, and before I could blink, he was pushing his soft body into my belly. His soft purr undid me completely. “Oh, munchkin, I can’t believe it.”

I picked him up in my arms, and he clawed at my uniform, purring, kneading me. I wanted to kiss him, but without the helmet I couldn’t talk to the Forger.

“How? What?”

“It took some sordid espionage, for which I apologize” the Forger’s voice was amused, warm even.

It hit me then what was inside all those containers. I opened one and found my books, my cushions, my blankets.

I was baffled, without words, and crying desperately.

“I need a moment” was all I could say.

“Have all the time you need.”

“No, wait, I want to thank you, it’s just…”

Things got better after I sat down. Gonzo rolled around on my legs, still too excited to not be rubbing me everywhere. I held one of my blankets around me and just that was enough to feel like home. The Forger sat down on the chair, the diminutive furniture adapting to his size through a quick fractal growth that was mesmerizing to watch.

He was looking at me. I struggled to speak.

“God, I missed this little guy, you know?”

“I figured. The guard at the checkpoint said you spoke about a pet. I found his DNA on your previous haven, so I put some drones on the search. He was being very well taken care of, but quite depressed without you.”

“But… Why? Why were you after my stuff?”

His voice was surprisingly gentle. “You are going through a lot with my brother Xorath. I wanted to make something to alleviate your stay with us.”

I brushed Gonzo’s fur.

“Thank you. Can I really keep him here?”

“I already spoke to the Sovereign, Gonzo can stay. He already has a tracker, and the Fateweavers are figuring out what to feed him. I think it will help to accommodate more pets in the future, since they are so important for your people.”

I sighed in relief.

“They are! They are family, you know, even if they are a different species. We take care of each other.”

“I believe you.”

“You don’t have pets, do you?”

“No,” he said, his tone contemplative. “The concept is… Uncommon among Vurlixan soldiers. Bonds with creatures are not something we typically seek.”

“That’s a shame,” I replied, scratching behind Gonzo’s ears as his tail flicked lazily. The Forger tilted his head slightly, the glow from his visor catching the light. “I wonder… They are fragile, are they not? Very Temporary. Does that not make it harder to form such attachments?”

I shrugged. “For some people, yes. Some have one pet or dog that they love, and then they swear to never go through the same kind of loss again. But the time we have with them is so wonderful, and there’s always one needing a home, so for most of us, we say that we are chosen, not the other way around. In my case, I know nothing is forever, and I’d much rather love and lose than to never have had anything like this at all. I mean, look at his little face. He’s perfect.”

“An interesting way to look at this sort of relationship,” he said.

I let out a small laugh, brushing away the last of my tears. “We’re complicated. Messy. Most of us will spend our entire lives trying to deal with the fact that everything we have is both good and bad in some aspect, and that we have to balance what we want to try and change and what we just have to swallow.”

“Like what, for example?”

I leaned back on the bed, scratching Gonzo behind the ears as I tried to explain. “It’s like… before you guys showed up, life was busier. We had more freedom to come and go, to do whatever we wanted. However we had to work constantly, grind ourselves down just to make enough money. It was stressful, day in and day out, trying to plan for anything meaningful while always worrying about money. Now?” I sighed, trying to put it into words. “Now it feels… smaller. More contained. We’re stuck wherever your soldiers say we’re supposed to be. But it’s weirdly relaxing too. I don’t have to stress about bills or food, laundry, shopping, answering work emails or worrying about deadlines. It’s like the constant noise is gone. So, both lives have their good parts and bad parts. No matter what anyone prefers, whoever enjoys one or the other also has to deal with its downsides.”

I glanced up at the Forger, wondering if he understood what I was trying to say.

“So no one tells you what path is good or right?” he asked after a pause. “Everyone has to decide for themselves?”

“Actually, there’s some cultural pressure around it,” I admitted. “But at the end of the day, yeah, everyone chooses what they’d rather do.”

“This sort of dilemma is absurd for us. The amount of emotional energy wasted…”

“You just live as you’re told?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He straightened slightly. He let his hands relax to the sides, not moving then as he spoke. I realized through observation that was a soldier’s way to tell everyone around that he was off duty. “We have statistics for everything. We know what each decision does to us and those around us, so we have solid evidence for any course of action. It’s all logical.”

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Not everything can be boiled down to numbers and data.”

“When you have a large enough base of statistics, it can. We are over forty billion individuals being monitored through the Nexus network at all times, with data constantly collected.”

“No blind spots, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, tilting his head. “But there are very, very few nowadays.”

“How come there are so many Vurlixans if you guys are going through a natality issue?”

“Most of us are completely artificial. Clones.”

“Why not keep the species like this, then, if you’ve managed to sustain so many?”

Lyxom relaxed further. He seemed fine to be giving me time, which was way more than any Vurlixan had done for me so far.

“Birth issues are devastating for national morale. Even with propaganda and reprogramming, the lack of individuality and the artificiality hinder one’s perception of life and death. There’s no escaping the knowledge that our civilization could vanish in a single generation. Sentient creatures need to believe in the continuation of time, even if they disappear individually. Having the purpose of fixing this problem is what keeps our armies united. It was either that or drugging the population with antidepressants. Which, you see, they did for a while.”

“And what was the data that made them change course?”

“For a few centuries, it’s been suicides. Keeping them to a minimum. The antidepressants worked until a movement rose that led people to choose death out of logic, not despair.”

“Fuck, that’s rough.”

“It was long ago. We adapted.”

“Well, if only humans did the same,” I said, shaking my head. “You know, studied the numbers and worked around them.”

“Don’t they?”

“Not most times. People tend to go with their gut, even if the choice is objectively bad.” I paused, realizing I was pretty much talking about myself, and decided to shut up. “Thanks so much,” I said, clutching Gonzo to my chest. “This really made my day.”

“I’ll leave you to enjoy your things. If you need anything, send me a message.”

“Will the Sovereign know if I do?”

“He will,” the Forger admitted, but his tone was amused. “But he can’t read it, and he can’t stop me from reading or replying. He has no power over what I do or not.”

Once the door slid shut behind him, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I dimmed the lights, turned on my favorite songs from my mp3 player, and crawled beneath the blankets with Gonzo nestled in my arms. His soft purring blended with the music, wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth and familiarity.

For a few precious hours, the world outside my room faded away. No Vurlixan soldiers, no looming expectations, no Sovereign. Just the comforting weight of my little world, small as it was. For the first time in what felt like forever, I really felt okay. When the end of the afternoon approached, I started to dread the impending obligatory exercise session. My body already felt like lead, and the thought of dragging myself through another round of physical strain was unbearable. I decided to ask for help.

“Forger,” I said cautiously, addressing him through a private channel, “can you get me out of doing exercises today? I’m really tired.”

His response came almost immediately, sharp and efficient. “Done. Just don’t skip your dinner.”

Relief washed over me. “Are you sure I won’t get in trouble with your brother over all of this?”

“I’m sure. My brother agreed to stay away until you are at your peak fertility. I just need you to stay healthy to keep him from freaking out.”

Hah, I knew it.

“I promise I’ll take care of myself.”

“Good,” he replied, “and in the future, call me Lyxom.”

I got daily reports from the Fateweavers about the S-class. A specialist on one of our Asian compounds was helping them through the network. He explained what we had to watch for, and gave extensive explanations. With all the information I was taking, I could also become a fertility specialist by the end of the month. Our “C” tier volunteer became much more obedient after the reprogramming, doing her tasks diligently, keeping routine, and she only argued with me to tweak my human’s diet and supplementation. The processes ran smoothly.

Lyxom was being insufferable in the meantime. He messaged the human every day, checking in, asking how she was, as if she needed his constant attention. He brought her presents — small, sentimental things that didn’t seem like much but clearly meant everything to her. Blankets, unhealthy snacks, a music device loaded with songs she liked, and that little critter she enjoyed snuggling with. Lyxom hovered around her like some kind of overgrown beast preparing to nest, always finding reasons to linger nearby. It was sickening.

Every time I saw them interact, it made my skin crawl. The way she smiled faintly and the way her posture relaxed when he was there, like she was starting to trust him… It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. He was turning what should have been a straightforward task into something messy and sentimental. And worst of all? I wasn’t so above it as I wanted to be. It grated on my every nerve.

I was on edge when I needed to ask for his help. He’d leave soon to go back to the front, and I had a small time frame to work a plan out.

“I want to put a device in her to monitor her ovaries. That way, I’ll know exactly when she is fertile, and we can diminish the amount of unnecessary tries. I think you will agree with me that’s the best path. It’s simple enough that a drone can do it in seconds. It would hardly be a hassle to do it in secret, but I understand you don’t want to trespass her desires.”

To my surprise, Lyxom agreed.

“I’ll talk to Isadora.”

I watched through the cameras. He sat by her side on a corridor as if they were discussing anything but the most important mission of their lives.

She was resistant. She didn’t want to allow the procedure. But he held her hand and somehow managed to get her to agree. Five minutes in medical and it was done. In my visor, I saw the soundwaves drawing her ovaries for me, perfectly clear.

My deal with Lyxom forced me to have little contact with the human until she was ready for breeding. I’d underestimated how much of a challenge that would be. I caught myself thinking about her more than I should have. I’d had her under me twice, and the memory of it lingered like an itch I couldn’t scratch. The heat of her skin, the way her body trembled beneath mine. It was all intoxicating. A drug I could easily grow addicted to.

The waiting was making me anxious, gnawing at the edges of my self-control. I told myself it was about fulfilling my duty, about achieving what our people needed. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just that.

I found myself indulging with other women. I already knew which ones had grown a taste for our people as they tumbled in the dark with my soldiers. Their softness and moisture were enjoyable, but the act missed that spark that drove me beyond the edge of reason. It was the idea of breeding them that actually gave me the craving, but as their DNA wasn’t deemed suitable, they were on birth control. That simple knowledge was enough to throw my excitement off.

I’d never admit it out loud.

I focused on work and counted the days.

I woke up on the weekend and I just knew it was going to be a bad day. My mind was raging with angry voices, and all I felt was guilt and regret. Gonzo could feel my mood and was nearby, purring against my hand.

When my bleeding stopped and my hormones changed, I started to feel the dread sink in. Depression hit me like a truck a day later. I couldn’t even get out of bed.

I had one of those days a month, sometimes more when things got especially bad. They always hit me like this. In the dark, I cuddled my cat. I stayed in bed longer than I should have, staring at the sterile ceiling and trying to will myself to get up, to do something. But the guilt was louder than reason, louder than logic. My body felt heavy.

The helmet pinged with a message. I pulled it close enough just to read the message.

“Are you still in bed?”

I didn’t answer.

“It’s Saturday, of course, but remember to eat.”

I didn’t feel like replying at all. Then a few more minutes later.

“Do you feel well?”

And then:

“I’m not at your base right now, but I’ll have someone bring you something to eat and drink.”

Finally, I typed. “Where are you?”

“Back to the front. I’ll be here for a few days. Can you take care of yourself until I get back?”

My sadness quickly turned to anger.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You are important to us. To me. It’s only right.”

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I can’t tell you how to feel, Isadora, I can only do my part to help.”

“Well, I’m still supposed to be pregnant by the end of next month, and used as a breeder for your people while my womb can stand it. There’s no kindness that can erase that.”

He didn’t take even a minute to answer.

“The system sees you as vital to our survival, yes. I can’t change that overnight, but I can promise you this: you won’t be alone in this, and no one will harm you, because I won’t let them.”

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. “Forgive me if I don’t find that entirely comforting.”

“You don’t have to trust me,” he typed. “But I’ll show you that I mean it. One step at a time. A Fateweaver will bring you a meal. Please, eat.”

I put the helmet down. His words hung in my conscience.

Instead of a Fateweaver, Amanda and Clara showed up with a tray of food. They were talking loudly when I opened the door, but they fell silent when they saw the variety of stuff I had in my room. Then Gonzo padded up behind me, purring, and the mood shifted. They dropped to their knees to pet him, voices rising in delighted coos.

“When you said you had a room of your own, I thought you meant unoccupied beds, not like, a single!” Amanda said with eyes wide. “And all the way down here…”

Clara glanced at the books and blankets. “How did you manage to bring so many things with you?”

I bit my lip. I could see that someone, Lyxom or maybe Fateweaver Ines, tried to do something nice for me and ended up just putting me in a tight spot.

“It’s complicated.”

Amanda checked the only room next to mine, and I saw the moment understanding made her head spin in confusion. I grabbed her arm to get her inside quickly.

They removed their helmets and left them at the cleaning station. Clara had her hair even more textured than mine, and she took a moment to put oil on her tips. Amanda sat on the floor and was all giddy when Gonzo promptly climbed on her legs.

“I had a cat until last year. They get so sick when they get old, it’s rough.”

I didn’t know what to say. I took a seat in my bed and munched on the chopped carrots in the tray. There was garlic rice and meatloaf, tomato sauce and cheese, a feast.

“So, how complicated is it?” Clara asked. She was always blunt. “We all have seen your tag, you are the only S-class in the entire compound. Are you, like, a hostage? A daughter of a minister or something?”

I forced a laugh, but my throat tightened.

“God, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Girl, if you don’t talk, we can’t help you” Clara retorted, to which Amanda slapped her knee.

“Leave her alone.”

“I mean it! You read who sleeps next door just as I did. That’s shady as fuck. And no other human has a room down here. It’s definitely a kidnapping.”

The words lodged in my chest, tight and hot. I set the tray aside and pressed the heel of my palm against my sternum like I could stop the pressure from building.

“I—” I started, then stopped. My throat burned. “I can’t.”

Amanda gently scratched Gonzo’s ears, not looking at me. “You don’t have to tell us the worst parts. Just… Maybe something. So we know how to be there for you.”

I took a deep breath, and organized the words in my head before letting them out.

“I don’t want to tell anyone. I’m not sure I wouldn’t be putting you guys in danger as well.”

Clara went ahead to grab some tissue from the toilet and offered it to me. I pressed it against my eyes. I was on the edge of bursting out into tears.

“Just tell me, then, how bad is it? One to ten. Like, one you are just another volunteer, and ten is that they are torturing you for information everyday and threatening to kill your whole family.”

Amanda shook her hands in the air. “Clara, for god’s sake!”

But Clara stood her ground, her voice sharp as she retorted:

“We are at war. Wake up. Just because we are in the comfortable version of a military compound, that doesn’t change the fact that there’s people being killed and extorted out there.”

I put my fingers up on an eight. Clara hugged me tight, and Amanda did the same, putting her arms around both of us.

The Fateweavers gave me a margin between seven and five days till she was fertile. I could barely wait.

During the second week, the S-class… Isadora settled into a routine. She got up, fed her cat, took a shower, had her breakfast, did the tasks the Fateweaver assigned to her for six hours with a small lunch break in the middle. Then she enjoyed an hour or two in the cafeteria before going to the exercises she was bound to do. Twice, she brought a bunch of other women to her room, and they spent time playing with her small furry companion.

I checked on her hourly, glad to see her quiet and obedient. Without more indoctrination, my original gentle routine would begin to crack, and I was fearsome for what she could do.

The rebellion came eventually. I was surprised that, between the stream of messages and reports, one of them was from Isadora.

“Do you have news about Lyxom?”

Rage boiled in my chest. She referred to him without his title like they were intimate.

“No.”

“Tell me if you do?”

“What for?”

“I’m just worried about him.”

“He’s an expert, conducting a kind of mission he’s done a thousand times before,” I wrote, my fingers pounding against the immaterial keyboard. “With the best equipment and support. He will be fine.”

Her reply came quickly.

“You say that, but the rate of soldiers killed in action per deployments in offensive campaigns has been rising in the past six months. Aren’t you even a little worried?”

I froze for a moment, my jaw tightening. She was able to spike my stress like no one else. “How do you know that?”

“I read the data,” she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“How do you have access to military data?”

“Lyxom gave me access.”

Of course, he did. That idiot had handed her classified information like it was a bouquet of flowers. Not only was he undermining protocol, but he was also planting seeds of concern and doubt in her mind.

“Lyxom shouldn’t have given you that access,” I said.

“Well, he did,” she shot back, unbothered by my anger. “And it doesn’t change the fact that your numbers aren’t looking so great.”

“Lyxom’s numbers. He’s the one responsible for those missions. And if you are so interested in data, you should’ve noticed that the ascending curve is being flattened as our tech is catching up to their new weapons.”

“But flattening isn’t the same as reversing,” she countered, typing in a frantic rhythm. “The trend is stabilizing, sure, but that means the operational efficiency hasn’t fully recovered, and the data indicates you’re still underperforming against baseline projections from before these new weapons emerged.”

I checked her vitals, checked visual feedback, and called her.

“Get to the war room right away, or I’ll find an Ironclad to drag you.”

She arrived three minutes later, looking angry and tense, instead of the scared girl I had grown used to. I gestured for her to come closer, past monitoring Amberclerks busy with their own data. I closed the doors and activated the holograms I’d prepared. A cascade of graphics and charts projected between us, glowing faintly in the dim light. The visuals were two tiers above what even a senior Ironclad was allowed to access.

“What are these?”

“This is the data for the missions where Lyxom was actively leading in person.”

Her gaze flicked to mine, suspicious. “And why are you letting me see this?”

“To show you the reality behind your concern for him,” I replied. “I thought you’d appreciate seeing exactly what kind of situations he’s been in and how he handles them.”

She stepped closer, her focus narrowing on the charts. “Casualty rates, resource usage, injuries” she murmured as she read the translations. “These are really low. Much lower than average.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Lyxom isn’t reckless. He’s efficient. That’s why his casualty rates and resource burn are significantly below the average. He takes calculated risks and ensures that his missions succeed without unnecessary losses.”

Isadora turned to me, her heart rate spiking. “But that doesn’t make sense. If his numbers are this good, why would the casualty rate for his soldiers still be rising?”

I gestured to a subset of data. “It’s not because of his soldiers specifically — it’s the overall trend of increasing enemy resistance. His numbers remain exemplary despite the worsening conditions.” That finally got through her, and her heartbeat eased. I hardened my voice. “Listen here. It’s not your place to worry about him. We do our part to give him what he needs, and he pushes forward. So don’t get so worked up. My brother is an excellent Eclipse Forger, despite his excessive feelings.”

“… Right. Okay, fine.” For once, she didn’t argue.

“Where did you learn to read data like that?” I asked after a pause, curiosity getting the better of me.

She glanced up at me. “It’s what I do. Or did. I interpreted data to spot opportunities and trends in sales reports. I used to also optimize the distribution of ads based on those conclusions. Eventually, I focused on just the first.”

“I’d never guess.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “That’s because you know shit about me.”

Despite myself and my intentions, my promises, I grabbed her waist and pulled her back.

“I have agreed to go easy on you, but I’ll not take disrespect.”

She trembled. I felt blood rush to my groin, pathetically, like a human being ruled only by their instincts. She didn’t push me away, but her voice came, soft and cautious. “Let me go.”

The words cut through the haze, and I released her, stepping back as I tried to steady myself. “Don’t test me again,” I warned.

“Lyxom asked you to stay away from me?”

“I agreed to let you be until the right moment for breeding, yes, at my brother’s requests.”

“Does that mean you and Lyxom made your deal?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Who owns my contract, then?”

“We agreed to be civil about it. I have the right to try for the first breeding, but Lyxom will remain nearby throughout the process.”

“Why? Out of what? Pity for me?” She shot back, angry again.

“I guess you will have to ask him. It’s not my place to disclose my brother’s motives. But you should be thankful for his interference anyway,” I said, letting my anger explicit, “If he hadn’t meddled, I’d have had you completely indoctrinated by now to be my loyal broodmare. Eight hours on a recorded reprogramming routine would do the job.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. “You’re disgusting.”

I stepped closer, my voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. “Perhaps. But I get results. Lyxom appreciates your fire, I see it as a risk for my offspring and my plans. Don’t make me regret trusting my brother.”

Her silence was louder than any retort she could have mustered. She turned sharply and walked away, her steps echoing in the corridor, leaving me to simmer in my own twisted heat.

Xorath didn’t let me enjoy my privileged access for long. But in its place, my schedule suddenly filled with tasks.

When I confronted him about it, he didn’t even look up from his interface. “You want to make sure Lyxom comes back from his missions?” he said, his tone annoyingly calm. “This will do more than sitting in your room, worrying yourself sick.”

I bit back a retort, knowing it would only feed his ego. The tasks were data-heavy assignments. I became part of a team of thirty humans and fifteen Vurlixans Amberclerks. Our task was to monitor data from over five hundred factories and their intricate networks of stocking and distribution. The Nexus intelligence flagged anomalies, like tiny changes in production, shipping, or consumption. But it was up to us to theorize why those changes were happening, mostly through the study of more data.

My ID changed too. I was given an “F5” before my “S” designation. I learned that “F” was the tag for special access volunteers. It felt familiar, almost like my old job, but without the suffocating pressure. We worked in a room on the Vurlixan floor, but there was no need to actually be there if you wanted to write your reports somewhere else. We had enough people to share the workload, and we weren’t chasing arbitrary deadlines for demanding clients. There were no all-nighters to prepare reports that no one truly cared about. Our supervisor, an Amberclerk called Tirax, was very straightforward with what he needed and how I could improve.

The work told me everything I’d ever want to know. Through the endless streams of data, I learned about the structures the Vurlixans were building and maintaining: food printers that produced perfectly balanced morsels, power cells that ran entire sectors, drone headquarters; systems designed to streamline every part of life in the occupied territories. That was Xorath’s real power.

Of course, keeping me busy was an effective way of controlling me as well, I realized. With my days filled with work, I had little time to think about escape. My mind was constantly occupied, and when I wasn’t working, I was too tired to plot anything meaningful. All I could figure out was that the mall was surrounded by a parking lot that was constantly watched by drones and soldiers. If I made a run for it, there were fifty different soldiers to grab me.

And the helmet remained my biggest obstacle. It was my tracker, my tether. As long as it stayed on, I couldn’t make a move without being seen. It could only be removed in two places (my lodgings and the break room) and no one was allowed to leave those spaces without putting it back on.

The helmet felt like both a blessing and a curse. It gave me access to knowledge and tools I’d never had before; translating text, guiding me through unfamiliar areas, and even offering entertainment. But it also made me painfully aware of how closely I was watched, how little privacy I truly had. Every step I took, every word I said, was logged and stored. It wasn’t just control — it was suffocating omnipresence. In my room I tried to mess up with the circuitry using my nail clippers, but I couldn’t even open the surface.

No matter how much I tried to distract myself with the work, my fate loomed over me. The countdown was close to an end, and nothing would save me from what was coming.

A drone hovered into view, its metallic wings humming faintly as it delivered a message. The projection flickered to life, displaying a single line of text accompanied by a date and a warning. It almost sounded like a threat.

But I knew my brother. Xorath wasn’t the type to pressure me when I was mid-mission. The subtext was clear: someone’s waiting for you to get back.

I crouched low, storing the drone in my pocket. I watched sunlight filter through the dense branches above me. My Ironclad flanked me in a loose formation as we moved on through the dense tropical forest, quietly. My own crown pulsed lightly, its sensors picking up subtle movements ahead.

“Spread out,” I ordered, the neural link carrying my voice directly into their thoughts. “Let’s end this.”

I had somewhere else to be.

“You have to talk to Dr Hélio. It’s not optional anymore.”

Dr Monique sent me a message. I had already dodged three appointments, and was planning on avoiding the fourth. When I didn’t answer, and just kept working, I received an auto message that I had an appointment and needed to go. I was locked out of everything, work, social, music, except for the orange arrow in my helmet.

I took it off and laid in bed.

I woke up to Gonzo hissing. Sat by my side, on the floor, quiet in the dim light of my night lamp, was a Vurlixan. I recognized Lyxom’s helmet. My breath caught as I was trying to shake off the haze of sleep. He turned on the speakers of his helmet.

“Sorry to barge in. I just got back, your vitals were offline… I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am. I’m just…”

“Sad?”

“Yeah.”

“I know this whole situation is scary for you. I wish I could make it better,” he said, and his tone carried a sincerity that caught me off guard.

“If I knew what would help, besides, you know, not having to do this whole baby thing, I’d tell you.”

“Please do tell me if you figure it out.”

I closed my eyes. I think I slept for a while. When I woke up, Lyxom was still in the same place. He saw my open eyes and pushed me to drink water, like a nurse. “Thanks,” I murmured, unsure what else to say.

“You’re dehydrated,” he noted. “You need to take care of yourself. Rest is important, but so is staying nourished.”

I couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh. “You sound like a doctor.” He didn’t respond to that, just watched me closely. “Why are you still here?” I finally asked, setting the glass down.

He tilted his head, the glow of his helmet catching the glow of the dim lamp. “I told you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah, but why? Your brother doesn’t care about me being ok to do any of the stuff he needs me to do. Why are you different? Are you going to play the nice guy while he plays the tyrant?”

He scoffed, and a sharp sound that the translator didn’t care to try and turn into any word.

“I’m not doing this to manipulate you, Isadora. Xorath calls me over sentimental,” he admitted. “But how can I not be? If everything works out, our people will be forever linked. You, me and him, we’ll share something permanent, something that changes everything. I can’t just turn my back on that, on you, and leave you to fend for yourself. I can’t just turn away from a member of my family.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I sat down, ignoring Gonzo as he complained that I had dared to move. I searched my logic for cracks in his sincerity, for some ulterior motive. Having a conversation without seeing his eyes was something I had grown used to. It didn’t help his case in the slightest.

Though I had to admit that he had no reason to lie to me. He held all the cards and I could do nothing against him or his brother.

“Family is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “You will be the mother of my nephews. What is that, if not family? If I treat you like nothing more than a tool, what does that make me? What does that make us as a nation? I genuinely believe in what we’re trying to do for my people. But I also believe you should feel supported as you take part in it.”

I hugged the blanket closer around me. Gonzo had settled. He shifted in his sleep beside me, his soft purring filling the silence. I got up and turned the lights a little brighter, the soft purple haze helping me see his armor a bit more. There were marks and scratches, even if it was clean.

I put my back against the wall. I needed to gather the courage to ask the big questions, the ones that really scared me.

“Were you out there killing humans?”

He didn’t flinch at the question, didn’t try to sugarcoat the truth. “Some of them, yes. But most are captured and will go through indoctrination and programming. They’ll be taken in, probably put to work. I hope that’s enough to ease them.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Hasn’t happened yet. But if it does, the helmet is containment enough.”

“It’s more like a prison, I’d say.”

“It’s a tool, nothing more,” he retorted, as if that made it better. “For their safety and ours.”

“Do you think they’ll understand that?”

Lyxom didn’t respond right away, he took a moment to choose his words. “They eventually do. If I killed all of them instead of containing, that would be the end of their chances. With the helmet, with programming, they can try to become other things. Change, evolve, learn. That’s the Vurlixan way.”

“I don’t know about that. From where I stand, the Vurlixan way is twisting and pruning anything that threatens your idea of how things should go.”

“Not necessarily. We don’t seek perfection, we seek… Health. For each person and our people, to do the growing each one desires to achieve. There’s a part that each needs to do on their own, but there’s also guidance, training, and yes, reprograming, if it’s needed to keep one safe and sane.”

He was so soft spoken, and hadn’t even moved an inch since I got up, like he was trying really hard to make himself look small. If he wasn’t playing me, that meant that he was really self aware. He was trying to make me feel comfortable.

“So if I had been brought to you, and I’d fought you, would you have me reprogrammed as well?”

“Hm… First I’d explain the situation. Give you some time to adjust, to understand your position, to see things differently. And I’d give you playful opportunities to get used to me — I know I’m huge and scary. You’d need time to accept the idea of me touching you.”

“But even then, If I fought?”

His posture straightened, and he crossed his arms. “Do you want to know how violent I’d get, Isadora?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, meeting his unseen gaze. “I want to know how much like your brother you are.”

“I can be like him,” he admitted right away. “If you fought me all the way to an impasse, with my Obsidian Patriarch demanding results and threatening to give you away to Xorath, I’d resort to coercive measures. Not through violence,” he added quickly, almost like an assurance. “You’re… what? One-fifth of my body weight? Force would never be necessary. I’d probably just drug you and have you in your sleep. Reprogramming would be my last resort, only if you threatened yourself or the pregnancy.”

My stomach twisted, and I couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through me. “And that’s supposed to be better?”

He ignored my sarcasm, leaning forward slightly. “It’s kinder than the alternative. And it wouldn’t be my first choice, Isadora. You asked how far I’d go. That’s your answer. I’m still a Forger following the directive to save my people from extinction. There’s things I can’t afford not to do.”

I imagined him moving my unconscious body. Bending over me. My heart sped up and an inconvenient heat settled on my lower belly.

“But your brother tried to fuck with my mind from the start. The only reason I’m still myself is because you stopped him.” I was trembling as the memories of the voices came rushing in.

Lyxom didn’t hesitate to say:

“My brother… He will never admit it out loud, but he hates his human heritage. He thinks it makes him weak, and all the time he’s trying to overcompensate for a flaw only he perceives. That makes him obsessed with control, which in turn makes him an excellent Auric Sovereign. But he’s not a pleasant leader to follow. I regret everyday that I could not protect you from the start.”

That moment was raw in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

I sat with my thoughts for a while, music softly flowing out of my mp3 player. Lyxom read something on his visor. A Fateweaver brought us food, not long after, and as he reached for his tray, he removed his helmet. It was the first time I’d seen his face in person, not through an image.

His features were more alien, stranger than Xorath’s. His lips were slit vertically like a cleft lip, forming an unsettling cross when closed. Silver, chitinous scales adorned his forehead, extending in an elegant curve around his head, almost like a crown. He wore his hair longer than Xorath did as well, tied back neatly. The strands shimmered faintly under the light, their color a dark greenish black, starkly different from Xorath’s pale grey. His jawline was sharp, his cheekbones high, but the scales broke the symmetry, their faint iridescence catching my eye.

His gaze met mine. His pupils were small, black pin pricks in pale, metallic green irises, and they locked onto me.

As we finished eating, sleep crept through me again. And even Lyxom seemed exhausted. His movements were slower, his usually rigid posture relaxed in a way that hinted at just how little rest he’d had.

I didn’t want him to leave, but the thought of him sleeping on the floor seemed… wrong. Gathering my courage, I nudged to the side, making space on the bed like I would for one of my friends. “There’s room here,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady.

He hesitated, his metallic eyes studying me, as though trying to gauge my intentions. Finally, with a slight nod, he settled down next to me, his long frame making the narrow bed feel smaller. He laid back and closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

I shifted closer until my forehead rested lightly against his shoulder. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but neither did he move to touch me. Instead, he let out a quiet sigh. And that’s how we fell asleep.

I woke up with a loud alarm coming from my helmet all the way from the charging station. Lyxom was on his feet in a second, screaming onto the voice feed. He made sure I strapped my helmet on first, then he held my hand and squeezed it.

“Grab your cat and follow the instructions,” he said and left running through the corridor. It was a little past eleven.

The letters were clear: attack imminent. Move to a security shelter.

From the moment our drones detected the first missile, we had ten minutes until first contact.

The alert hit every sector at once. Sirens rotated through the frequencies into every sound box, helmet and screen we had. My Amberclerks left their posts in an orderly line, heading straight for the bunker beneath the parking level. They had no purpose during an air attack. Ironclad pilots sprinted to their ships. The rest took positions on the outer walls, manning the artillery embedded into the compound’s carapace. By the two-minute mark, all Ironclad were linked to my signal, waiting for instructions.

All over the territory, our warriors were getting in position and online. Lyxom took the audio channel as was his duty.

“We have counted 240 missiles so far,” he said, voice steady. “Approaching fast. We don’t know yet where they came from, but that’s not our priority right now. Small interceptors will target the missiles mid-air. They must not reach their targets. The armoured ships will begin traveling north, to retaliate as soon as we have confirmation from where they came from. We’ll make sure no enemy returns tonight. If the interceptors fail, our ground cannons will take secondary defense. They’re not trying to destroy us. They’re trying to see how far they can go. Let’s make it clear that they just can’t.”

He didn’t ask for approval. He didn’t need to.

“What do you need from me, brother?” I asked.

“One, I need you monitoring every section of airspace you can. Two, put your Amberclerks on calculating where these missiles came from, I need it narrowed down so the drones have less ground to search. And three, tell me what we can afford to lose, and what we can’t, so I can prioritize the distribution of the Ironclad ships.”

The augmented projections spun around me. Each sector layered in topography with their stats: personnel counts, energy usage, exposed infrastructure. A live update map to help me see. On my base’s outer perimeter, our interceptors thinned the missile wave. Thirty-three had been detected. Twenty-nine were neutralized mid-air.

Our cannons got one. Two. The third missile hit the first floor. The explosion registered on the map as the ground trembled under me. The fourth missile was bound for my location.

The walls around me thrummed with the vibration of distant shockwaves. Every voice fell silent as we waited. Not only ten seconds later, we felt the second one.

My thoughts were spinning. I tried to breathe slowly, but the helmet made every breath too loud, too close. The filter’s faint whine buzzed in my ears — the only constant. I wished I could take the thing off, just for a second. I just wanted to feel real air again.

Ten minutes passed, and the weight of fear started to loosen. A few people whispered quietly. I checked the timer on my interface. Twenty-five minutes since the first alarm. It felt like hours.

The underground bunker was a square carved out of the lower parking lot, reinforced with thick alloy walls and sealed behind two automated gates. White panel lights kept the darkness at bay, and a soft stream of air from the AC drifted through the space.

Five Ironclad watched over us. The dozens of Amberclerks and Fateweavers sat in rigid, organized rows, shoulder to shoulder, silent. Occasionally one would type something on their interface, but that was it. I stared at them and wondered: did they even feel fear the way I did? We humans had a bit more freedom, we could sit or move around if we wanted. But the helmets stayed on.

I sat beside Clara and Amanda, my hand resting against Gonzo’s crate. They were both watching something on their visors. I couldn’t focus long enough to open an app.

I reached for the data feed. Locked out.

So I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Fateweaver Ines stood and called for prayer. I wasn’t even sure what for. Were we praying for the Vurlixans’ death? For our release? Or that our alien overlords returned safely from battle?

After an hour, the Fateweavers organized a meal. Thirty people at a time were allowed to remove their helmets, drink water, and eat a few dry rations. Everything was pre-portioned, ans even Gonzo got pieces of fake meat, though he was too stressed to eat.

I had slept all morning, and now I was wide awake with stress. Still, when the helmet came off, I felt a little better. The air wasn’t much different — dry, with a faint citrus-cleaner scent — but it touched my face. I could feel it brush my cheeks, slide down the back of my neck. My jaw ached from being clenched. I swallowed carefully and drank the small cup of water they gave me. It was lukewarm, but it felt clean. The rations were dry and gritty, like chewing dust and salt, but I forced them down. My stomach protested, but my hands kept moving.

Across from me, Clara rubbed her eyes and leaned back. Amanda was still chewing, slower now, like she was trying to stretch the blandness out, to focus on that instead of what came next. No one spoke.

We had five minutes without the helmets. A red countdown blinked on the wall. Four minutes. Three.

I stared at my helmet on the floor between my boots. It looked heavier than I remembered. I picked it up, turned it in my hands, and tried not to think about how hard it had been to breathe there. How loud my own breathing had sounded. How the filter’s whine wrapped itself around my thoughts like a coil.

I raised the helmet halfway, then stopped.

Something locked up inside my chest. My fingers tingled, going numb.

It didn’t make sense. I’d worn it all morning. I—

I dropped the helmet and stood up — too fast. My breath wouldn’t come right. I pressed my hands to my face.

“Isadora,” Clara said.

I backed up, just two steps, but it felt like the whole room tilted.

“Put the helmet on,” said one of the Fateweavers. I didn’t know her name.

“I can’t,” I said. I wasn’t even crying. Not yet. But I knew what this was: the kind of panic that sits under your ribs for hours, waiting for a crack.

“You have to.”

“I said I can’t—!”

Clara stepped between us. “She just needs a minute—”

“She’s over her time,” the first one snapped.

Two of them took my arms firmly. A third pressed the helmet back onto my head. The straps tightened and I screamed.

I was still standing inside my AR map and the twentieth hour had just gone by when I finally accepted there would be no more missile waves. The monitoring drones hadn’t flagged anything new in over two hours, and every plane that had entered our airspace had been shot down. No reinforcements followed. The strikes had focused on our power plants and the five major bases housing most of our Ironclad. Their goal had been clear, stretch us thin and destroy what we couldn’t protect. Too bad for them, Lyxom and his best pilots had turned what was meant to be a shock-and-awe campaign into a death sentence. Once we pinpointed the origin of the launches to a base in Guiana, he left with the armoured vehicles to take it by storm.

Globally, only the South American facilities had been hit. Once the pattern became clear as a scattered but merciless offensive, I reached out to my brothers, the other Auric Sovereigns. We traded intel, fast and precise, and began reshaping our air monitoring strategy.

I was forced to move to the other side of the building when my room was flagged for impact. Standing in a cluttered unused store, alone, I felt my legs weak with effort. I gave the order to release personnel from the shelters and sat down on the floor, drained. The next shift of Amberclerks would handle the repair logistics.

Fateweaver Urxi brought me fresh water. I drank it all in one go. Then she briefed me what had happened at the bunker.

I found Isadora asleep in the infirmary, quietly subdued by a routine of calming sounds and low-frequency pulses. The C-class volunteers had already submitted their reports. According to them, the incident had been a panic attack — entirely normal, even expected, given the level of strain she was under. It was only a survival mechanism that put a being in a state of fugue beyond rationality. She had been sedated for her own well-being.

Since holding the C-class woman under reprogramming, I held no more doubts about her loyalty or truthfulness. Her colleague, however, still left much to be desired, but he was prudent to not exhibit any behavior that warranted disciplinary processing.

“Dr Monique was explaining Isadora’s particular situation in the directive. I believe the stress she built up on the past week finally reached a boiling point. A melt down was only natural,” the man pointed. He was older and thin as a twig, seeming fragile in his fitted uniform.

Dr Monique added:

“I have been sending her to speak with Dr Helio, but she’s directly avoiding it.”

“She’s very non compliant,” I let out an angry groan. Exhaustion was getting to me.

Dr Helio shook his head, dismissing us.

“There’s no point in trying to work with someone who doesn’t want to seek any form of psychotherapy. What I can advise you, sir, is to allow her plenty of rest and avoid unnecessary pressure. The panic is a sign that someone is being pushed beyond their limit.”

“Does it pose any risk to the project?” I asked.

“Stress is a risk factor in pregnancies, if that’s what you mean,” the doctor replied. “It’s associated with several adverse outcomes. It simply isn’t healthy.”

I was already on edge, which was why I ended the conversation with a curt wave of my hand.

“Fine. Take care of her. I need rest, but I’d like to continue this discussion another time, Doctor.”

“It would be my pleasure, Auric Sovereign.”

When I finally collapsed onto my bed, every part of me ached from tension and exhaustion, and still, sleep refused to come. My thoughts were a snarl of frustration I could barely untangle. I was furious at the disorganized assault that had squandered our resources. I was livid with Lyxom for interfering with my plans for the S-class. And beneath it all, I was burning. A desperate, gnawing hunger pulsed through me — an accumulation of unspent desire that refused to be ignored.

As we grew, our teachers, mentors and the Obsidian council warned us about what it meant to be human. They were a fascinating species, smart and nimble, but extremely dependent. We would find that simply food, water and shelter would not ease our cravings, because there was a new threshold of want beyond each one fulfilled. One of those was the need for sexual release.

I had managed to work around that for a great while. Occasional acts with my subordinates or volunteers had been enough. But I had never desired anything or anyone as I desired that selfish human.

There were only three days left.

I watched through the cameras while Isadora woke up, groguely. She took some headache medication and walked out. Dr Monique reported soon after that Isadora had just left, calm and cooperative, hungry and willing to have a day of work. I heard her door opening through the other side of my own.

When she left, I followed her. I saw her vitals spike in frequency when she heard me getting close.

“Would you calm down, shimmerlet? I already told you I won’t touch you for now.”

Isadora looked back, retreating to the wall to get out of my way, hands behind her back. There was no use in trying to ease her, so I just kept on.

“Dr Monique reported that you are feeling better this morning.”

“I am.”

“She advised that you need plenty of rest, so I told Amberclerk Tirax you are free to make your own hours and manage tasks as you see fit, even empty your schedule if you feel like it.”

She didn’t answer, but shook her head, agreeing. I decided she needed a little treat.

“And Lyxom is fine. He’s away on a mission, but no injury came to him yet, and it’s unlikely to happen.”

She rubbed her hands against one another.

“That’s good to know. Do you… Think he will be back in two days?”

“I’m not sure. But I know he will do his best to be.” The pang of guilt in my chest was fiersome. I scurried to find the words. “If he isn’t, I’ll make sure to respect his demands anyway. Which means that I’ll make sure to hear yours.”

To my surprise, she stood up straight, a bravery and defiance that came out of nowhere. Lyxom’s backup made her too reckless.

“I have a few.”

“We can talk whenever you want, if that won’t trigger another panic attack.”

She huffed, and I was already struggling to have any patience.

“God, you are such a jerk!”

“What is it now? I’m only trying to follow the medical instructions I received.”

“You mock me and belittle me, when it’s your fault that I am panicking in the first place!”

“For once, I’m not trying to do either, so stand down!”

“You are a complete freak, and a monster and I hope your dick rot!”

We were both screaming and then she threw her shoe at me. The two seconds that took me to recover from my astonishment, she ran back to her room and closed the door.

I was about to type the override code, but I breathed in and rang the voice comm.

“Isadora, let’s talk.”

“Fuck off!”

“I want to hear what you have to say.”

She opened the door, but Inside her room, without her helmet, she was pure defiance, glaring at me. She held a pen in her hands like a knife, as if she could actually use it to hurt me. I could laugh, but let it be registered that I didn’t.

“Fine, fine, shimmerlet! Let’s do it this way, write it down and send it my way.”

I gave her shoe back and returned to my room. I took some antihistamines and that finally helped me rest. I suppose giving her time was the best course, because she had no more spikes in heart rate for the rest of the morning, and eventually she sent her list.

“1. I’ll be part of this entire process against my will. I want that written down in any kind of report you send to your Obsidian lords.

2. When we have sex, you will not touch me more than what’s absolutely necessary. It will be a strict ‘do it and walk out’ deal.

3. If the baby develops any condition that will cause him to not survive after birth, we will terminate it early. I don’t want to carry it to term.”

I acknowledged them all as reasonable in reply. We had no interest in birthing anything but a healthy Vurlixan. The tryouts had already happened and Isadora didn’t need to know the unpleasant ways our DNAs could interact.

However, awake and a bit more aware, I realized that there was plenty in all that I did not understand. And I’d be damned If I was ever caught ill informed.

***
Xorath

Dr Helio’s office was more cluttered than Dr Monique’s, which was strictly functional. The furniture was sleek and colorful, looted from one of the design stores. There was a huge abstract green painting behind him, that doubled as something to gaze when you didn’t feel like looking in his eyes. Dr Helio had no helmet on, which meant that I could see his face. He was an older man, skinny as if he had never eaten properly in his life, with giant glasses and for some reason he had let grow a thick moustache.

I wasn’t glad to be out of my own helmet. A translator drone would help us with communication, still, but I hated to engage in any human conversation without my overlay.

“Welcome, Sovereign,” he greeted me with a slow nod. “I hope you managed to rest.”

“Well enough,” I replied.

“The attack caught you by surprise?”

“They managed to get quite close without alerting our drones, but we were not unprepared. I just pushed beyond my limit to ensure our safety. But I didn’t come here to discuss the attack. I came to talk about the S-class.”

“Isadora. Right.” His fingers folded over his notes. “Dr Monique briefed me on what was happening. My work helps people deal with rough patches in their lives… But anything I do is just palliative when the situation keeps the person on the edge. She’s about to face something intense. She could be dealing with it in worse ways.”

I stared at him, unmoved. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Emotions aren’t about sense, sir,” he said. “Reason can help us manage them, but it’s no better than a bridle on a wild horse. They come and go as the heart demands. Isadora is scared. While she’s in that state, she’ll hardly be open to feeling anything beyond fear. You see… Humans are descendants of prey animals. Listening to fear was, for most of our species’ history, the difference between life and death, so it’s a very powerful emotion.”

I felt some pieces snap into place. “So, let me guess. That biologic mechanism hasn’t vanished just because the threats changed over time. When a human feels threatened, they still respond like they always did.”

“Exactly,” Dr Helio said, nodding. “Fear means running, hiding. The body floods itself with hormones to prepare for that. But when escape isn’t possible and the danger lingers… Something worse happens.”

I said nothing. He went on, voice leveled and peaceful. Speaking was part of his work, and he turned that into a method he naturally fell onto.

“If stress continues long enough, the body adapts. It learns to function under constant alert, even if it’s not sustainable. The person thinks they’re managing well, but their body tells a different story. Blood pressure stays high. Cortisol keeps flooding their system.”

“And?”

“Well, it can mess with sleep, mood and appetite, even trigger some conditions. But the worst is, if that resistance stage continues without recovery, they enter exhaustion.” He paused. “That’s when the body starts to shut down. Physical, emotional, mental reserves get drained. The person gives up, or starts to believe there’s no hope. That’s when we see burnout. Depression. Panic. Fatigue. Even a complete breakdown of stress tolerance.”

Isadora had displayed all of those. I stared at Dr Helio. He seemed too calm for the gravity of what he was saying, as if he were just explaining an engine failure or a nutrient deficiency. Like emotional collapse was a mechanical process. I decided then that I liked him.

“So you’re saying she’s been afraid for so long that her body is shutting down?” I asked. “But she’s been here less than two weeks.”

“If I were to guess,” he said, “I’d say this started long before she got here. We don’t have her full history yet, so I won’t risk giving you a formal diagnosis. I can only speak to what I see. I might be wrong.”

I exhaled through my nose, not bothering to hide my frustration. “So she’s not a selfish, moody, childish, rebellious volunteer. She’s just in the middle of a predictable deterioration.”

“What I’m saying,” he replied firmly, “is that it’s foolish to expect rational behavior from a human whose nervous system is being flooded with threat signals. Especially one who’s already strained to the limit. You’re asking her to face something that, for some women, has always been a source of fear and vulnerability.”

I crossed my arms. “You mean the pregnancy.”

He nodded. “There’s a deep, collective trauma around it. Across cultures and generations. Even under ideal conditions, it’s never been a fully safe or controlled process. There’s always been fear of the unknown… There are stories, myths. Do you know the tale of the Minotaur?”

I gave him a sharp look. “No.”

“It’s a very old story. The gods punished the king of Crete by making his queen fall in love with a bull. She birthed a child with the head of one. A monster, enraged, that had to be trapped in a maze. That myth captures a universal dread: the fear of being punished to bear something unusual.”

I let that sit for a second. I could see now how my directive had a very different effect for her than for me.

“And now,” he continued, “imagine you’re a young woman, already stressed out, isolated, traumatized by war, and suddenly told you’ll be part of an experiment to birth something… Not quite human. Under constant surveillance. No way out.”

“She’s not birthing a Minotaur,” I muttered, more to myself.

“No,” he said quietly. “The same way we are not running away from lions and wolves anymore, but the brain only knows how to deal with it one way. The fear is just as real.”

I felt that dreadful defeat settle in my bones, my heart, my head. I took a moment to think. It all sounded like something easily fixable through indoctrination. She would be reprogrammed to forget those fears… But the deal with my brother prohibited me from acting as I thought was best.

“Fine, what can I do to fix this?”

“Hm… That is something you’d have to talk to her about. If the directive demands that the pregnancy cannot wait, you have to see how to ease her out of this high alert state. Start by removing the thing she thinks she has to run from.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, but I didn’t speak. There was too much I couldn’t do, too much I wasn’t allowed to do, all because Lyxom wanted to play at being a… father, husband, whatever he meant.

I gave the doctor a cold look. “And what if the thing she’s running from is me?”

By the end of the second week, my mood had lifted just a little. The anxiety hadn’t vanished, but it came mixed with a kind of manic energy, as if I’d downed cake, coffee, and an energy drink all at once. After a few days of skipping work, I showed up distracted and made a bunch of careless mistakes. Tirax caught them, and he didn’t scold me, just corrected everything with that emotionless calm. Guilt lingered anyway.

Friday night, a few people from Reports hosted a card tournament. I joined them after my exercise shift. We played Truco, and my team made it to the semi-finals, but we lost to a pair who were definitely counting cards. Later, the girls texted me because someone had hacked the sound system in the break room. Music filled the halls. A girl from maintenance was mixing drinks with some bootleg brew the hydroponics boys had managed to ferment. We danced and laughed. Amanda kissed a guy from Tech, and we mocked them while they were at it. For a few hours, it felt like the life we had before.

By six, a Fateweaver came to send us off, muttering about breakfast prep starting soon. I slipped out with the others, passing early-shift Amberclerks and volunteers like I hadn’t just danced through the night, half-drunk on carrot moonshine and still damp with sweat.

As I turned the corner to the living quarters, I crossed paths with the Sovereign. He was headed to begin his day; I was just returning to bed. He greeted me with a plain “good morning” and didn’t stop walking. That alone stunned me more than anything that had happened that night.

His original office had been blasted open, and I expected him to be at least a bit hurt, but he seemed to have avoided danger just fine.

I collapsed into bed, Gonzo curling up at my back, purring as his claws gently kneaded my spine.

Fateweaver Urxi brought me breakfast around noon. They said hydroponics had an overflow of carrots, which explained the thick slice of carrot cake on my tray. It was exactly what I needed, sweet, dense, perfect for my hangover. Later, we got a message: a double feature was planned in the rec area. Lisbela and the Prisoner first, followed by Ever After. That evening, we had dinner together, all of us, and stayed in the common room until we felt sleep creep in.

A perfect Saturday, the best in a long ass while.

I was on the stairwell, leaving the break room, when I saw him, just a flash of green lines on dark armor, coming up from the corridor below. We stopped at the same time.

Lyxom.

I ran to him. He caught me in his arms, lifted me off the floor. Our helmets clinked against each other as we laughed.

I met Lyxom again after he dropped Isadora in her room. We sat together with two drinks between us in my private sitting area. My room was larger than most on the base, but there was little there, because I didn’t need much. A bed, a sitting space, an empty circle for training and meditation, my personal washing room. The lights were kept in the dark orange I preferred.

I seldom brought anyone over, and it was the first time in years that my brother and I occupied the same space without helmets and without protocol dictating our every word.

“I heard the volunteers are having fun this weekend,” Lyxom chuckled, watching me over the rim of his cup.

I refused to bite the bait. “The Fateweavers figured it was time to unwind with some recreational activities.”

“Funny thing, Urxi told me it was your request.”

“Urxi talks too much,” I said with an angry sigh.

“If you don’t instruct your people to keep their mouth shut, they will make sure to give you credit for all your brilliant ideas.”

I gulped my drink to avoid an exasperated sigh.

“The missile attack was especially hard on the volunteers. They needed a break from all the tension.”

Lyxom had a smile that said plenty. I felt like punching him again.

“I’m glad you’re cooperating,” Lyxom said.

“You’ve coddled Isadora. But I’ll manage.”

“When are you going to admit I’m right sometimes?”

He was making it harder for everyone. I said nothing. There was no point arguing what we’d never agree on.

“Is she fertile?” he asked, finally.

“Very close. Any moment now.”

“How do you want to do it?”

“She asked for it to be quick. Simple. No ceremony.”

I didn’t say what I really wanted to do. To hold her down, strip her of restraint, and listen to her plead for my seed. That fantasy had lodged itself somewhere deep in me, clawed in, but I’d never let them know.

“And I’ll give her that.”

“Do what you must, I’ll take care of her after,” Lyxom answered simply. Which was as much of an agreement as I’d get.

He was nervous, I realised. Of course, we had years to imagine something like that happening, and it was the climax to many plans our people had made.

Sunday, I woke up with a message from Dr Monique. I felt my heart jump. I programmed a message to Isadora, and requested a meal for my room and for hers — there was no way I’d be able to work that day.

I hadn’t slept late and didn’t plan to spend the day locked inside, but Fateweaver Urxi still brought my breakfast. She carried two trays. One for me, and one for the Sovereign.

“Is he alright?”

“He took the day off to meditate.”

My curiosity peaked, but I didn’t bother. I sat with my food, half-finished, when his message came through. Xorath called me over. My heart exploded in my chest.

The AR image in his hand caught my eye. “Have a look,” the Sovereign said. Arrows pointed to a grainy ultrasound. In the middle, a bubble rested on a dark circle—like dew on a leaf.

“Is that my egg?” I asked.

“Egg cells don’t show up in this sort of imagery, they are too small. But this is a clear sign that, yes, your egg was released successfully.”

“Congratulations, I guess.”

My words were sharp and bitter, but they crumbled almost immediately as my composure broke. Panic bubbled up. The Sovereign held my hand gently. He spoke softly, moved slowly, like he could feel it rising in me.

“Isadora, breathe. I’m not going to rush anymore. It has to happen today, but not right now. Take as much time as you need to prepare.”

“Where are we…”

“Right here. My room is discreet and comfortable.”

“I don’t want the helmets,” I barked. “I want the lights on. And if I tell you to stop, if I need you to stop for a moment, you’ve got to do that.”

“Of course.”

“God, this is so fucked,” I muttered, rubbing my hands over my shoulders as if I could shake the dread away. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I ran to my room. Beneath the hot water, I got caught into memory. I remembered what the Sovereign had said the second time he had fucked me. “I’m putting my baby into you today. I’ll keep filling you until I’m sure you are pregnant with my seed and carrying the future of my people.” It should have filled me with rage. But instead, something darker and hungrier curled inside me. My mind screamed with an eerie, kinky need. He had managed to twist me, even if Lyxom stopped him before he was thorough.

And I was so sensitive, so needy. My hormones were crazy with all the drugs and supplements he made me take. I was scared, yes, but I was also super fucking horny, and both feelings mixed in a way that made me feel hungry and uneasy.

He would be alone with me again. He would—

I stood at the edge of the rest of my life, looking down on a precipice. The Sovereign would push me down.

I felt like I was floating until I crossed the door to his room. The low lights were brighter, in a gentle warm white. Without his helmet and the outer layer of armour, he seemed less imposing, stripped of his monstrous edge, even still standing at least two heads above me.

I took off my own helmet and hung it beside his. Without it, I could think. It was easier to be myself.

“Lay down,” I told him.

He sat on his bed, studying me, but I put my fingers to his shoulder and pushed it, testing if he would keep his word. The confusion in his eyes was mildly entertaining, but mostly infuriating. He bent back, keeping his weight on his elbows. The bulge in his pants grew large and strained beneath the leathery fabric. I lowered my fasteners and took my uniform out. All the while, he followed my every move with his gaze. When I unbuckled the cod panel and pulled him out of his pants with only a delicate touch, he sighed, trying to hold down the noises.

He didn’t want to be vulnerable. Too bad for him. His cock was thick and long, with a sharper point and slightly ridged. It was coloured a pale purple where it would be pink, then gray and green at the base. Weird enough that I reconsidered my plan for a second, but knowing it had already been inside me helped a bit. I climbed on top of him and placed the tip at my entrance.

He really didn’t move or speak. Where was that fury, that degrading dirty talk? Had it all been tamed down and muzzled by his much scarier brother?

The moment he threatened to breach my slit, I felt a warm, electric thrill run me through. I was so, so, so sensitive. His hips trembled, and his breath picked up. I slid down at once, and we both let out struggling sounds. He gripped my thigh, but I pushed him away.

Instead of letting him pull me, I placed my hands on his stomach and lifted my hips, then relaxed, so my weight took his erection deep inside me again, and again, and again. The burning feeling spread through my body, from my belly to my breasts and my neck. His ridges scraped just right, pushing pleasure into me. I began to dance, rocking my hips in circles as I knew boys liked, using his texture to tease my insides.

I felt him harden and twitch. His face was flushed in a blueish gray, and he looked angry, feral, as if holding back required all his willpower. The certainty that he was breeding me ignited something in him, but he was holding it back in the name of the deal.

He got so hard that the ridges seemed enormous, almost locking me into place. He pulled my waist suddenly, keeping us close. His deep moans echoed, his voice breaking as he surrendered to the pleasure. I felt him tremble, tense, and his release spilled, leaking out of me, creamy and thick. Xorath, always so composed, was undone entirely, and for a moment, he was open and shaky. Strands of white covered his eyes, and he breathed through his teeth in a snarl.

Before I could steady myself, he shifted me onto my back, pressing deep into me again with his weight. His hands held me in place as he entered me again, relentless, his rhythm hard and fast, the penetration more slippery because of his cum. The friction of the ridges forced my orgasm to grow. I was trapped beneath him, held there as he chased his release again, but I refused to come. I focused on the lights, I counted my breaths, pulling away from the feeling. And it was so hard, so hard, I needed it so much, but I didn’t want it from him, not like that.

He came again soon, breathing against my neck. His smell was a cocoon all around me. My eyes fell to where our bodies met, and I watched the blue fluid trace lines between us. There was no turning back. He had done what he needed. I was there, bred and filled, and Xorath seemed like the most satisfied creature in the universe.

I pushed him off me. He rolled to the side, breathless and sweaty. I got up, put on my clothes as fast as I could, dressed my helmet and left.

The moment I opened the door, Lyxom was sitting there almost in front of me. I checked over my shoulder, just to make sure. Xorath looked our way as I pulled his brother’s hand and welcomed him into my room.

“Do I need to go there and break his teeth?”

“I don’t want to talk about him right now” I said just before I threw my helmet away.

I took his giant gloved hands and placed them where I wanted, one in my hair, the other on my shoulder. Then, with care, I fumbled with the edge of his pants. I tugged the codpiece down with an angry pull. He was huge even when soft, hidden by the greenish foreskin.

“Isadora…”

I looked up. I knew the helmet would translate. “I just want to have sex with a guy I like. Without it having to mean anything for your commanders. Can we do that?”

I pulled the foreskin back and licked his smooth tip, breathing his male scent. His grip tightened in my hair, his fingers brushed over my scalp in a way that sent shivers down my spine. The first time you suck a guy is always a game of discovery. You learn what makes them tremble, what drives them wild. Whether they moan freely or hold back, whether their body shudders when they’re close or grows impossibly still.

Lyxom had a bit of precum that I spread with my thumb. He quickly grew hard between my lips. While I could, I took him in and out of my mouth. Soon his ridges made every movement a delicate balancing act to not hurt him with my teeth. When I couldn’t take him fully, I kept licking and caressing until his breathing grew ragged and his self-control wavered.

He groaned before releasing a sudden spill of blue. It splattered across my cheek, dripping down my neck and chest, warm and sticky with a sharp, salty scent.

His helmet hit my bed. He pulled me up and bent down, crushing my mouth with his. We miraculously didn’t clink our teeth during that hungry, clumsy kiss. I wanted to take a shower before I let him touch me further, but I didn’t manage to say anything because his fingers were opening my pussy lips and pressing my clit down. I moaned and he laughed, rubbing me. My orgasm electrified me, I clung onto Lyxom, screaming with heat.

My week with Isadora passed by in a haze of laughter and warmth. I was used to my heart pounding under the distress of adrenaline, during brutal hunting or the violence of a skirmish. It was the first time my pulse quickened simply by watching someone walk by.

Isadora was a novelty, a harsh opposite to anything I’d been groomed to endure. She was small, fragile, and soft. She touched me freely, like I was human, and didn’t care about protocol. Once we established intimacy and comfort with one another, she wanted to hold my hands, sit on my legs, hug me, kiss me whenever the helmet was off. She napped with her body relaxed against my own, and nuzzled her nose beneath my chin, breathing in, protected by my strength. She liked how my jaw rested against her hand, and how my lips pressed against her palm.

Since I was coordinating missions from afar, and she worked in data with a team that operated remotely, we often shared the same space, our backs touching as we focused on our respective duties, together. It became a quiet ritual. And when we were afar, her messages brought a quiet thrill. The first time I had to leave, after we first met, I encouraged her to write to me. I didn’t expect her to, but Isadora was a solitary creature. Even in a room full of people, her thoughts folded inward, hidden under layers of silence. So when she chose to open up to me, her feelings and reflections poured in.

At first, she talked about her work, her routine, and her constant battle with fear and paranoia, which were now focused less on her survival and more on the possible pregnancy. Xorath came up a few times, described as insufferable, but not as a direct threat. At least I’d managed to remove him as one of her immediate sources of worry.

One day, she confessed to me that she believed something in her was broken. Not because of Xorath, or the war, but because of facts that happened long before. Her mother had died from illness a few years back, and a falling out with her friends had left Isadora stranded. On top of that, she worked a high-pressure job with no safety net, no savings, no margin for error. Her life had been a constant storm of stress and fear. Stress fed itself: the more anxious she became, the worse she performed, and the worse she performed, the more unsure she was with her position, and that fed anxiety. It was a loop. A cruel, relentless feedback system that had ground her spirit into dust.

Some days, she couldn’t even get out of bed. The world felt flat, muted, and her own thoughts turned on her. Loud and cruel, they told her she was wasting space, wasting time. She had carried that weight alone for months. Years. And no one had done anything about it.

No one except me. The only anchor she had, she said, was her cat. Which only made me more pleased with myself for finding the little creature and reuniting them. When she accepted that she also had me, she clung to my presence, desperate for the affection I was also determined to give. Sometimes I regretted the espionage that took me to that point of trust. A voice in my head told me I was just being as cunning and cruel as my brother. Maybe I was. But when her body settled against mine, I was pretty sure I’d do it all over again.

When her window of fertility passed, and Xorath couldn’t say a word about what I did to her or not, I made sure to see how far I could take her crave for me. I turned cuddles into a soft kiss, and then my hands roamed beneath her shirt.

“Ly…” she moaned. Her breath hitched as I pulled her onto my lap.

I couldn’t speak anything she would understand, except her name, murmured into her neck while my lips brushed her skin. She didn’t answer with words. Her fingers clutched my sleeves and she leaned into me. I cupped her breast, delighted in her doughy warmth.

She let out the most delicious sounds. I just wanted to have more of them.

I took her shirt off, hugged her tight against me, and took her mouth by storm while my hand made sure there would be more of those little moans. She rocked her hips to my fingers, her clit becoming a pebble with the rush of blood. The vulva grew wet and sloppy, and soon Isa was begging me with her movements to take them inside her.

She pulled at my buckles and hooks until my undershirt was out and away. Her fingers drew my skin, stopping to admire the vestige of my forefathers’ chitinous carapace that insisted on trying to develop. She caressed the fur beneath my belly and pulled my penis out. The moment I left it fall against her slit, heavy and dense, her eyes changed from drowsy shyness to pure wanton.

Isadora wanted me. Wanted to have sex with me. How could I resist that?

Clinging to the cushions, she held my penis and aligned our sexes, hissing in pleasure as the very tip went in. I had no illusions on trying to actually breach her, but Isadora was determined to attempt, moving her hips down with gentle sways. At the first ridge, she needed to stop, struggling. I moved a bit, slowly, going in and out, to help her adapt to my girth. She soon was pushing herself against me again, and with high moans, her dance took me deeper.

I felt like I was going to lose it right there. The view of her, with legs spread and sweat on her brow, stretched wide around my shaft, moaning for me, loving me… It was a heat that climbed from my heart to my neck, a tremor in my hands to just ravish her. I dug my knees on the bed for support, and pumped in and out of her, slowly. At each caress, she hiccuped, clung to my arms and trembled, as the peak built and built. She came undone in my embrace with her eyes closed.

The thrill it gave me, the hold it had on my chest, was too much. I thanked my creators and all the plans that brought me to life, that put me in the universe at that place, at that time.

When duty demanded I leave her, I was already eager to return. We said goodbye in the morning, and kinda expecting me to just fly away and forget her, she didn’t say anything else for the rest of the day. No messages, no last hugs before I flew out.

Several Ironclads and I marched inside the assault ship by mid-afternoon. Under the darkened orange light, I felt my mind returning to its normal state of business. I opened maps, checked status. I took my place at the cockpit, accompanied by my best pilots.

Still, I sent her a last message before taking off. “Leaving now. Remember that you can call me for anything.”

Mid-flight, I realized my eyes wandered constantly to my messages. My attention hung on the notifications. But, to my surprise, what arrived was a text from Xorath.

“How often do you take your follower’s emotions into consideration?”

I stared at the words, baffled. Xorath never wanted my opinion on how to run his people.

“Why do you want to know, brother?”

“I’ve been reading some human books.”

“About what?”

“Answer my question.”

I laughed, attracting the gaze of my Ironclad. I dismissed them with a gesture, and proceeded to type my answer.

“Well, I consider their feelings every day, especially before a mission. I have to make sure their emotional labour goes towards completing the directive. That doesn’t happen if they are focused on other questions.”

He quickly replied.

“Shouldn’t that be the responsibility of each Ironclad?”

Xorath seemed very interested in our talk, so I relinquished control of the ship to one of the Ironclad to give him my full attention.

“Yeah, but I can let it go by chance, or I can interfere. We both know which one is better.”

“And you’re confident this management of feelings is worth the time it takes?”

I allowed myself a small, humorless smile. “Every mission so far says yes. What about you, Xorath? How often do you stop to consider how your people feel?”

“Rarely,” he admitted. “Because I don’t expect them to feel anything but duty. If they’re trained properly, emotions shouldn’t interfere.”

“Shouldn’t,” I echoed, emphasizing the word. “But they do. Ignoring that doesn’t make it go away, brother. It just leaves you blind when they do interfere. We have the advantage that our purpose is a great one, our Ironclads are as involved as we are. That saves a lot of burden.”

“But if you were to deploy one who disagrees with any specific mission, you would try to persuade them.”

“I’d try to find common ground, yes. One working at their best uses body, reason, and feelings to achieve their goal.”

“And you believe that takes precedence over strict adherence to command?”

“I know,” I typed slowly, “that understanding what drives your people, and then helping them find a link to that in each task they must perform, or on the overall mission, makes them better soldiers.”

“And if this approach of yours fails? If their emotions betray their duty? What then, Lyxom?”

“Then I adjust,” I said simply. “It’s not a perfect science, but it’s better than pretending emotions don’t exist. Blind obedience might work for a time, but it breaks under pressure. Loyalty born from understanding? That endures.”

For Xorath, results were what mattered most, and he was very straightforward about it. He saw people as fixed assets. He preferred changing tasks before understanding why someone would underperform at something. This was logical, as Auric Sovereigns governed a greater number of individuals than Eclipse Forgers. The emotional labour would be overwhelming atop of all the strategic work.

However, Xorath’s methods would turn him into a mad dog of a Forger. His ways would win as many fights as would lose us our Ironclad by violence and by grief.

“I understand. You gave me much to think about, brother.”

Did I? That was new.

I woke up in my sleep every night for the next ten nights. Vurlixans don’t dream. They sleep half a brain at a time, and at most they drift into a state of half woken visualizations of their surroundings. The human splice of my DNA meant that I, on the other hand, slept and dreamed a lot, mostly when I was a child. Eventually it stopped, and sometimes I even forgot that I had ever done it.

After the breeding, it began anew. I dreamed of Isadora — of arguments, of something being wrong with her, of her miscarrying. Each dream was irrational, yet painful enough to linger in my mind when I woke. It told me how unstable I really was. I’d wake up and check on her through the visual feed. I’d see her cat’s eyes glowing in the dark, and she would be asleep, alone, or sometimes in Lyxom’s embrace. Once I caught her awake, writing on her table, surrounded by some open books.

The ‘C’ class volunteer instructed me that it would take ten days for a reliable pregnancy test. Even then, for the first three months, many things could go wrong. It didn’t mean something was off with the parts involved. It just happened. How was I to accept that there was simply nothing else I could do, just wait? It was just not in my nature.

With stimulants and work, I pushed through until Fateweaver Urxi intercepted me. My vitals were off their normal, and had been for a few days. I said I was fine, however they ordered me to take a day off to rest.

I took injections of antihistamines and slept for more hours than I should. I woke up and I felt horrible. My mind raced with irrational voices. I meditated then, viewing all the possible futures ahead of me, and I made myself acknowledge and accept them all, knowing I would adapt as I always had. If it was something within my control, I would find a way to make it work. But this was beyond the power of any person and beyond even the capabilities of our best tech. A reality I rarely faced.

Lyxom left for the front again soon after, and I was alone with my turbulent mind. One day, at three in the morning, unable to sleep, I stepped out of my quarters to find something to eat. The corridors were silent, the hum of the compound’s systems being only sound. As I moved down the hallway, I heard a faint noise behind me. I turned, and there she was. Isadora, stepping out of her room.

“Yeah, I can’t sleep either,” she said. There was something in her I recognized, because I felt the same. It was the ache of craving a distraction that just eluded you no matter what you tried. The dread of waiting. The itch that couldn’t be scratched.

“What’s troubling you?” I asked.

“Everything?” She shook her shoulders.

“Let’s grab a drink.”

At that hour, Ironclad were at their stations, but the mall was darkened and quiet. The escalators were turned off until we stepped on them. She got a fizzy lemonade, and I took one of the soups that remained after dinner.

“You cut your hair,” she noticed.

I held a white tuft of my bangs. The freshly shaved nape gave me a comfortable feeling. “Yeah, it was a bit long, and I don’t like it over my eyes.”

“Who cuts it for you? Do we have an official hairdresser?”

My brain took a while to remind me of all the individuals in the base. Sleeplessness was hindering me.

“Official? No… Not that I’m aware of. Urxi does it for me.”

Isadora had a small tired smile. “Urxi takes good care of you, doesn’t they? They’re always around.”

“They do. By now, they know how to read me and anticipate my needs.” The soup was cold, but it was creamy and herbal. I was growing fond of human food.

“How long have you been working together?” She kept asking. Why the interest all of a sudden?

“All my life. Pure Vurlixans live a long time, so Urxi was there when I was made.”

“Made? Why not born?” Isadora frowned.

“I wasn’t born from a womb or an egg, it makes no sense to say that. Most of them, of us, are clones, remember?”

“Yeah, but you say Lyxom is your brother…”

“We were made in the same batch, at the same lab, in the same ship. We grew up together. Brother is the best word you people have for it. The word we use though holds some meanings on top of the familial aspect…”

“So you were made in a lab, and raised by Fateweavers. Did I get that right?”

“Fateweavers, and some veteran Forgers and Sovereigns for our training.” I could see her imagination coloring my few words with overly exaggerated ideas. “Come on, ask what you want to know. It’s better than imagining the worst. Though I thought Lyxom would have told you everything by now.”

She looked to the side, avoiding my gaze. Oh, did I sense trouble?

“He doesn’t give me a lot of details. I gathered you guys grew up together, but that was it.”

“Is he keeping information from you? Is that why you haven’t sent him a message yet?”

“What? No! I just don’t want to bother him.”

“You didn’t care before. What changed? Already tired of my brother? Is he too clingy?”

She sat back, crossing her arms. “No, of course not!”

I felt my smile creep up, and I didn’t hold back.

“Well, Lyxom is just using you to pretend he’s not what he is, you know that.”

She frowned a lot harder.

“He’s just a sweet guy that needs some time off from war. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s pure weakness.”

“Not everyone enjoys being a psycho like you.”

I couldn’t be offended when I didn’t know what she was saying.

“What does that word mean?”

“Someone who doesn’t feel emotions like everybody else, so they become violent and dangerous.”

“That’s not true. I just don’t let my emotions rule me.”

“What’s the problem of listening to your emotions once in a while?”

“It’s a vulnerability.”

“It’s being human. It’s normal. If you just repress everything, you are just going to become ill.”

“Like you?”

I saw her move and had a millisecond to react. I dodged to the side and avoided the lemonade, though she did manage to hit me with the empty cup. And then she marched to a different corner of the break room, stomping her feet. My body burned with rage, but I was better than that. I was. I was not going to…

I went after her. I held her arm, pulled her against a table. She shouted and I snarled, and then I finally crushed her mouth with mine. Her protest became a moan, and she held onto me, her fingers pulling my hair, holding onto my uniform. I felt her slit wet in my fingers when I slid them inside her pants.

We were panting when the kiss broke.

“You…” She began to speak, but her words faltered when I held her clit between my fingers.

“You were saying?”

“Shut up and make me cum, you jerk.”

I had her right there, first, against the table. Then we managed to not go back to fighting, instead we walked together to our lodgings. Inside my room, I sat on the bed and had her in my lap, like the first time, helping her go up and down, watching her entrance gaped, stretched to her limit by my girth. Her brown skin against my green, and her pink interior leaking my blue. I had a bad obsession with her. It wasn’t just because of her tight warmth, but because she was the one who took my seed in her fertile womb.

Her interior squeezed me with the orgasm. I pulled her back and hugged her, kissing her shoulders as she danced through the wave of pleasure, riding my organ. For the first time in days, anxiety left me.

I held her. She wasn’t going anywhere. She was mine. Mine to hold, to breed, to fuck, to own. I wanted to brand my name on her, I wanted to tie her in my room so she was always available for me. I wanted to know how many breaths she took a day, and how fast her heart beat, how many meals she had, and how many hours of sleep. I wanted to watch her vitals change under my presence, and see her lose her sleep over how much she thought of me, be it by fear or desire. And I wanted her there, in my compound, where I could see her every movement. If I could turn her into an obedient drone, I would. But that option removed, I was glad to have her in all those other ways.

“Tired enough now?” I asked. She agreed, breathless, drying her sweat on her hand. I pulled her beneath the covers with me, and feeling her presence close, I was able to fall asleep in minutes.

I woke up wondering what time it was, the memories from last night rushing in. I was about to get up and check, but Xorath squeezed me harder.

“I have work”, I said.

“Your Sovereign is excusing you from work today.” He mumbled and pulled me back, kissing my nape.

“Don’t you have work to do, Sovereign?”

“Fateweaver Urxi told me to rest,” he replied, his voice low as his hands trailed over my waist. A hot shiver ran through me.

“And since when do you actually rest?” I mocked, a hint of mischief in my voice that I couldn’t hide as I looked back.

“You are right. I didn’t see the point of idleness, but with you here, I’ve changed my mind.”

I laughed, almost screaming in disbelief. “Oh my god. Xorath skipping work to fuck. Wow. I didn’t realize my pussy was that good!”

“Is that the word for it?”

“The technical word is vulva, for the overall region, or vagina for the actual hole, but people call it pussy. I don’t know why. Actually, we have a hundred names for penises and vaginas.”

“I see.”

I grinned, enjoying the way his body responded as he pulled my waist back so my ass pressed against his cock. I let out a soft sigh, losing myself into pleasure.

“And yes, I am skipping work to fuck you,” he whispered in my ear, dangerous and hungry. I knew I should get the hell out, but then his fingers were pushing into me. I pulled his other hand to my chest, and he captured a nipple in a squeeze that made me tremble.

“I haven’t been this horny in forever,” I groaned. “This hormonal therapy will drive me crazy.”

“I’ll gladly help you deal with your desire.”

I rocked my hips, already slippery wet. He began to move his hand, fucking me.

“Can you find your peak like this?”

“I think I can.”

“Do it.”

I chased my orgasm, wiggling between his hands. But when I was really close, nothing seemed enough to push me through the limit. When I thought I was going mad with need, he turned me face down on the bed, got on top of me, shoving my legs open with his knees until I was exposed. He held his dick and pushed in me, the ridges making me jump every time one passed my entrance. I was soon moaning against the cushions as he forced me to come on his cock again and again.

Once we were through, and the thrill had ended, I felt guilt hit me with a hammer.

“We shouldn’t have done this. Lyxom will be mad.”

Xorath sat up, brushing his hair back.

“Why? We already agreed to share. No offense to the deal was made.”

I looked back and he had that insufferable expression again, like he was trying to teach math to a toddler.

“You don’t get it. What he and I have is different.”

“I don’t get what we sex has to do with anything,” he argued, exasperated.

I also sat up, and I could feel my voice changing. If I was a toddler to him, to me he was a robot, incapable of understanding emotions.

“Look, when two people like each other, they vow to be exclusive. That’s how humans do it.”

He held my chin, and put his thumb to my lips.

“We are not human, shimmerlet.”

I felt my face burn. As if the ridges on his cock grinding my g-spot hadn’t made that clear enough how alien he was. I pushed his touch away, but he just kept on talking, looking as arrogant as ever.

“I’m certain that he cares very little for your vows of exclusivity. If you worry so much about humouring him, what you should be doing is sending him the messages you’ve been avoiding.”

Shame made heat go up from my chest to my cheeks.

“He’s busy!”

“He’s never not busy. That didn’t stop you before.”

“I’m…”

Xorath made a gesture waving his fingers, dismissing my mumbling.

“You let fear rule you so fiercely. I understand you are under the grip of your paranoia, but the extent you let it cloud your judgement is disconcerting.”

My voice failed me while I grappled with shame, anger and yeah, a disturbing familiar fear.

Xorath put his hand over my eyes and pulled me, resting my back against his chest. In the darkness, his rough voice against my ear gave me goosebumps.

“Breathe in and out.”

I did that, slowly, a few times, and comforting easiness grew inside me like vines, not exactly supressing my feelings, but holding them down so they couldn’t tear me apart like wild horses tied to my limbs.

He held me in his lap for a long while. Eventually I got up to use the toilet. When I got back, a very naked Xorath had stood up. He pulled one of his arms with the opposite hand, stretching the strong muscles of his shoulder. I could see the pale, soft patterns in his skin that seemed like mock eyes in the back of a caterpillar, warning everyone that he was dangerous. There were also faint scars of old and new wounds.

Would my baby have his colors, or mine? Would it carry my hair or his?

He brought me my helmet.

“Message Lyxom.”

I placed the helmet over my head, and typed.

“Hey, sorry for taking so long. I miss you. How have you been?”

Amberclerk Tirax put me in a smaller team where we were instructed to process the data generated by the transport of supplies. We were double-checking all the graphs, making sure that the AI was flagging the right anomalies in speed per time, need for fuel, accidents, amount of stops and the sorts, and most importantly, not missing any important hiccup.

From that all I gathered that they were using more volunteers driving actual cars and trucks and fewer drones at the zones closer to the secured territories. I had no info about the location of the food factories and which roads they used, but I had all the numbers related to the amount of stuff going in and going out. Including how many people between troops and hostages they expected to feed and how many actually received the supplies.

It dawned on me that If my baby developed alright, they would never leave my country. Our towns and our people would become something different under the Vurs. Did they know who they were dealing with? And would they search for more women to breed like they did to me? I couldn’t imagine Xorath doing all that without being a complete evil dictator.

Lyxom should be the one taking care of us, my mind shouted. But I knew that was not true. He was kinder, but he also used the same methods. A gentle brainwash was still brainwashing. There was too much going around in my mind. I was sleeping like crap, and I kept having nightmares that there was something wrong with the pregnancy.

I kept that all on my mind on my way to lunch break. I met Clara halfway, and she was visibly upset.

“I can’t believe that even after the alien apocalypse, I still have to deal with church aunties!”

“What happened? Did someone say something to you?”

“The guys who organized our last party were talking with Fateweaver Ines about throwing another one. And she started preaching —preaching — about how it made us look ‘unruly and degenerate.’ Like, who even talks like that?”

I raised an eyebrow. “She seriously used the word degenerate?”

Clara sneered. “I swear. Like we were dancing naked in the breakroom. It was just some drinks and a bit of making out.”

“She must’ve hated Amanda grinding on that Tech guy.”

“I bet!” Clara laughed. “Honestly, Amanda deserved to get some, and that guy was pretty cute. But God help us, the adult women are having recreational sex! Absolutely satanic!”

Clara lowered her voice as we got to the escalators and people started to gather around us. In ten minutes, the break room would be crowded.

“Ines said the volunteers needed to ‘maintain dignity.’ I almost threw a cup at her.”

“She’s lucky you didn’t. You’ve got good aim.”

“I do!” Clara grinned. “Anyway, the guys said they’ll try to organize something without asking her permission anyway.”

We hung our helmets at the station and I was glad to feel the AC on my skin. I washed my face, my hands, and adjusted my braid a bit to not look so dishevelled.

“Why is Ines even a Fateweaver?” I asked as we joined the food line.

Clara shrugged, rolling her shoulders.

“I think she was part of the first wave of volunteers. Probably helped organize the others with that church-auntie energy. Still, we’d be better off with someone who isn’t an evangelical fascist.”

I hugged her neck, teasing her.

“Well, you could always try becoming one yourself.”

She laughed so loud that the two men in front of us looked back, surprised.

“Me? With my gentle, calm demeanor? My infinite patience?” She grinned. “Isa, I’d probably punch someone before the end of my first shift.”

“But you get people. And you wouldn’t waste time trying to look proper for our green overlords,” I said, lowering my voice. “I mean, do you really think the Vurs care if we get drunk and dance during off-hours?”

“They probably don’t even notice,” she muttered.

“Exactly. We might just need someone who can deal with them as they truly are.”

Clara smirked. “So what you’re saying is, I’d be the hero this place needs.”

I nudged her with my shoulder. “Or at least the one we’d throw a party for.”

She snorted. “Well, I don’t know. Amanda would probably be better at the whole Fateweaver thing.”

“Amanda’s a people pleaser,” I said, grabbing a tray. “She wouldn’t overstep any boundaries because she’d be too worried about keeping the peace.”

Clara raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Harsh.”

“It’s not a dig,” I said, grabbing a packet of utensils. “She’s great. I’m just saying that she’s not the type to pick a fight, even if it needs picking.”

Clara hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. You’re right. She’d try to resolve everything with hot chocolate and a smile.”

“Which is exactly what Ines is doing,” I muttered, grabbing a tray. “Though… I don’t know, I don’t want you picking a fight and ending up reprogrammed.”

“Repo—what now?” Clara asked, blinking.

“Reprogrammed,” I said, lowering my voice. “You know.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, suddenly more alert.

Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” I repeated out loud, wincing, “so you don’t know.”

Her eyes were already locked on mine. She could tell I’d said too much. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “The helmet. When someone gets too difficult to manage, the Vurs just activate a protocol. Then it floods you with sounds and… other stuff. To make you change your ways.”

“When did you see that happen?” She asked sharply, voice barely above a breath, shrewd as a cat locked onto prey. I avoided her gaze and stared down, grabbing my portion of rice.

“Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you.”

We walked to the farthest corner, and while I rolled my food around the tray, poking at it without appetite, I told her about the routines I was put through. Amanda joined us halfway through, and noticing my grim expression, she sat by my side and hugged me. Just in time to hear me explain how I suspected he’d done something similar to Dr Monique. They both sat there wide-eyed as I said that.

“Goddamn.”

I nodded. “The helmet monitors everything. Heart rate, breaths, brainwaves. If you react in a way they don’t like, they can intervene immediately.”

Clara’s voice was low. “So when you panicked the other day…”

“They turned it on.” I looked at them both. “Sounds, pulses, images. My mind just slowed down. Like I was sinking underwater and forgetting how to fight. But when the Sovereign used it on me before, it was way worse. He wasn’t calming me, he was hammering me down.”

“That’s so fucked,” Amanda whispered, her hands tightening around her fork.

Clara’s jaw clenched. “So they can just flip a switch and turn us into robots if they feel like it?”

Amanda stared at her food, untouched. “I’m sick. Do you think they’ve done it to anyone else?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “And there’s no way of finding out.”

Clara leaned back, eyes wide. “Isa,” she whispered. “You are blowing my mind right now.”

The background hum of the cafeteria felt too much like a white noise forced in my ears.

My back rested against moss and rock. I still had six… No, five minutes of peace for myself before we had to keep moving. A drop of sweat slipped down my temple inside my helmet. The shade was cool, but the humidity clung to my skin. I glanced up at the canopy, with vines draped over branches, and the bright sunlight piercing through. The forest was rich, lush, all colored in deep greens.

In the ship where I grew up, we had one greenhouse, and I quickly became taller than any of the plants we’d raise. The titanic trees I was under made me feel a deep reverence for the planet.

“Offensive mission ran longer than expected”, I typed. “We’ve been out in the forest for days. There was a moment”, I added, “just before dusk, when everything was golden. It reminded me of you.”

No reply. That was expected. Her hours didn’t match mine.

“Tell me if you’re safe. Just that.”

I knew she was. Xorath wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

The five minutes were up. My Ironclad followed without command, boots crunching over damp earth. Overhead, the drones cut through the branches in loose formation, scanning the terrain and marking potential threats in our interfaces. We were thirty minutes from contact. The enemy had holed up in a farm in the mountains, and scattered its operations using trails. Air units would strike from the east as a feint, and we on the ground would be the ones tasked with neutralizing the soldiers as they tried to escape.

Ten minutes into the march, a message blinked onto my visor. A high-priority summons, requesting a few minutes of my time. I knew better than to delay. I lowered myself to stay beneath the low foliage, and initiated the secure link.

“Father,” I said as the channel stabilized.

The gentle clicks of the Obsidian Patriarch Irtix eased into my ears.

“Dear son. You’re on the enemy path,” Irtix said. It wasn’t a question. “I can see the landscape through your drones… I will be brief, to not hinder your mission.”

“Worry not, Father. We are still away from their hideout,” I replied, adjusting the visor’s contrast to better read the terrain projections ahead.

“Drones estimate light resistance?”

“Yes, but I doubt it’ll be so easy,” I said. “They’ve had time to build defenses, and their commander is stubborn. She’s been repurposing Earth tech in clever ways.”

“You admire her,” he noted, his tone devoid of reprimand.

“I respect the will to adapt,” I replied. “After reprogramming, she will be an asset to us.”

A pause. Just static and the muted thrum of wind interference.

“Of course,” he said finally. “However, I called to discuss something else. Xorath has delivered his report on the S-class. The exams to assess her successful breeding will be done tomorrow, and we are all very excited, of course. I was just curious… He reported two visits from you in the meanwhile.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I require the reason.”

I had been questioned by my superiors all my life, but none grounded me thoroughly like Patriarch Irtix. He had overseen my forging from the first day, and his questions, though always framed as guidance, often felt like a constant test, a double-check on my results. As if my very existence was a sign of inevitable disaster. He needed constant validation that I was on the right track. I couldn’t be reckless with my words.

“I observed behavioral distress indicators following our first encounter during my medical retreat. It was prudent to verify cognitive recovery through the two weeks before the breeding.”

“That would fall under medical and Fateweaving oversight,” he replied, the clicks in his speech sharpening, thinning into a thread of controlled disapproval. “Not tactical warforging.”

“It would, under normal circumstances,” I said calmly. “But we’re not operating under normal parameters with this subject. She’s a high-risk, high-value profile, and she was not responding well to Xorath’s methods. I came with a different approach.”

“Yet you didn’t report it.”

A pause stretched between us.

“You are right, father, I should have. Since it was outside my normal duties, it became an oversight on my part.”

“I appreciate the admission,” Irtix said, with that particular tone he reserved for when he wanted to remind me how much depended on me. “But understand, when we operate beyond our designated roles, we risk faltering our responsibilities.”

His voice was low, but each word landed with the weight of a scream.

“You were assigned as a warforger, not a fateweaver. You are to lead campaigns, not manage the emotional state of breeding candidates. If you fail to draw that line, the entire program may suffer. Clarity of function is what preserves our system.”

“I understand,” I said, keeping my voice level. “But the system also relies on outcomes. And I judged that the best outcome required my involvement, even if temporarily. Her neural scans showed increased regulation after my visit. Lower stress markers. Improved sleep cycles…”

He let that hang for a moment. I could almost hear the soft hum of his respirator on the other end.

“That judgment will be tested,” he said. “But first, tomorrow’s exam will determine the volunteer’s true value. If her results are within optimal range, your strategy will earn some favor. If they are not, I expect you to focus on your duties.

“Yes, Father.”

“And Lyxom, if your method succeeds, it will need to be duplicated, but you won’t have time to take care of all of them. Be prepared to disengage and let the Fateweavers take care of the volunteers. Do not make it personal. You may have feelings, but the process must remain utilitarian.”

“It is utilitarian,” I said. “That’s why I’m doing it this way. Because what Xorath calls efficiency is actually waste. He was stressing her, making her hate her place.”

“Prove that,” he said, “with outcomes. But I want no more unsanctioned visits, Lyxom. Not unless you make it official, and submit the recordings to the archive. If this effort fails, I need to know exactly why.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And if it succeeds… I need to know exactly how.”

“Yes, Father.”

Then the channel blinked off, his presence gone as quickly as it came. I turned back toward the ridge, where my Ironclad had already moved ahead. Their outlines shimmered in the filtered light.

We were all informed that the operation would be changing bases. Ours was too exposed and had been detected by the enemy, whoever they were. The blasts from the previous attacks left two enormous holes at the side of the building, destroying plenty of work space and a few rooms. Three soldiers had not survived their stay on the medical wing, and the Vurlixans had a ceremony for them. It was very small and straightforward: the bodies were laid in tables, naked, with chunks of their heads and torso’s missing. For most of us, it was the first time we all saw a Vurlixan as they were. They reminded me of praying mantis, with bright blue and green iridescent exoskeleton. They were long, with sculptural limbs, and seemed very fragile.

Xorath spoke of their bravery with very straight up facts. Kills, missions, lifes defended, including which batch they were from and for how long they served. Then their friends came closer and said why they would be missed. Their carapace was rubbed with something that left it glistening, then they were wrapped in the web like metal, and taken to a square container machine — a composter. Nothing was wasted. Not even their bodies.

No Vur seemed to cry, if they were able to, but some of the volunteers got really emotional. More than one person sobbed, their shoulders trembling, even if we couldn’t see their tears behind the black glass.

After that, we had lunch and began to pack. I had a lot to do, with all my stuff, so Clara came to help me. Our talk, as always, came back to my inevitable pregnancy.

“I don’t know if I’m more worried about being pregnant or not,” I confessed.

“What do you mean?”

I let out a bitter laugh, wiping my damp palms on my thighs. “Well, for one, alien baby. And if I’m not… I’m really afraid of what Xorath might do to make sure it happens next time.”

Clara hugged me, caressing my back. She didn’t have an answer for me, and we both knew it.

“Is your period late?” She asked after a moment.

“A bit. But I was on birth control, and then I took the morning-after pill, and then Xorath pumped me full of vitamins and supplements and hormonal therapy. So who even knows how my cycle was supposed to work this month?”

Clara frowned, counting on her fingers. “Well, we have the day of your ovulation, so it should’ve come, like, three days ago?”

“So I’m probably pregnant.” The words felt heavy on my tongue, sinking into the pit of my stomach.

“Yeah?” Clara said, her voice a hesitant mix of support and uncertainty.

The only way is through, I thought, trying to steel myself.

“Isa, whatever happens, I’ll fight to be by your side.” Clara said, and I hugged her. “I was going to wait to tell you, but I decided that I’m going to be a Fateweaver. I already talked to the Vur responsible, and I’ll be on the tryout on the new base.”

I held her hand, nervous. “Seriously?”

But all she had for me was a confident smile.

“Yeah. I know it’s risky, but I want to try. We need someone who will actually worry about our well-being, especially if they are going to get more girls pregnant. I want to be there to ensure someone will know what to do.”

For a moment, I saw what she could become, as an older sister to all who needed help. She was so brave and I envied her for it. We sat together in silence for a while, folding clothes. I tucked my photo of my mother into the lining of my case. Then I put all my things inside containers so the drones could take them.

Only Gonzo remained, safely tucked in his carrier box. Then, a message notification sounded from my helmet, sharp and intrusive against the haze of my thoughts. I groaned audibly as I walked to it, dressed the hardware and I read.

“Xorath wants to talk to me,” I muttered.

Clara’s hand on my arm tightened. “Should I come with you?”

I shook my head and forced myself to stand. “Nah, it’s ok. He probably wants to discuss the pregnancy test.”

Or maybe he wants to fuck me in an empty store, I thought. He was such a pervert, which, I mean, I should have figured out the first time he took me mid-flight. But I had the sense that even he was starting to realize his desires went deeper than pure functionality, no matter how hard he tried to frame them that way. And the worst part? I was being pulled down the same drain.

But I felt a pour of cold water run over me when I realised he had called me into his new improvised war room, since there were Amberclerks everywhere. They chose another large store and organized their stations in rows around the Sovereign’s table.

He was on his feet, walking from side to side, looking at something in his personal interface. Maybe a map.

When he saw me, he urged me closer.

“I’ll fly to the new base tonight. You are coming with me, so I need you to be ready.”

“I’m almost done packing.”

“Good. You will like this place, there will be more space for your room and your little critter.”

“I guess that I’ll still be close to your own room?”

He took a second too long to answer.

“Yes. I always sleep in the safest section of the base, and you’ll be given the same treatment.”

Then he walked closer, placed his hands on my helmet. I felt the fabric come loose, and the mechanical parts let go so he could take it off. In the gloomy war room, I felt my eyes try to adjust to darkness, blinding me for a second. I didn’t see his hand approach, but felt it on my chin, gently pulling my head up. “It’s an important day. I know you are wondering what we’ll do going forward. And first, I need you to know that whatever your fear is, what happens today and going forward, won’t be nearly as bad as you expect.”

I swallowed, the knot in my throat tightening. “Even if I’m not pregnant and you might have to try again?”

“If you are not pregnant, that means you will be kept on a healthy diet, monitored, and that next month we’ll try again,” he listed without any emotion. “Apart from that, your life will go on in here just as it has been these past two weeks.”

“And if I am?”

“It means you will be kept on a healthy diet, monitored, and we’ll assess what needs to be done month by month as the pregnancy progresses. Which, as I’m informed, will be very little because your body will take care of most of it.” He paused, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “And it also means Lyxom will be insufferable, treating you like a baby bird he has to feed and protect, as far as I understand.”

The unexpected humor in his tone threw me off. I laughed and stepped back as the sound from me broke in a weird cackle mixed with a sob. I was about to break. He put me on the edge so fast.

“You promise me I won’t be experimented on inside an incubator or anything like that?”

He laughed.

“Of course not! If our species requires this much effort to crossbreed, it defeats the entire purpose. We already handle all artificial reproduction ourselves. The whole point is to create something that works because of biology, not despite it.”

His words brushed my spirit with a soothing warmth and I relaxed so quickly I felt like I could faint. I searched his face for any hint of deception, but if he was lying, I couldn’t tell.

“So, no tubes, no needles, no labs?” I pushed, needing more than his laugh as reassurance.

“No tubes, no more needles than strictly necessary, no labs,” he confirmed, his voice firm. “Just you, your body, and the natural course of things.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “I needed to hear that.”

“Shall we go to the doctor so you can take the test?”

I trembled. Of course, he was anxious to report his victory. Once we were on our way, I messaged Clara. She promptly said she would find me there.

We met in the medical wing. Clara was already waiting for me, sitting on one side of the small bench near Dr Monique’s office. Xorath took the other side, his broad frame dwarfing us. The contrast between them was surreal: Clara’s warmth and quiet support on one side, and Xorath’s sharp, commanding presence on the other.

Doctor Monique finally allowed us into the exam room, giving a small nod of acknowledgement to Clara and Xorath as we walked in. She closed the door behind us.

“For privacy,” she explained, gesturing to the chair. “Let’s get started.”

The whole test took only ten minutes. A drone picked up a sample of my blood, then the doctor put it through a spinning centrifuge, and dropped a bit of the remaining liquid in a very small plastic tray. Then we waited.

In a few seconds, there it was: the color changed to blue. A small shift in the container, but it might as well have been the universe turning inside out. It meant my placenta was beginning to form. My stomach twisted as I braced for Xorath to gloat, to claim his victory, but he didn’t. The helmet hid his expression. I had no idea what he was feeling.

“Do you have anyone from your family you want us to inform, Isa?” Dr Monique asked.

“No,” I replied, the word catching in my throat. “It’s just me.”

“Me and the girls we’ll be her support network,” Clara said quickly, squeezing my other hand.

Doctor Monique nodded, her professional mask slipping for just a moment as emotion peaked in her voice. “I’m glad it all worked out. We can schedule an ultrasound in six weeks to hear the heartbeat. I think the Nexus is already managing your diet, so you don’t have to worry about anything else for now. Just take care of yourself.”

“Thanks, doctor.”

Clara turned to me, her expression as soft as her voice. “Do you want congratulations from everyone or no?”

“Actually… I think I-I might wait for the ultrasound. J-Just to be sure. It’s too early,” the words tumbled out of me.

“Of course,” Clara said, nodding.

Once on the door to my room, Xorath stood there as Clara gave me one last hug and turned down the hall. I glanced at him as I opened my door, half-expecting him to follow me inside, but he stayed in the hallway.

“Your vitals are all messed up,” he said.

I curled my shoulders in a mock disinterest. “Why do you care? It’s just anxiety, I’ll sleep it off.”

“Yes, I told you to relax when you felt like it.” Xorath replied in cold analysis. “But I also would like to hear why you feel anxious so I can do something about it.”

“Why? Something changed. Even your voice… You are talking to me differently. And I know it’s not because Lyxom told you to. I want to know why that is.” My tone came out snappier than I intended, and I knew I had angered him because he answered with that sneer I hated.

“Of course something changed. Two weeks ago you were my main source of stress, now you aren’t. Instead, you are compliant to our plans.”

“So I’m worthy of your kindness now because I did what you wanted?”

“I don’t understand why you are so offended by it. Why would I be kind to someone who is rebellious?”

“You weren’t unkind, Xorath. You were monstrous!” He was keeping his chill, but I wasn’t. I was almost screaming as I counted on my fingers: “you assaulted me more than once. You tried to brainwash me. You messed with doctor Monique.”

But his hand dismissed me with a quick flick.

“Reprogramming is just protocol. The sex was unorthodox, but so was everything about having an ‘S’ tier around. All of those were nothing more than my duty to put my claim on you and ensure my mission.”

“I don’t care what you think is normal or not. You need to understand that you almost drove me mad!”

Instead of meeting my anger, he lowered his voice even more.

“I understand, Isadora. I took notice. I will take that into consideration in the future. I adjusted my behaviour accordingly, and it will keep like that as long as you do not force my hand again. You do not have military training, of course, so let me make it clear — I’m the Auric Sovereign. I’m always considering how my actions and the actions of others around me will affect our objectives. The Nexus gave me very simple tools to deal with those who defy me and threaten my structure. Some of those I even helped develop. I will not hesitate to use them. If you don’t want to have to go through this, don’t challenge me. Your way of speaking is entirely disrespectful, your first instinct is to doubt and challenge, and your idea of defiance is self-destructive. Putting you or anyone else through a few reprogramming routines for that is hardly cruel.”

Angry tears were blinding me.

“Oh my God, you are completely… How can you be the one in charge of us humans? You have no heart for this, no empathy. You are like that saying — to a hammer, everything’s a nail to be struck down.”

He got so offended, his words faltered for a second.

“I’m not a hammer.”

“You are! You just have no idea. You see all of us as tools for your plans.”

“It’s not just you stupid people. We all are!” he protested, the cadence in his voice becoming constrained. “We all have to make sacrifices,” he said. His tone was finally getting rougher. I was finally getting on his nerves.

“Not like this,” I said, my voice trembling as my anger began to spill everywhere. My entire body trembled. I walked forward, on the tip of my toes to put my finger in his face. “Not like this! You aren’t just taking my work. You’re taking me! My body, my life, everything!” The sheer volume of my own voice startled me, and for a moment, even Xorath froze. “You chose this, Xorath! You decided to dedicate yourself to the Nexus, to your purpose. I didn’t. Not to this extent.”

His posture tensed even more, and he took my wrist. I was too mad to feel fear, even with his towering presence looming over me. He struggled to find words, or to hold back from striking me. I’d never be sure.

“You stupid… Ignorant… Selfish woman! I was born into this! I was created, bred and raised for this. From my embryo, from the DNA that made my first cells. You are giving your body, I never had anything of mine to give. I am a tool for the Nexus and for this cause. Just like you are now. Just like our child will be. So swallow your tears and find your peace. The Vurlixan purpose is bigger than anything else we could do with our lives.”

He pushed me back to my door. I fell inside, and the door closed behind me. To my relief, Xorath didn’t force his way in to keep the argument. I took the helmet off with a yank and sobbed and sobbed. I fell on my bed and cried all I could, choking on my anguish. Gonzo came over to lay with me, his tail flicking as he jumped onto the bed and settled in his usual spot. He purred, a low, steady vibration that helped me feel a little more grounded.

What was inside me wasn’t a baby yet, but it would be soon enough.

“Mom, is this how you felt?”

Mom had gotten pregnant young, from a guy she dated who promptly disappeared when he heard the news. She never talked about him, just a vague description of someone handsome but unreliable, someone who ran at the first sign of responsibility. She raised me on her own, working endlessly to make sure we had everything we needed, though I knew it had been hard. Did she feel this same swirl of emotions when she found out about me? The fear, the uncertainty? Did she lie awake at night, wondering if she could do it, if she’d be enough?

I’d have to go through that again, and again, and again, with each child carrying a piece of my heart with them, and consuming a bit of my body.

I was flying between a mission and the next when her message surprised me.

“I’m feeling like crap. Can you call me?”

I tapped the command without hesitation, adjusting the sound muffling in my helmet to block the engine’s noise and the sound of my Ironclad going about their business.

“Isadora?”

Her breath came through shaky, uneven. “Hi,” she said softly, and I heard a whimper, badly suppressed.

“What’s wrong, star?”

There was a pause, long enough for me to feel the ache of her silence. Then she exhaled sharply, her words tumbling out like she’d been holding them back for hours.

“It was a stressful day. Packing and all. And I’m just… I don’t know.”

The translation was failing me with her broken sentences, but I caught the meaning. More importantly, I caught the sadness. The fear.

I crouched down where I stood, midway through a hallway, as if she could see me. Her need for my protection messed with my brain.

“It’s a lot to deal with at once. It’s no wonder.”

“Yeah…” She spoke in a way that gave me no sign of sincerity. “Xorath told me my new room is huge. Like, three times the size of my old kitchenette. I might get Gonzo some furniture that he can climb, since I’ll have the space for it.”

“That sounds like fun.”

Her steps scraped the ground as she wandered around her room. “This move is going to be so hard on him, you know? He was just getting situated, and now he has to start all over again.”

“We’ll make sure he’s comfortable.”

“Ah, I don’t know if Xorath told you already…” She hiccuped, taking a long while to continue. “I’m pregnant. We just got the blood test results, and—” Her voice cracked. “I mean, it’s just a bunch of cells so far, but my body is already changing to create the placenta. It’s happening, Ly.”

The quiet confession slammed into me like the forces I felt when flying my ships through dangerous manoeuvres. Excitement flared in my chest before I could stop it — a fierce, possessive thrill.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“Well, I’m not.” She choked on the words, her fear bleeding through. “How can I bring this little person into the world when I don’t even know what it’s going to be like? I don’t even know what to do!”

“Easy,” I said softly, willing my calm to reach her. “It’s alright. We have months to figure this out. You’re not alone.”

“I know that. But it doesn’t change the fact I don’t know how to be a mom. I never wanted to be one. What if I screw it up? What if I can’t—”

“You will do great,” I interrupted firmly, the words leaving no room for doubt. “Because you’re already thinking about it, worrying about it. That’s what good mothers do. They care.”

“Caring doesn’t mean I’ll do it right,” she shot back, a tremble still in her voice.

“No, it means you’ll try. And that’s more than enough.”

“It’s not!” She cried. “This child will grow up carrying the weight of an entire planet on their shoulders, and I know Xorath and those Obsidian assholes are going to experiment on them. They’ll be treated like some lab rat. It’s not fair! They don’t deserve a life like that!”

I heard her footsteps pacing, the unsteady rhythm of her panic building. I clenched my fists, hating how far away I was. The Ironclad passing by noticed something was wrong, however they knew better than to interrupt me.

“Isadora, listen—”

But her voice cracked wide open, shifting from frantic to hysterical as violent sobs tore through her words.

“Lyxom, I can’t let them grow up and hate me, but how could they not? They’ll know, eventually. That they were created as a test, that their father is a rapist and a controlling lunatic and their mother is a nutcase that just let it happen multiple times to bring a bunch of experimental babies into this world!”

“Isadora,” I said sharply, my voice cutting through hers, harsher than I intended to. “It’s not… It won’t happen like that. Their existence will be rich and joyful, because we’ll make it so, and his origins will be just a small part of who they become.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you, yet you are going wild as if your paranoia was the immutable truth.” I cursed myself. Now I did really sound like a commander, not a friend, and I knew, the moment I finished my words, that I had hurt her. “You are scared. It’s understandable. However, that’s the worst time to make decisions.”

“Sorry. I’ll stop.”

She wouldn’t, and I knew that. If she managed to quiet her mind on her own, she wouldn’t have such a hard time dealing with her emotions.

“Can you lay down? I’ll fly to meet you. It will only take a few hours. Have a nap, and I’ll be there when you wake up.”

“…You don’t need to come.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No. I’ll have to leave for the new base at any moment. I’ll settle there, and then we can see each other. I’ll stop worrying.”

I listened to her move about, to the faint sounds of her steadying herself in an enclosed space. There was silence for a beat, then a soft, tired sigh. Isadora hung up without saying anything else.

I called Xorath. He picked up within a second.

“What?” His voice was curt, but not surprised. He must’ve seen the spike in my heart and breathing through the feed. Or maybe he’d just been waiting for this.

“She’s spiraling.”

A groan like a grinding stone was my first answer. “She’s being unruly and defiant as an outlet for her irrational anger.”

“Did you provoke this?” I asked harshly.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I was nice. Reassuring. But Isadora found a reason to pick a fight anyway, so she could mope about it. Let her cry, brother. Then she’ll be pliant. Ready for your hugs and kisses.”

“Stop talking like she’s a beast you’re trying to tame,” I snapped.

“Don’t you start as well,” he growled. “Leave me alone if all you’re going to do is antagonize me. I have a lot to do.”

I paused, debating whether to say more. I almost told him the Patriarch had been pressuring me to shift focus, but I didn’t. The last thing I needed was to hand Xorath more ammunition to make me miserable.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Tell me when you land, and I’ll meet her.”

“Yes, yes,” he said with a sigh. “You’ll get to be insufferable together all you want.”

Halfway through the loading and unloading of ships, a ruckus exploded in one of our occupied quadrants. The news arrived and I had to shift my focus to make sure it would be dealt with efficiently. The assigned Ironclad were too few to subside the crowd through brute strength, but they managed to hold the 1300 humans into a loose perimeter in time for the drone team to deploy suppression helmets.

I selected the program myself. One hour of colourful fractals to open the mind to our message, while the voice of content submission told the protesters how fortunate they were for our presence, and to be allowed to live within the order we provided. By the time it ended, I was already aboard the ship. My Amberclerks had completed the loading, and we had departed without delay.

From the air, I reviewed the operation logs, monitoring the aftermath remotely. The entire flight lasted two hours.

The new administrative base was positioned two hours flying north, nestled close to a larger city where buildings stood tightly packed in a dense urban area. An abandoned complex of factories and warehouses was turned into small condos for the administrative need and sleeping quarters. To our volunteers, it would feel more like a small neighbourhood of condos instead of the vertical enclosed space of the previous base.

The decommissioned smokestacks, once used for refining heavy metals, had been capped and reinforced to form deep bunkers. With minimal effort, they were converted into secure facilities and emergency shelters.

I descended from the ship with little ceremony. The parking happened on the roofs, then we went downstairs into a spacious empty storage house that we had occupied with our premade container rooms. My new working space was already set and furnished, so I moved to occupy it, glad to be back in my warm orange light, surrounded by graphs and maps, and the delicate game of statistics and gentle meddling to move data to the right direction. The room stirred with the quiet hum of systems rebooting as the Amberclerks set on taking our operation back on track.

Logistics was a mess. A partial failure was detected at one of the relays that managed supply inventory for the entire quadrant defect after its reallocation. One of the databases failed to migrate properly and began spitting corrupted metrics that jammed our progress as tech searched for the error. Amberclerks were operating under a strain to balance supplies until the issue was fixed by the tech. My messages stacked, waiting for review. It was all solvable — tiresome, but as commonplace as breathing.

Urxi warned me soon after that Isadora was in her room, safe and secured, and I was happy to put her out of my mind for a few more hours. Maybe then my anger would settle.

Selfish woman.

It didn’t, though.

Selfish. Selfish.

I kept my focus on the warboard, yet my eyes drifted too often. Back to the surveillance feed. Waiting for Isadora to leave her room. She didn’t. Urxi took a meal to her door, but nobody answered. No one fetched the tray.

“Let her sulk. Let her adjust,” I told myself.

But even as I worked, I felt a hollowness in the room. I thought of her face earlier, flushed and defiant. The way she had stood up to me, irrational and trembling, all that fury backed by a body on the edge of collapse.

An Amberclerk approached, asking for clearance on a rerouted medical request. I approved it. Another came to confirm an inventory correction. I nodded, eyes still on her feed. Nothing. No movement.

Her silence was meant to be a good thing, right?

Lyxom informed me he was landing in my base. Good, let him deal with her. The storm in logistics had passed its peak, and the data flow was leveling. Everything that could be done had been done. I was supposed to rest.

“She’s fine,” I muttered, to no one in particular.

My small ship landed smoothly. Without wasting another second, I went to her room, walking into the large brick building, then down the stairs, to the now emptied and clean boiler room, and into the corridors Vurlixans dug and reinforced. She wasn’t in a premade container any more, but one built from scratch with organic tech. A strong cube of metallic web.

I drew close to the door and requested entrance, sending her a message. There was no response. Was she still asleep? Her vitals were online, which meant she was awake and… wearing her helmet. Inside her room. She never wore it in her room. Never. And if she was wearing it, why wouldn’t she respond to me?

My anxiety made my heart ache. I typed the master password, and the door opened with a gentle click.

In the middle of the silvery nest, over her bed, surrounded by her half unpacked blankets and books, was Isadora. Lying straight, belly up, hands to her sides, dressed in her soft pajamas as if nothing was wrong, but her stillness that made my blood run cold. It was the helmet. The faint glow from the visor bled into the dark space, casting pale light across her neck. My pulse spiked as I rushed to her side.

“Isadora,” I called, my voice sharp and urgent as I grabbed her shoulders. Her head tilted slightly with the movement, but her body gave no response. She felt limp in my arms. “Isadora!” I repeated, louder this time, but nothing.

Her breathing was steady, her vitals were under her normal statistics. At least she wasn’t in pain. However, when the helmet’s faint hum vibrated beneath my fingers as I reached for the emergency lock, a message came to my interface: “Reprogramming in progress. User is unavailable until conclusion.”

The words slammed into me like a punch to the chest, and the cold panic I’d been suppressing turned to ice in my veins. My hands flew through my augmented reality interface, tapping frantically, but every password I tried flashed back with rejection. Lacking clearance, it read. With one hand still on her, I connected to Xorath through the communicator, my voice boiling over with rage before he even picked up.

“What did you do?! What did you do?”

“Wow, calm down, brother. What is it now?” Xorath’s voice came through, unbothered and distracted, the sound of his devices clicking faintly in the background.

“You are reprogramming her,” I roared.

“I’m not reprogramming anyone.”

“I’m in Isadora’s bedroom, and she’s locked in a routine!” I shouted, trying another override as if sheer force of will could make the system bend to me. “I can’t shut it off.”

“I didn’t authorize that.” His voice hardened. “I’ll check what’s going on.”

I wanted to call him a liar, to pin the blame squarely on his twisted mind, but the genuine surprise in his voice told me he wasn’t involved.

“Then who did it?” I snapped, my hands shaking as I gripped the helmet.

“I’ll check the logs later,” Xorath said hastily, the sounds of his work picking up on his end. “First I need to shut it down.”

And if it wasn’t him, that meant someone else on his base had.

I knew I couldn’t force the helmet off. If I interrupted it mid-process, the routine might deploy a safety frequency that would hurt her. Some of them had that mechanism to neutralize hostile individuals, and we couldn’t be sure which one she was being submitted to.

The thought of leaving her like this — trapped, vulnerable — made my vision go red. I forced myself to breathe, to hold my anger down like a beast clawing to break free. I sat down on the edge of her bed, cradling her against me. Her head rested awkwardly on my shoulder, her weight pressing into me like a mockery of our hugs.

Xorath cursed.

“What is it?”

“I can’t stop it. I don’t have clearance.”

I felt my blood boil. I felt my stomach sink. If neither of us had clearance, it meant that the authorization came from above, and only the Obsidian Parents could issue commands we couldn’t override. That meant…

“Xorath, call my Void Casters. They deal with this software everyday.”

I held Isadora closer, my fingers trembling slightly as I stroked her shoulders. It felt like an eternity: sitting there with her limp in my arms, as I heard Xorath and the casters talk and work together to hack the software.

“Move faster, Xorath.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped. “If you want it faster, type it yourself.”

Eventually, I heard the click and felt the pressure release on her head.

Her body tensed against me, the eerie quiet vanishing from her limbs like she was an engine turning on. I carefully removed the helmet, my hands steady despite the rage still simmering under my skin. Her face was sweaty, her eyelids fluttered as she opened her eyes.

“Isadora,” I murmured, brushing my knuckles against her cheek. “Can you hear me?”

Her lashes parted, and for a second, her gaze was unfocused, glassy. Then her eyes found my helmet, and the flicker of pleased recognition that passed through them nearly undid me. Her hand cupped my neck, lovingly, a thumb caressing the skin above my uniform.

I had no way of knowing how much had been done to her. How far did the routine go?

“Overseer,” she called and I felt sickness run over me. She used the word in my language, spoken with clear and direct intent.

“No, star, you don’t need to call me that.”

Her brow tightened in confusion.

“But you are my Overseer, right?”

I held her hand, but the gesture meant nothing to her.

“No, I am your friend.”

“I have no friends. I have no need for them. I am a drone. What I require is my Null Warden to guide me and keep me serving the purpose. Efficient and obedient.”

Isadora repeated a litany I had heard many times before from prisoners trapped behind helmets that would never let them go. It was so hard to keep calm, to not freak out and scare her.

I shook my head. “I don’t want your obedience, Isadora.”

“If you’re not my Overseer,” Isadora murmured, “then whom do I serve?”

“You’re not to serve anything or anyone,” I told her. “You’re not a tool, not a drone. You’re a person. You’re—” my throat tightened.

She tilted her head slightly, a sadness flickering behind the calm sheen in her eyes.

“Please let me serve you. I know how to do that. I can be efficient for you. I want to make you happy.”

“Lyxom,” Xorath interrupted me as he stopped at the door, his body undulating with deep breaths as he recovered from his run. “If you… If you try to contradict the routine right now, you will put her through physical pain.”

Isadora sat up in my lap, looking at him.

“Are you my Overseer?”

“We both are. Me and him.”

She offered her wrists to Xorath, pliant, ready to do anything he asked of her.

“Please, guide me.”

He beckoned her with his hand, and she rose from my lap, standing in front of him.

I asked: “Did you find out? Who did this?”

Xorath spoke in a hushed whisper, seeming exhausted all of a sudden.

“Isadora activated it. She was the one who requested the reprogramming.”

My blood ran cold. “She did it?”

I wanted to break whoever had let Isadora believe this was her only option. Except that was me. Me and Xorath, and our entire purpose. Isadora was still as a statue. I searched her face, desperate for some flicker of fight or anger, anything that would show me the Isadora I was used to. But she just looked… content. Her worries seemed vanished, indeed, but what had taken their place?

“Is that what happened, shimmerlet?” I asked.

Isadora turned to me. Eyes wide, but no emotion in her face as she promptly answered.

“I don’t know.”

“She won’t remember.” Xorath said, rubbing Isadora’s cheek with his gloved hand. “The routine most likely blocked all her memories. My guess is that Isadora was messing with the software, flirting with the idea of escaping her problems through reprogramming, and Irtix was watching her close enough to authorize her request. But why?”

“Irtix pressured me a few days ago to stop visiting her… He knew we were getting too involved, and found the opportunity to push things his way.”

I’d seen her strength, her sharp mind, the way she fought to hold herself together despite everything that had happened to her. Isadora held on for a long while, however now she had snapped in a quiet, but terrifying way. The pieces didn’t add up. Why would she do this to herself? This wasn’t her. She wouldn’t willingly subject herself to something like this, something so invasive, that she was terrified off, unless… A horrible thought came to me. Unless she felt she had no other choice.

On our system, her ID changed. She was dragged from one list to another, from volunteer to a drone under our power. Yesterday she was Isadora. Today she became a husk.

Xorath clicked his teeth. I felt his anger in tune with my own. “He feared we were risking too much by getting so involved with her. That we would lose focus and hinder our results.”

But we knew that about each othe: we’d never lose focus. Our patriarch didn’t trust us and Isadora paid the price.

The perfect drone walked just behind me, hands crossed over her navel, steps in constant rhythm, her posture straight. When I took seat, she stood by my side, attentive. Her hand rested on my shoulder, and I could feel the soft pressure even through my armor.

I called my Patriarch with a quick command. The call connected in just a second.

“How can I help you, Auric Sovereign Xorath?”

“Have I failed you, sir?” I asked, hiding my disgust with a soft voice.

“Never, child.” He assured me. “Where is this coming from?”

“I brought you to directly interfere in my operations. I can find no reason for it besides my incompetence.”

The line crackled with silence for a moment too long. Then Irtix’s voice returned, calm and thick with indulgence. “My meddling was not a correction of your methods. The volunteer was unfit and under distress, and she wanted to not be. I saw an opportunity.”

I hardened my voice. “An opportunity to do what? Watch a girl unravel herself into perfect obedience?”

“An opportunity to guide my children. Lyxom influenced you with his sentimentalism, a risk I ought to have mitigated when you warned me instead of letting it run loose. Handling this volunteer posed such a challenge for you with his interference… I was only glad to help settle it.”

“I was managing fine,” I said between my grinding teeth.

I felt his tone change, and his posture became a little taller, a little more bent forward, his hologram looking at me from above.

“You sound unstable, Xorath. You never were before this woman arrived.”

I lifted my hands, pleading, but underneath I felt a volatile anger. He thought of me as an immature child!

“Father, am I not trained by your best? Am I not your chosen? Have I not graduated every test you designed for me? How can you not trust me to deal with something so simple?”

Irtix moved his hand as if he could touch me.

“I trust you, child. But you are young and taken by powerful feelings as is the nature of the creatures you were bred from. It’s no issue to require my guidance.”

I could scream. Irtix typed something at his side, and Isadora put her hand gently beneath my helmet and pulled me to see her, like a robot moving as her commands demanded.

“Don’t fight with your Patriarch over me. I did this so I could be what you needed. For us and for the Vurlixan purpose. Now I’m ready. I can serve without you having to force me. I can be fulfilled by doing this. I’m not afraid any more. Isn’t that what…”

“Yes, it is what I wanted,” I admitted, though the taste in my mouth was bitter.

The patriarch softly chuckled before cutting the connection. “Please keep me updated with the progress of her pregnancy, we are all very excited.”

In the silent darkness after the hologram was off, I felt my rage turn into a deep hatred.

I turned to my brother. Lyxom was in a corner, obscured by shadow, sitting with his knees closer to his body. He used to do that when he was small. He found the nooks in the engine where no one but the mechanical drones roamed and he lingered there alone with his thoughts. That seemed so long ago.

“He thinks we are weak.” Lyxom snarled as I got close. “I’m so furious I could burn his ship down.”

I sat by his side. We could talk safely, without being heard, thanks to his technicians strengthening our digital boundaries. Even so, I turned down the machinery, and removed our helmets.

Without the overlay, the world seemed even duller.

“He thinks we’re infected. That we’re momentarily unfit to lead because we feel too much.”

“We were always going to feel something. It’s in our nature,” Lyxom continued. “We were prepared for that. He is the one unfit, who overstepped out at the first sign of distress. And I know you agree with his logic.”

I clicked my teeth in warning.

“I did, yes.”

Shame ran through me, something I hadn’t felt since I was a child.

“Had this happened before, I might even be glad to have her so quiet. Now… I grieve her loss just as you do. I am as furious as you are. And I can’t forgive this blatant disrespect over our authority.”

The drone stood where I had left her, by my chair.

“I’ll crush Irtix.”

The tech team set up a huge screen so we could all, Vurlixans and volunteers alike, watch the global transmission. From one of our elite glass ships, the Obsidian Matriarch walked down the ramp, surrounded by her Ironclad. The blue of her gown matched the blue of her chitin, but in a toned down, sombre shade. Her helmet was made for the occasion, and it did not conceal her bright eyes. She was met by the President of the enemy nation, who took her hand and shook it amicably. They stood side by side as the reporters took pictures.

On my helmet, the soft hisses of celebration took the audio channel as all the Sovereigns and Forgers congratulated each other. The work of weeks came to fruition: that meeting marked an important turnaround on our occupation. The underground conflict we had been fighting in the outskirts of our territories was finally quieting down, a process that began with the negotiations leading to that meeting.

The militias had been financed by those politicians who would, from that day on, trade with and take resources from our hands as a price to leave us be.

And it greatly helped that the president was very interested in personal gain, quite willing to believe in anything the Matriarch said if it sounded advantageous for his plans.

Soon we would move to choose a permanent settlement, and the territory who’d eventually take the Vurlixan fleet would be made into a powerful nation with our help. First, the Matriarch was letting all the terraquian leaders pivot their best proposals, but odds were that we wouldn’t accept any of them. The South American governments had already signaled that they were open to receive offers to sell part of their territory.

No matter which direction those decisions went, we’d like to build our new land with as few enemies as possible to hinder our growth. So, diplomacy was needed, and the Matriarch was the best Vurlixan for the job, having trained plenty of our Alloyed Envoys herself. Shadowed Sentinels had gathered plenty of information that she could use, and she had our best translator at her side.

It was a great day. We should celebrate. And, while the Obsidian court was distracted, Xorath and I had plans.

After the meeting was wrapped up, the Matriarch had left the planet and all the communications channels grew quiet; I took flight. It was late afternoon, just before sunset. Still, the warmth of summer persisted. Soon the arid landscape beneath me became dense vegetation and the air grew heavy with warm humidity.

I flew up then down the mountains, following rivers down the jagged terrain.

Before nightfall, I landed on the green fields of a farm that had been carved from the jungle. Just before I left my hover, another parked by my side. I recognized the helmet of my brother, Eclipse Forger Draxen, even before the interface gave me his name.

I was taken by the need to touch his shoulders as he got close, and he allowed me to. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year. We were friends, even though time and conquest had pushed us apart. Growing up, he was just a bit shorter and younger than me, and we competed closely in all our skills during training.

We quickly exchanged data, glad to find each other healthy and successful in our missions.

“You seem well,” he said as he read my many victories on the spreadsheet. To his surprise, I didn’t manage to keep a facade of a brilliant and proud commander.

“I’ve been better,” I said.

“Low morale? What for, my friend? We are on our way to fulfill the directive thanks to your efforts.”

I didn’t have the words to say what was wrong. But Xorath would explain soon enough.

“You, on the other hand, seem to be in high spirits.”

“Looking forward to a cease fire,” he answered.

We were welcomed by two Fateweavers who guided us through the base, which meant dirt roads and grassy fields. We were in Forger Myrax’s most recent base, a human farmhouse surrounded by hundreds of ships of all sizes. It was just a temporary settlement, as usual, because Myrax didn’t stay more than a few weeks anywhere. As he never relied on containers and pre-made rooms, only on his ships, his entire operation was mobile. The Ironclad were quick and always alert. They could wrap up and leave in minutes.

When we were all in training, Myrax didn’t fit with any Sovereign candidate. They all hated his constant restlessness, and there was no amount of affinity tests that could fix that. Then Kryx came along, grown in a later batch, all quiet intellect plus endless patience, and they became a match made in glory. Soon they rose in the ranks to become part of the elite that would spearhead the occupation. Kryx had the ability to always adapt to anything requested of him, and he was as nonchalant by sudden change of plans as Xorath would be distraught.

Kryx and Myrax were both waiting for us in the living room, helmetless, sitting on soft leather couches that seemed to be older than all of us. Myrax had cut his hair short and close to the scalp, but Kryx still had his hair long, even longer than mine. Kryx was the most human-like of all of us, his skin was even a shade of olive-brown rather than green.

They turned at once, getting up to meet us halfway. As soon as we joined their proximity, my helmet shut off, leaving me blind and deaf. The safety mechanism kicked in to release the buckle so I could pull it out. Kryx had assured us secrecy, but I was still dumbfounded. Without my helmet and the constant stream of information, I feared that something would run out of control and I wouldn’t be able to stop the consequences. Alas I had left my best men to coordinate my operations, and a few hours away from the feed wouldn’t hurt. I focused on that to keep me at ease.

No Ironclad, Fateweaver or drone, mechanical or otherwise, would ever come near that conversation.

We settled into the couches and Kryx poured drinks from a decanter. We talked briefly about the lack of enemy troops since the peace negotiations were done. Me, Draxen and Myrax discussed our experiences dismantling the last camps of abandoned militias. Myrax had assimilated the enemy cells as part of his troops, and some of their leaders had become Fateweavers under Kryx. An interesting development, I believed. Xorath had no use for our enemies except as factory and logistic workers.

Yexeth, Draxen’s Sovereign, arrived next. He and Draxen were the most harmonious of the pairs of commanders. They were not like Xorath and I, all fire and sparks, nor like Kryx and Myrax, with their constant game of demands and last minute arrangements. They were suave, comfortable with each other, and there was even a resemblance in appearance. They had almost the same build and height, the same short greenish-white hair and enormous silver eyes. But Draxen was made of muscle and large bones, while Yexeth was a bit more languid.

“So,” Yexeth said as he sat down. “What’s the real reason we are here? None of you except Myrax are the party type, and he never convinced anyone to join his frolicking. Whose idea was it?”

“Lyxom and Xorath called us. We only ensured the closed channel,” Kryx answered with a note of mirroring curiosity in his voice.

“We wanted to talk to you all as brothers and colleagues,” I said, making eye contact with all of them. “Before a new land was chosen and our methods grew stagnant in comfort, we wanted to discuss our structures. Especially when it comes to the freedom it gives to Patriarch Irtix.”

Kryx’s expression turned sour. “I’ve had my own concerns. He’s been overreaching, meddling in my decisions.”

“If you would be so patient, I need Xorath here to help me explain.”

“Of course, we’ll wait.”

Xorath arrived soon enough. To my surprise, he came with company — Isadora was just behind him. I hadn’t seen her face to face since… She stood quietly as my brother greeted our colleagues, her countenance void of any expression like a stunned soldier. She wore a looser shirt that allowed her more comfort as it fell on her figure like a dress, with the a-line widening around her waist, accommodating to the baby bump. Her hair was cut short and all the strands coiled around the face. Her sand-dark skin was tanned and pink, a vision of health, even if she had no vitality in her eyes.

Yexeth was the first that greeted her after he acknowledged Xorath. With her tiny hand on his, he shook it until her vacant stare made him stop.

“She’s a drone!”

They all rose to study her. Isadora didn’t even flinch as she was surrounded. From the reports, we all knew her pregnancy was developing well. There were exams, ultrasound images, scans and holograms. The baby was already mostly shaped, still the size of a closed fist.

Our brothers congratulated Xorath, thrilled that the directive was being fulfilled and that all the research was coming to fruition. However, they didn’t know that she had been subdued, and they all seemed uncomfortable to learn the truth. Dronification was the ultimate measure and they were wondering what Isadora had done to deserve it.

Kryx was the first to ask.

“Was she uncooperative?”

Xorath clicked his teeth.

“She’s a drone because of Irtix. She resisted to help us, at first, but Lyxom managed to negotiate the terms of her service so that she was obedient enough … However, ” Xorath said, “we grew fond and worried about her wellbeing, and the Patriarch did not approve.”

The fact that Xorath himself would have subdued Isadora by force before I arrived was kept a secret. We didn’t want to bring more nuance into an already complicated matter.

Xorath told a short and clean version of Isadora’s ill adaptation to the compound, giving a brief overview over her issues and how they demanded special attention from both of us. He didn’t mention our fights, the sex, the messy feelings around it all. On the contrary, my brother was glad to have their attention and to tell a manufactured story to win them over. He painted a picture of us both dedicated to our cause and a brave human ally doing her best against her fear to help us until Irtix cut short the delicate process with a swift indoctrination.

The sight of Isadora by his side — pregnant, submissive and emotionless — helped drive the tragedy of it all into their minds.

Myrax scoffed in disgust, looking down at my Isadora with a pitiful judgement.

“I see. He gambled that if she wasn’t acting like a person anymore, you wouldn’t need to waste time indulging her emotions. She’d become just another asset to track.”

The pit in my stomach twisted, and I made sure they heard the bitterness in my voice. “He went behind our backs, took someone important to us both and destroyed her instead of trusting our decision.”

Kryx tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Are you speaking of rebellion, brother?”

“No,” Xorath replied, calm and cool as a blade. “But I am speaking of making sure it never happens again. I will bring this to the Obsidian Court. He cannot be allowed to trample over our authority unchecked.”

“I’m surprised, Xorath,” Myrax chuckled with a sneering smile. “I’d never expect you to develop the bravery to challenge our parents.”

Yexeth, ever quiet and watchful, finally spoke. “You must value this volunteer greatly, to risk so much.”

Xorath acted well enough, pretending to be impatient with that sentimental talk. “What I do like is being respected in my work. Irtix treated me like a novice underling, not a sovereign assigned to co-lead one of the most delicate unions of our kind. He went too far.”

Kryx was turning his glass on his fingers. “Father has indeed been annoying for the past few months, but I’d never expect him to overstep his place to take charge of one of our responsibilities like this. That does bring me great worry.”

“You didn’t expect it because you are Auric Sovereigns and can do no wrong in his eyes” Draxen cut through, “as a Forger, I am constantly questioned. It’s either my methods or my choices, he finds fault in them all. I bet he only decided to mess with your woman because Lyxom was growing attached to her.”

Myrax agreed. “He has little respect for us. He understands why we are needed, but he never wanted the teams to become diarchies.”

“That cannot happen again, since we intend to expand the program. The volunteers must not fear helping the directive,” Xorath said. “I’ll move the process with Lyxom, I just need you to support my proposal if it comes to an open audience.”

I was a bit surprised how easily he had swayed them all into our cause. He hadn’t just made them listen, he made them concerned. It seemed that Irtix had done half of the job by being insufferable. They all agreed to join us in our complaint, and if it came to it, to vote and testify against Irtix. Once the process was in motion and there would be no more need for secrecy, we could call upon more of our brothers to support.

In the end, we didn’t really celebrate anything, but we did talk for a few hours about where we’d like to settle, just practicing some speculative ideas of where we would go, what we would build. Isadora eventually settled down in a chair, eyes closed, her hands resting over her belly.

I missed her so much it hurt. I kept my distance to not hurt myself searching for her voice or her touch. Even so my mind was scrambling when I left for my ship near midnight.

I had mostly forgotten about Irtix’s distaste for me and my brothers in combat with the weeks he left me alone, but it all came rushing in emotions that I didn’t want to deal with right then. All the confidence I had came from my fieldwork: the completed missions, the Ironclad and volunteers who trusted me. Not from my superiors, and not from my brother. I remembered the fear of failure, the internal struggle to suppress any emotion that deviated from the Vurlixan ideal of ruthless efficiency. This deeply ingrained programming, a constant pressure to conform and excel, made the Patriarch’s interference not just an insult to my current authority, but a painful reminder.

I was struggling to ease my inner voice when Xorath found me. I was settled in my cockpit.

By his side, Isadora stopped and lifted her eyes to me, and they were wide open.

I stood still. I waited, but there was no eagerness in that wait. I just existed, a tool to the directive, idle until needed. Motionless, unless moved. My mind was quiet, emptied. Thoughtless unless instructed. My helmet’s vision was dimmed so I saw just shades of the outside behind the bright letters of my interface. Not because I had to, but because I chose to. If I allowed more detail in, I’d start noticing things. And if I noticed things, I’d start thinking. I shouldn’t think. Thinking led to mistakes. It tore away at the smooth efficiency of obedience.

So I stood in place, blank and waiting, my hands clasped behind my back, breathing steady, heart rhythm constant. I waited for my overseer’s command.

But it was nighttime. My Overseers would see me to a place of rest. A bed deep underground, between them both, my body quiet as the Eclipse Forger laid at my left, and the Auric Sovereign at my right. Without my headset, I should feel exposed and lost, but in their presence, I wasn’t. If they needed me, they would tell me.

Was that how a drone slept? No. No thoughts. I shouldn’t question.

I closed my eyes. However I didn’t sleep much. Something was defective in me. I had night images of people I didn’t know. It gave me inexplicable sensations, like a bruise beneath my sternum. The third time I woke, it was with a gasp caught in my throat. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I couldn’t. Yet the ache in my chest made it hard to breathe.

The Forger laid his arms around me with that steady, wordless comfort I craved, with warmth and weight nurturing me. My anguish dulled slowly under his touch, melting into devotion. A desire to please him, to make him proud, to earn the privilege of his embrace again.

“That’s a good sign,” the Sovereign said. “The erasure wasn’t thorough.”

A good sign? No. No, it wasn’t. I didn’t want the dreams. I didn’t want the pain. I didn’t want to be torn between feelings I couldn’t name and the calm I was trained to maintain.

But I should not argue.

During the morning, I was fed and taken to a room. There was a small creature inside, whining nonstop.

“Your first task is taking care of yourself, following your schedule of meals, exercise and medical exams. Your second task will be to take care of this creature. Keep it fed twice a day, clean its excrements once. It responds well to brushing, and it may seek contact. Allow it.”

“Of course, Overseer.”

He paused, observing me. I stood in silence, waiting.

“I’ll see you tonight. Eat whatever Urxi brings for you, maintain hygiene. Do not neglect your needs. That would displease me.”

His translated voice echoed inside the helmet, and I nodded with obedience. The door shut behind him and I was left with the little thing. It purred like an engine. I knelt beside it and reached toward the fur, and it lifted its hips to meet me, happy, seeming to like me, and for some reason, I liked it too. It came suddenly, that warmth. Not from the pride of a task well done, but a comfort like the presence of my wardens. I ran a hand along its spine again, slower.

The kibbles were served, the water bowl was cleaned and filled, the litter box was tidied. It all took me just fifteen minutes. So I sat on the floor to stay idle, and the creature settled on my legs, as content as I was. That was an easy task. I could do it.

The room was not an enclosure made for a critter, but it was a room not unlike what belonged to the Sovereign. However, it laid half unpacked, with containers still closed. This observation triggered a sudden thought, a line of inquiry. Should I… No. I shouldn’t think. Obedience was paramount. I wouldn’t be defective.

At noon, food was brought, and I ate. At four, the callendar told me to take a walk around the compound to bathe in sunlight. Then I moved to my regimen of exercise, shower, then dinner. The critter purred happily when I was back. I brushed its fur and waited.

The Sovereign picked me up at nine. He removed my helmet, then his. Seeing his face did something to me, a spark of emotion. An impulse, strong and insistent, urged me to kneel before him. To prostrate myself in absolute submission. At the same time, however, I felt a scorching rage. I wanted to punch him.

No.

How could I think like that?

He put me to bed and covered my body in a soft colorful blanket. He dimmed the overhead light to a deep orange, and settled by my side, his back turned to me. I studied how the white of hair at his nape transitioned into the mild green of his skin.

My programming faltered. I wanted to move on my own. The Sovereign was profoundly unhappy. I needed to alleviate that sadness.

I…

No. A drone does as it’s told. I do not question, I perform. I do not choose, I comply. I was not going to be defective.

I closed my eyes, but the Sovereign’s hands cradled my face and woke me up. It seemed like no time had passed.

“Another nightmare,” he said.

No, I can’t have nightmares. I can’t.

There was so much pain in my chest.

“Go back to sleep.”

I did.

The next day unfolded exactly the same, and so did the next, and the next, and the next. Weekly, I took care of myself and my furry ward. Every Saturday I went to the doctor to have the baby monitored and measured. That was how I functioned. That was my directive.

But on Sundays, I was sent for recalibration with a C-class volunteer. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t just reprogrammed through the interface. Alas I’d never argue with my Sovereign.

Recalibration meant an hour of questioning that I tried to get through peacefully, answering all the queries the best I could. The volunteer asked about my nightly visions, and we talked about my body — how it reacted, how it felt after each nightmare, and each impulse that insisted on coming to me. I was told to not hide anything, so I didn’t.

It was a different way to empty my mind. I poured it out. He helped me organize my thoughts and focus. In my idleness, my memory often wandered back to those talks.

“I find it interesting, Isadora,” he kept calling me that, even if it wasn’t my ID. “That, perceiving your mind is doing something it shouldn’t, by your standards, you are intent on censoring yourself. Instead of saying ‘I got it wrong’ and moving on, your mind twists it. You start thinking ‘I am wrong.’ The whole self gets stained by one moment. What I want you to ponder is how that stops you from learning. You don’t get curious, you just flinch. You hide. It tries to subdue the mistake when you could be using the opportunity to learn.”

“Learn? A drone doesn’t learn, only follows.”

Dr Helio was very well humoured. My “no”s never bothered him.

“Even if you attempt to imitate a machine, you are not one. You are evolving into your current self as any human does. Even a task as seemingly simple as listening and following instructions requires time to master. How to be what you are, how to settle in your function, how to grow comfortable in the right behaviour.”

I was forced to agree with him. His logic was reasonable.

I shouldn’t think. Yet…

The Sovereign always asked for reports about me, but he never seemed concerned. He kept my routine unchanged. That must’ve meant I was doing things right! Otherwise, he’d correct my behaviour.

Every night, we shared the same space in silence. Every night, there were a million things I wanted to ask.

Then I began to feel sick. Nausea struck one morning as a bitter reminder that I would never be a perfect tool. I tried to hold it in. I failed. I ended up on my knees, trembling, stomach emptying into the toilet.

The Sovereign found me there. Wordless, he helped me up, brought me water, and cleaned my face with a cloth.

“I’m sorry,” I said with a shaky breath. I didn’t want to make him angry. I was afraid. Why?

“What for?” he asked. “Nausea is a common side effect of pregnancy. I was warned that would happen.”

Still, I felt I had done something wrong. Something shameful. I looked up at him — the dark weight of his eyes, the way he moved quickly to wrap up the cleaning supplies back in the box.

“Am I defective, Overseer?”

An edge of irritation lowered his voice as he struck the box shut: “Don’t speak nonsense. You are not.”

“But I’m acting outside the directive.”

“Your primary responsibility is to preserve your well-being, which you are successfully doing. Your secondary duty is adequately fulfilled. I fail to see why there would be any deficiency.”

My eyes twitched. I clenched my jaw, trying to hold the shape of discipline. I couldn’t. There was no logic, and I needed it to make sense.

“But I’ve been thinking. Questioning. I keep imagining things. I want things. I know I’m not supposed to want anything but instruction.”

He stared down at me.

“I decide what interferes with your directive,” he said. “And I say none of this disrupts your function. Now, what sort of things are you desiring?”

“I want to move and do tasks without being prompted to.”

The Sovereign chuckled, a calm laugh that I hadn’t seen yet.

“So do them. It’s a sign that you are understanding your position and adapting. That’s good behaviour.”

His logic scraped against something raw inside me. I nodded, because I had to. But the question stayed echoing louder than the answer. If none of this was a failure why did it feel like I was breaking?

I asked Dr Helio. He was the only one I could talk to.

“Isadora,” he said, “the Sovereign and his directive will attempt to guide you towards what they deem your most valuable contribution. However, it falls solely upon you to find how to be in that position. You have to find what feels right for you.”

“At this moment,” I replied, almost whining, “I have no idea what that looks like.”

“That is because you remain undecided, attempting to weigh every perspective as equally valid. Yet no one, regardless of their nature, drone or person, can accept everything they hear as absolute truth. You gotta sift it through your own instincts. Is being a numb servant to the directive truly that crucial? Is doing what the Sovereign asks the best way to go about it? Next, take a moment to decide what you want for yourself. Do you want to be a drone, well integrated into the directive? Or do you want to become someone else? Do you wanna just follow orders, or do what you think is right, even if nobody asks?”

It made perfect sense. It was a clear line of reasoning that I could easily grasp and follow. So I did my research in the network while Gonzo (I learned the proper name for my ward) sat on my lap and slept. I considered all possible outcomes, anticipating my end state in each. Dronified volunteers were integrated to Vurlixan society as a way to keep resources. Instead of killing or imprisoning the rebellious, they were tamed and put to work for the development of the directive. That way, they found peace in the new function, and could be kept around without threatening the operations.

There were layers of subjugation. Some just ensured that thought and decision-making were pushed in the right direction. The deepest reprogramming ensured a tool, perfectly obedient, but still capable of intelligence for complex tasks.

Was I a threat before?

I remembered the ghostly voice of my reprogramming routine. The blissful silence, the quiet existence between tasks. But I was growing in my position and my function. I couldn’t go back. While that didn’t grant me clarity over my desired destination, it did clear certain actions I was determined to take.

Later that night, in the Sovereign’s chamber, I found myself watching him again, restless. I took my first step by saying:

“Overseer, I decided that I will do some tasks out of my own will.”

He looked over his shoulder with a confusing expression I couldn’t quite read. Was he mad? Or just surprised? I brushed his hair, scrubbing him with the tip of my fingers like I did to the cat. The Sovereign reacted very much like the little animal, moving up to meet my touch. I scrubbed his scalp back. He chuckled, but held my hand and pushed it away.

“You don’t need to.”

“It’s not about need. It’s what I think it’s best. You are uneasy. I want to soothe you.”

He seemed even more distressed.

“I don’t want to be soothed.”

I crossed my arms.

“Why do you keep me close, then? If you don’t need anything from me?”

He paused, thinking way too hard about how to reply, carefully choosing his words. What was he hiding? His eyes wandered to the ceiling, and he held his forehead.

“You challenge me in ways that make me uncomfortable, even now… I bring you here each night because you’re important to me. I won’t sleep if I don’t know you’re safe.”

I scooted closer until my chin touched his shoulder.

“What happened?”

He glared with hatred. I felt a revulsion, a deep strong impulse to hit him and make it hurt. Why? He made me feel safe, mad with infatuation, but there was also something terrifying. In a sigh, the anger went away, and he squeezed my hand.

“I wasn’t there when you needed me. Someone facilitated your escape into reprograming, and it changed you, and I couldn’t stop it. That’s how you became a drone. It happened three months ago.”

Knowing he didn’t want me to be a drone gave me an immediate painful fear. I focused on what Dr Helio said, though. Only I could decide on what to do, and where I wanted to settle. Where I wanted to be.

“So I wasn’t turned into a drone because I rebelled?”

He sighed deeply as if in pain.

“No, you didn’t. I threatened to do that, at first, but Lyxom stopped me. By the time you ran the program and got the authorization to become a drone, I had already given up on that idea.”

“You had?”

“You were obedient enough. The plan was going along fine. And I… I came to appreciate who you were.”

I nodded in understanding. I touched his hand until I could entangle our fingers, the smoothness of his skin cold against my warmth. I had seen humans do that gesture as a way to show companionship.

“… Did I change too much?”

He chuckled.

“Yes. You used to be quite mercurious, even irritable, but always incredibly fierce.”

“That sounds like a very unpleasant person!”

“No, not at all.” He spoke with an edge of emotion, gazing at the ceiling. “Your intelligence and wit attracted people to talk to you, even if you wanted to stay by yourself. Once they got into your good side, you became loyal and thoughtful to their needs… Ah, Isadora, you don’t know how much you’ve lost.”

“That may be.” I admitted, memories still eluding me. His face seemed so tired, so needy of a support I couldn’t give. “However, I don’t feel too bad about who I am now.”

“You would hate it. You’d never stay where you are, hold my hand, brush my hair. You loathe me. You despised the idea of being pregnant with my child. You’d desire anything but being here with me.”

I thought about it. I searched my feelings, for the first time not wanting to avoid them. I didn’t remember anything. My memory went as far as the first moment I woke up in the Forger’s arms. I felt peaceful and content. That didn’t last long, did it? So then I began to change and never stopped…

“I don’t know if I can hate anything as I am now.”

The Sovereign let out another sigh, one of discontent. “You are not completely sane.”

I held his hand tighter.

“That might be. All I know is that right now I am pleased to be useful. I’m happy, so happy, that I’ll hold this baby. That I’ll be bred to carry the future of your people and take them towards evolution. I want to be here.”

A sudden darkness came into his gaze, and his eyelids dropped in a dangerous glare. The orange light gave an eerie aura to his expression, the aura of something feral. It was one of those looks that caused a shiver of fear to run through me.

Used. Filled. Emptied. Filled again. The intrusive voice said, and a thrill ran up my spine.

“Overseer?”

He put his hand on my neck, just below my ear, the weight and grip pulling me from worry to pure focus on the moment. His touch and his breathy voice coming out so close to my mouth made my heart light aflame.

“You are only saying that because of your reprogram.” The Sovereign sounded almost angry. “That’s why you suffer from night terrors. There are feelings you’re trying to suppress, and the indoctrination helps you keep them away, but they find a way to break through. And everytime they do, I keep expecting you to push away from me.”

I wanted to ask what he saw when he looked at me. A drone. A disappointment. A project. Or something else entirely?

“I’ll never push you away” I vowed. He let out a sad sarcastic laugh. “Protocol would have you indoctrinate me again until I forgot it all. But you don’t want to do it, right?”

“I don’t. I… We, me and Lyxom, want you back as you were before.”

I could see how that all fit. That’s why he was sending me to Dr Helio, assigning me a useless task, avoiding my recalibrations and giving me space to grow.

“I’ll try to become that person again,” was all I could say.

Used. Filled. Emptied. Filled again. Pleasure in purpose. Reward in duty. I crave instruction.

I crave…

My chest was burning with a strange ache.

I licked his lip. He did it back, and his mouth came to meet mine, squeezing us together. Soft, but hungry, moving back and forth to coax me to answer. We found our rhythm, our lips caressing one another, and the tongues coming out to tease.

His hands came to my waist, pulling me to his lap.

When the kiss broke, he whispered, angry and hungry, against my lips.

“Nobody will ever taint you again. You are mine… I won’t let them.”

When I expected him to keep going, he gently pushed me away. Then he got up and left. The Sovereign looked back from the door, but the black glass of his helmet hid everything from me.

“I’m trying to be better. I won’t stay around you if I think I will hurt you again.”

“When did you hurt me?”

“I hurt you many times, Isa. You just don’t remember.”

He strolled away before I could find my words.

I didn’t know what had just happened. I didn’t know what I wished had happened instead.

I left for the opposite door, the one where Gonzo stayed. He meowed happily, but I went straight to the containers. One by one, I opened them and poured out the things I finally understood to be mine, but which I didn’t recognize. Every trinket, every book, every blanket held a piece of me. It all came back in scattered pieces I didn’t know how to put together.

Until I found her picture.

I sent a message to Dr Helio. He was still awake, even if it was past eleven. We met at his office. Tears bloomed as I retold what I remembered.

Mom had a tough life. It was harder and shorter than she deserved. Single mom, just one generation away from illiteracy and resettlement, no way to study a career, she did plenty with the skills she had. Took good care of me and gave me a stable life so I could become someone. I thought I could give her comfort in her old age when it came, to pay back all she did for me.

Just before I could earn a significant amount of money, she passed away. She died slowly, from a disease that took her kidney and weakened her immunity against infections. I was left alone with my guilt.

Dr Helio pointed out how beautiful it was that we fought for each other. She put me through college, and I tried my best to build a life so I could take care of her in return.

Our time wasn’t perfect, but we were happy for a while.

Regret and anger, seen through the fog of my new mind, the mind I built with his help and my own decisions, those feelings held no reason to be. I missed her. I loved her. I did all I could for her.

We were unlucky.

I would forever miss her, and that was okay. It couldn’t be any different.

I went back to my own room, hugged my cat and slept like a rock for the first time in forever.

Losing myself in the stream of data eased my worries. After those many weeks since the first occupation, the first time we stormed land and built our first base, I had found my point of perfect equilibrium. Demands were met, resources flowed in a smooth pipeline to anywhere they were required, and all surplus was dispatched to the mothership.

In that peaceful efficiency, the need of incessant micromanaging was reduced to a punctual matter, just in case of eventual unforeseen accidents or emergencies. I’d fought with all my resolve to reach that state of triumph.

The moment I unplugged, anxiety came back in a gut-wrenching hold.

I knew what I had to do, and how to do it. Fear still played a part anyway, however I had grown used to that feeling. It was a human element, not debilitating, but guarding myself against complacency. By fostering this paranoia, I honed my self-scrutiny to find potential weaknesses and reduce the likelihood of regrettable oversights or foolish blunders. Everything depended on my arguments and my data.

I worked on that side project for a few hours between lunch and dinner, then Isadora came to find me as my workday neared its end. I saw it in her eyes — she was back. There was a fierceness that’d been missing since the day of her indoctrination. The air in my office turned electric with her presence.

“Finally. I was waiting to scold you properly.”

She sneered in disbelief.

“Hello to you too.”

I typed a command and the glass that separated me from the two dozens of Amberclerks turned black, hiding us from the outside.

“What were you thinking?!” The least she had to do was to listen to me, after all the worry I’d been through. “Tell me, did you enjoy it? Your mind being torn apart and reconstructed? All those triggers and suggestions stitched onto you? You fought so bravely before only to take it as if it was nothing?”

“I wasn’t going to go through it.” She tried to excuse herself.

I breathed in and out to ground my mind. Dr Helio had said that — one can flirt with dangerous ideas without really meaning to follow them. However it also could be a sign that there was a self-destructive idea steadily sprouting. If it was allowed to bloom… What I gathered from that conversation was that I should be glad that Isadora chose to meddle with the indoctrination software, and not a noose.

“You truly are defiant to the point of self destruction.”

“Nothing was supposed to have happened. I didn’t have permission to activate it on my own.”

“No, indeed. You just placed yourself at the edge of the cliff, then was surprised when someone pushed you. You were lucky I cut it halfway through!”

Isadora hesitated on how to answer. She put her hands in her pockets, walking closer ever so cautiously.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” I asked.

“That you cut it halfway because you wanted to. That you wanted me to be me and… Everything else you said when I was a drone.” She looked away, her eyes only dimly lit inside her helmet to help me read what she was thinking. It was a poor help.

“Yes. I meant it,” I answered, trampling over myself. I should elaborate on that answer, but it was so much harder to find what I should say when she was consciously asking about it. “And I meant it truly, not because Lyxom asked me to. I came to admire you, is it so hard to believe?”

She tensed her shoulders, curving her body down in discomfort.

“It is, yeah,” Isadora admitted.

I reached out, slowly, unsure if she would flinch, and touched her hand.

“I’m furious at what was done to you, and mad that you would risk yourself like that. Once I calmed down, I talked to Dr Helio and we devised a plan to help you find yourself again… I’m glad to see it worked.”

Isadora leaned into my touch. “It didn’t. Not exactly. I’m not who I was before, but I’m becoming someone new. Not a drone. But not completely like the old me. There are still voices in my head… Not just my paranoia now, but also… Phrases from the routine. Your commands.”

I could feel her slight tremor, a remnant of the fear that still lingered. She tried to rid herself of it, but it would never go away completely. A drone could only aspire to be a machine.

“I was asking myself all this time if you knew what you were doing when you chose that routine.”

Isadora nodded.

“I asked the interface to show me what you intended to do to me. The obedience was expected, but the other things… suggested desire. Servitude to please you.” Her voice was a whisper. “I thought about it. It was so wrong and so…” Her breath hitched, her heartbeat quickening. A nervous laugh failed to mask it. “You are a kinky freak, Xorath. A pervert, do you know what that means?”

I crossed my legs, resting my head on my fingers, and my arm on my panel. My hand moved from her wrist to her waist. “Dr Helio said it’s no surprise I developed obsessive and uncommon desires after being told my purpose was to bear children for the directive. I’m not proud of it, but I came to understand it’s a natural consequence.”

I expected mockery, but she eased into my touch, letting me pull her closer. “And now I’m caught in your kinks too.”

I drew her onto my lap, and her heart quickened even more. “Looking back, I’d never write that routine, nor leave it to be found and used on you. I’d keep those… What’s the word Dr Helio used? Ah, yes. I’d keep those fantasies to myself.”

She eased into my legs, getting comfortable. Her hands held my nape, rubbing the fabric of my uniform.

“Shimmerlet, knowing you were the one who would bear my children did things to me. I wasn’t ready for it. It was both lust and obsession… Kinks, as you said. You were everything I ever wanted. Yeah, I acted stupidly because of those desires. I regret what I did, and what it led to.

“When I saw what Irtix had done, what I’d helped… I couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t about the directive then. It was about you. About what you were, and what you could be again. I wanted you whole, not just your body or what you could do for my people. I wanted the woman I met and became obsessed about. The smart, fierce and passionate woman, doing her best despite how much pain she was going through.”

Her wary gaze searched mine beneath the black glass. I typed the overhaul to make her helmet buckles loose and release. Once we were both eye to eye, her brow curled with worry, I knew that there was only one answer I could give, no matter what I was raised to do.

“Ever since you were turned, I’m fighting my own programming every day. The conditioning to be ruthless, to prioritize the directive above all else. I decided that I-I-I…” Breathe in, breathe out. “I can’t do it over your pain. So if you want to be done with the Vurlixans, I will let you go and find a way to ensure your safety, and the child’s. I’ll find a way to remove any scrap of reconditioning from your mind. I’ll never touch you again.”

Isa studied me for a long moment, a ghost of a smile touching her lips finally. “Wow. You truly are a mess, Xorath.”

My shaky laugh surprised even me. “Funny, I’ve come to that same conclusion.”

She leaned to meet me, forehead to forehead, a fragile, tentative gesture of trust. “Perhaps… perhaps we can figure this out.”

I nodded, a profound sense of relief washing over me. Isadora trembled in my hands, a state I learned to crave. I held her until she could speak.

“I don’t want to go back to the world I was before. Living in human society was bad for me. I’m not fit for it. I like the life in the compound, I like working with Tyrax, and the friends I’ve made. And look, Xorath, you won, okay? I’m yours. I’ll do what you want. So take good care of me and our child, do you hear me? Or I’ll kick your ass and make Lyxom murder you.”

I laughed with a thrill of lustful joy. What else could I do?

“Yes, shimmerlet.”

“And I’m only agreeing to this one child. I’m not sure if I can go through this more than once. We’ll talk about it before considering any other. Alright? And you have to keep them safe from becoming an experiment. I want them to be happy. I need them to be happy.”

It was a fragile beginning, yet I felt a different kind of strength, one that didn’t come from ruthless efficiency, but from an uncertain hope. I looked at her, truly seeing her, and then down at her still-growing belly. The future was unwritten, messy, and terrifying. But she would be there with me.

My mouth caressed her chin, then her cheek. Her lips did the same on my skin. She held my cheeks in a claw-like grip and licked my lips. Heat ran through my spine and curled in my chest. I saw stars with lust-madness clouding my mind, my eyesight, my judgement. If she was going to do that everytime, my self control would implode. I was doomed.

“Whatever you say. We can talk about this later,” I pulled the hem of her pants down and away.

She gasped, then laughed.

“You screwed with my head in so many ways, you jerk” she said, but the voice broke in a gentle moan as I nibbled her jaw. “I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t…”

Isa danced in my grip, needy and burning hot. I nibbled on her nipple over her shirt, and my reward was the most delicious hiss. I forced her legs to open and lifted her body so I could reach the clasp keeping my cock covered, freeing it quickly.

I lowered her against my erection, just to grind, pushing her clit to rub my ridges. They grew harder by the second, and soon Isadora was whining in delicious distress, finding pleasure against the bulges of my flesh.

And I was just as well growing feral with my needs. She was mine. Once again, mine. Beautiful and glowing, carrying my child, swollen with the proof of how much I wanted her.

I made us change places. I put her to her knees over my chair, her face turned to the back rest. With her ass exposed and raised, she braced herself. I put my cock to her dripping slit and pushed in.

Isadora trembled. Each inch that breached her made her jump with the pressure of another ridge opening her up.

She held in her breath and her sounds for as long as she could… But when I held her waist, a moan escaped, then another as I pumped her with my dick.

Her body was begging me to breed it again. Her legs shook, barely holding her weight as I pushed deeper, filling her completely. The soft, rhythmic creak of the chair accompanied her sharp gasps. I could feel her pulsing around me, a hot, wet glove squeezing my skin tight, unraveling me with every thrust.

I leaned forward, my hands gripping her hips. Her head fell doward against the chair, exposing the delicate line of her nape, and a raw, guttural moan tore from her lips.

“Mine.”

This was more than just physical pleasure; it was a profound need to hold her that transcended all logic and reason.

When her body tightened around me, I knew she was close. I held her, lifting her warmth against my body, clawing her breast and her waist. That undid her, and she milked my cock with her spasms as moisture trickled down my sack. I followed swiftly, spilling myself deep inside her. We stayed there for a long moment, breathing heavily, counting on my resilience to not let us both fall.

That fierce, unpredictable woman, carrying my child, had become my entire world, and in that moment, I knew I would burn it all down for her.

The meeting unfolded as Xorath had predicted and trained me for, and I performed my role well enough. Without the readings on my heart and breath to denounce my lies, I could trick the Vurlixans with a blank face.

The three of us boarded the compact vessel me and Xorath had used. Designed for only two pilots and minimal cargo, it still offered enough space so we could talk in privacy.

“We didn’t tell you to not risk exposure,” Xorath explained to Lyxom after the door was closed. My Vurlixan was still very rough, but it was enough to understand them. “If they know we managed to revert the dronification, our argument against Irtix loses strength.”

Lyxom still seemed a bit out of it. His hand trembled against mine. I hugged him again, hiding my face in his chest.

“I understand. I’m just surprised,” he said as he cupped my head, his palm covering the entire back of my scalp. “I didn’t think it was possible, either.”

“She’s been in contact with a C-class,” Xorath said. “He’s helping her navigate the process. The premature disruption of her indoctrination and the absence of recalibrations left her receptive to it.”

“Hey, I can talk for myself,” I mocked in my broken vur, but I was too busy rubbing my cheek against Lyxom’s armor.

I realized how much I craved his presence, even if I couldn’t remember everything we’d been through. His smell was doing things to my mind, and there was that potent warmth of affection burning in me. One that was free of taint, different from what I still felt for Xorath. Any affection and desire I felt for him didn’t come from any brain washing routine. It was all us, matching each other.

Lyxom hugged me again, squishing me tight. The weight of him was perfect, and soft, and made me feel so safe.

“I’m so relieved, you have no idea.” Lyxom said, then pecked my forehead.

I held his nape and moved my mouth to his. The kiss woke me. I saw the memory of him while in my room, listening to music. We spent many hours together just like that. I placed my hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the armor.

“I’m still rebuilding, but I’m here. And I remember how much you mean to me, and how much you cared for me.”

His gaze softened, and a slow, tender smile spread across his face. “You don’t have to remember anything for that to be true.” He pulled me back into his embrace, his head resting against mine. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d failed you.”

“You didn’t fail. You fought for me, both of you did,” I murmured, glancing at Xorath who was watching us.

“I have to thank you, brother. You delivered on all your promises.”

A crooked and smug smile drew on Xorath’s face.

“Brother, I would only allow you to witness my most efficient self.”

“I know she will be safe. I know it.” Isadora said, more to the effect of reassuring herself than to answer me. I caressed the baby’s head and let it fall gently from my chest to my hands. Cupped between my fingers, she turned around to see her mother. The enormous hazel eyes glistened with the happy recognition of mom, and she wiggled around, moving arms and legs in frantic excitement.

Her thin white curls were beginning to thicken, contrasting with her light brown skin. She was all Isadora except for her brow, where she’d eventually develop Xorath’s permanent angry glare.

“We’ve kept plenty of children in these pods; she’ll love the warm, cozy space,” I said.

I placed little Laura in the cushioned nest and then positioned the oxygen mask over her tiny face. The fresh air made her eyes widen in surprise, but she didn’t get scared enough to cry. I softly closed the lid.

Through the glass, she looked from Isadora to me. We waved and smiled. Within seconds, her eyes closed in sleep, because the pod was too comfortable to resist. I took the container to the socket on the wall and locked it in place. That way, Laura would be safe from any turbulence, and the baby monitor would alert us if she needed anything.

Fateweaver Clara waved us away. “Ok, hover parents, go strap down for launch.”

Isadora caressed the glass one last time. I pulled her gently by the hand.

The vessel was a standard transport unit to bring Vurlixans and supplies from the Bastion, our space colony. There wasn’t a lot of leisure space, but the seats and sleeping pods were built with care. Passengers usually stayed dormant for such a boring journey, and the ship was made to keep everyone comfortable.

We entered the passenger room to a scene of focused anticipation. Clara’s delegation of five human Fateweavers were already in their seats, strapped securely into the sleek, gel-cushioned chairs that lined the sides. Their faces were obscured by the visors, but I could hear their cheery conversation through the internal network. Beside them, the ten chosen Ironclad were on duty, and would remain so till the last second to launch. Only two figures were still distracted. Tyrax spoke in a low rumble, and Xorath listened intently. They were engrossed in another review of the presentation.

I crossed the space and walked straight into the command deck, the triangular chamber at the very edge of the ship. Above us, the dark blue sky of early night seemed borderless, the glass ceiling allowing almost a complete dome of view. I sat by the steering panel, already turned on and humming with pre-departure readings on its screens. I flickered mechanisms to power on our systems and turned on the lights that warned of an imminent launch.

Isadora chose the seat directly behind the primary driver. Soon after, Xorath joined me, direct and precise in his movements as he buckled his safety belt and turned on the secondary software. He closed the door to the control room, keeping us from the crew so we could focus.

With a soft thrum, the departure sequence initiated. One by one, each part of the sequence lit a white line across the visors of our helmets: the primary thruster array, the auxiliary stabilizers, the pressure controllers. The entire ship seemed to hold its breath.

We left the ground in a smooth pull, a seamless ascent that registered as an increase in gravity — acceleration pressed one into their seat, making them feel heavier. I consciously modulated our speed, ensuring the rhythm wouldn’t alarm the humans on board or stir my daughter from her peaceful sleep. Pure Vurlixans were very resistant to endure that sort of force. Those of us without exoskeletons, not so much.

On the sophisticated radar display, a constellation of green dots around the shape of our ship represented the guard units protecting us from air strikes. They’d shadow us until we reached enough distance from the atmosphere to be safe from missiles.

Isadora, oblivious to the technical prowess unfolding around her, pressed her face against the reinforced panoramic window. Her eyes were fixed on the rapidly receding world below. The horizon, a jagged line of mountains moments ago, became a curve dipping lower and lower. Buildings became miniature blocks, rivers became just lines, then the sprawling city dwindled into a gray and golden stain against the green of the surrounding flora.

We came so high that the sun showed up again behind the border of the planet. Isadora gasped. Clara confirmed that Laura was still asleep, undisturbed, so I pushed forward with a bit more speed. It took us a few minutes to escape the drag of the atmosphere, but soon there was no blue sky or clouds, just the vastness of space.

Once we left the strongest pull, me and Xorath positioned the thrusters to turn the ship. We locked the trajectory and lowered the engines until we reached constant speed. That was when weightlessness settled, and Isadora gasped, then laughed nervously, as she was kept in place only by the straps.

The alert lights were turned off, and I heard the unbuckling of seatbelts.

I left my chair to help Isadora transition. I pulled her gently by her arm. She floated up, and had to put her hand to stop herself to not hit her head on the glass ceiling.

“This is so freaking cool!”

I laughed aloud.

“You will like it less once the nausea medication wears off.”

Through the cameras, I saw the human Fateweavers enjoying a similar moment, trying the novelty of moving freely.

Isadora pushed herself. She floated to the very front, beyond the control panel, to be surrounded by stars at all sides.

In the distance, the dark shapes of the obscured Vurlixan fleet awaited us just over the moon. My entire life had been on ships. The stars were one of my oldest memories. I fell in love with the blue sky, the clouds, and the mountains of my new land, but only the sidereal void would ever feel like home. To Isadora, reaching beyond orbit had always been impossible.

“Every human wishes they could do what I’m doing right now,” she said and pointed to the ships far away. “How long till we get to the space station?”

Xorath answered with a warm voice:

“Just under thirty hours. This is not a fast ship.”

“Not fast?” Isadora gasped. “Come on! It takes any rocket from earth three days to reach the moon.”

I pushed myself closer to her. In a swift slide, I was at her back, our bodies together, and I held the glass at her sides to not bounce back.

“Well,” I said, “in a military hunting unit, I could get to the Bastion in 5 hours.”

Isadora looked up and even behind the darkened glass I could see her eyes changing. I should push away. Instead, I allowed her to bring her back to my chest, and we both trembled with desire.

She managed to recompose herself. “Are they going to land those ships eventually?”

Xorath clicked his teeth, denying. “Probably some of them, but not all. The main ship was built in space, and there’s not enough energy and thrusters in our entire fleet to manoeuvre it into orbit safely.”

I agreed. “It will always have a purpose to exist off the planet, even if it isn’t our home anymore.”

“That’s where you were born, right?”

“Yeah. The nursery is at that tower, near the top floor.”

“Can you show me when we get there?”

“Of course.”

With gentle pushes, I helped Isadora reach the door. She met her friends halfway, and they floated further into the ship, enjoying the moment.

Xorath let out a muffled chuckle that only I could hear.

“Go spend time with her. I’ll take the first turn,” my brother said, relaxing against the chair. As long as our ship remained undisturbed, there would be no need for adjustments until we landed. “I know you miss each other.”

After the first hour of talking incessantly, Isadora’s excitement dwindled, as did the excitement of the other humans. Laura had woken up for a few minutes, but Clara fed and changed her, and our baby was quickly fast asleep again. I decided to enjoy our free time while we had it.

Everyone settled to rest after the adrenaline of launch, and I took Isa by her hand to show her to our pod.

Under the dimmed light of the lower deck, we climbed and pushed ourselves gently through corridors until we reached the circular opening. Behind the small sliding door, there was a cozy padded nook, enough space for a Vurlixan to settle.

I pushed in feet-first, then turned on the wall lights.

“It’s not a lot of space, but keeps you from floating aimlessly.”

Isadora came after me, settling between my arms. I clicked the door closed and she hummed, pleased. “It’s comfortable”

I helped her remove her helmet. The charging station opened with a pneumatic hiss and demanded the equipment with glowing lights. I removed my own and settled both on the supports, which then retreated back into the padded wall.

In the warm dimmed light, I held my precious girl. The world seemed to fade, replaced by the heat of her body, the scent of her hair, and the urgent beat of her heart against mine. The forces of our collision made us spin in the air. A passionate but gentle whirlwind. The intimacy of our silence, the soft glow of the wall lights, and the distant hum of the ship created a meditative moment where only we existed.

She passed her lips along my cheek. I moved to meet her, and we kissed softly. Her mouth was so warm, tasting like cocoa butter.

“God, I missed you,” she said. “I’m glad that after all this, Irtix will be out of the way, and we won’t have to pretend any more.”

Her bright brown eyes looked up at me. The need was shining like fire. I bit my glove to take it out. She kissed my palm.

“And we’ll soon be living together. One base, one nation.” I whispered back, my voice thick with emotion.

“It will be so good to wake up next to you again,” she pressed herself closer, her fingers tracing the lines of my spine through my suit.

I leaned down, nuzzling her hair. A gentle sigh escaped her lips as she tilted her head, inviting me closer. My hand cupped her jaw. She held onto the straps of my clothes.

I had grown used to Xorath, who was anxious, furious, hungry. Lyxom moved painfully slow. The sweet nibbles down my neck made me shiver, and still he had no hurry to lower my zippers. His mouth grazed my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

My fingers tangled in his silky hair, pulling him, urging him on. Both his hands came up beneath the hem of my shirt, clawing at my back. I moaned. His mouth moved lower, and sucked on my breast, tender as they were. A drop of milk escaped, and he licked it with a confident smile.

That should not be so hot. I let out the quietest “fuck”, which made him chuckle.

“Having a little trouble there, shimmerlet?” Lyxom teased, his voice a low rumble against my skin.

I pushed against his shoulders, trying to create some distance, but he was a solid, unmoving wall. “It’s too hot in here,” I said, my voice a little breathless.

He pulled back, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Is it?” He ran a hand down my side, his touch sending thrills through me despite the heat. “Perhaps we should adjust the temperature.”

Before I could answer, he leaned over and pressed a button on the wall. A soft whoosh of cooler air immediately filled the pod. I let out a grateful sigh.

“Better?” he asked, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Much,” I admitted, and then, emboldened by the cooler air, I reached up and tangled my fingers in his hair again, pulling him up for a deep, hungry kiss. That finally got through his teasing and made him move over me.

He pulled my clothes away. As I was floating, each pull made me wobble from side to side, turn around, wave. Lyxom moved me freely, tracing me with his mouth. Then he held onto the padded walls and pushed himself down, down… He bit my ribs, my belly, my thigh.

Absence of gravity means that there’s nothing to stop you until you hit the wall. So when he pushed his head to my pussy, I had to brace myself, force myself against him, trying to keep still as he settled between my thighs. His thumbs opened me up, and I almost came right then. To keep me close, he clawed my thighs at the same time he ravished me. His tongue pressed from my slit to my clit, circling it, pressing down. He let out a laugh that blew warmth against my groin.

“Ly…”

“You taste so good, Isadora,” he murmured, his voice husky. My dampness clung to his cheeks in droplets that waved with the surges of the ventilator. It was the last I saw, because I shut my eyes right then.

Lyxom focused on his work with a slow, torturous caress, his tongue and lips working my vulva with tender lust. He was having fun in making me tremble until I was writhing above him, my body winding up with growing tension.

“Not yet, shimmerlet.”

Lyxom pulled me down suddenly, making my stomach drop. But it was only until he fit me against his cock, his hands on my back, hugging me. I bit his chin, whining, and he breached me in a short push. Three ridges in, and I was trembling with an ache to come.

He had settled at the bottom of the pod, using his back and his feet to keep himself in place. That way, he could move me freely with his hands.

“Relax. I’ll take care of this.”

And so easily, he pushed and pulled me to and from his lap as if I wasn’t any heavier than a pillow. I held onto his wrists to focus myself, but there was very little I could do to keep my mind from slipping away into a pleasure haze.

He pounded into me with lengthy but intense thrusts. Every hit in my womb made heat spread from my belly to my breasts, up my spine and around my nape.

And suddenly, the heat became unbearable. It gripped my heart and my gut. I screamed when orgasm rocked through me in an electric shockwave.

Lyxom wasn’t done, though. Holding onto the crevices on the walls, he kept me in place, pressing me down with his entire body, moving just his hips. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him growing harder and harder, until he hugged me tight. I could feel his orgasm through all of his body, but especially in the gooey mess filling me up.

Blissful post-orgasm joy warmed me up as we stayed there just floating around in each other’s arms, our bodies still locked together.

But let me tell you, it’s really fucking weird having to clean jizz from your pussy using a vacuum tube coming from the wall.

We slept for three hours, Lyxom strapped to the wall and me strapped against his chest. After that, he took Xorath’s place at the cockpit, and I relieved Clara from babysitting. To my surprise, Xorath joined us. Zero G was absolutely no issue for our baby — Laura was glad to be weightless, floating around, arms legs and head moving freely. She sucked on her hands and turned from side to side, looking from Xorath to me and back, until I unstrapped the front of my uniform. Then she eagerly reached for mama’s milk.

I held her chubby body close to mine and she latched on my breast. Her eyes looked up while she sucked, overstimulated. Her father held my waist from behind and rested his head against mine. Our helmets clinked softly. Because of the proximity, I could hear the buzz of voices in Xorath’s ear. Even far away from his base, he was still working.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“No,” he lied.

I held his hand.

“It will be a matter of voting, right? And you already secured a majority with the Sovereigns and Forgers”.

“Yes, and my data that Irtix has been skewering his behaviour unfairly is more than sound. Still… Speaking ill of an Obsidian parent in front of the others is no simple thing.”

“They’ll have to listen,” I turned to him, shifting Laura slightly so she wouldn’t dislodge from my breast. “This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a presentation of facts.”

“Which is why,” Xorath continued, “our presentation needs to be flawless. No room for argument. No room for doubt.”

“It will be,” I said, feeling a surge of resolve. “You and Tyrax went over it a hundred times.”

Laura unlatched, letting out a small burp. She looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes, then over at Xorath, a tiny smile gracing her lips. This was who we were fighting for. This was the future we were building.

“She’s going to be a force, that one,” Xorath chuckled.

The three of us twirled in the air until Laura became bright red with effort, gathering all her strength to poop. I’ll never forget the wonder of changing a diaper in zero gravity, watching tiny fragments of filth drift around until Xorath suctioned them away using the cleaning vacuum.

After a while, arrows and letters flared in my interface with disrespectful emphasis. “Retrieve the child,” they said, and I felt my blood run cold.

I turned to Xorath who was quietly meditating at my side, floating upside down in free motion. I reached for him, but a loud noise cut my action short with surprise and pain.

“You are not useful with them. You are wasting. Do what I tell you. Retrieve the child and follow instructions.”

“Xorath…” I whispered.

The interface became bright, blinding me. So I put my hands behind my helmet and reached for the new safety latch. With a yank, my helmet opened in three pieces, each scattering in different directions.

My heart hammered in my chest. I was about to panic. However, a gloved hand on my face woke me up.

“Someone breached the new security software” I explained. “I was receiving orders.”

Xorath clicked his teeth.

“I knew Irtix would prove his corruption before the end.”

Green emergency lights took the ship. Without the helmet, I couldn’t know what measures were to be taken. Xorath pushed the wall to reach Laura and extract her pod.

“Lyxom is calling us to the cockpit. There are ships showing on the detectors.”

“What about Clara and the others?” I asked, my gaze darting towards the passenger room.

“The Ironclad will guide them to the safest places to wait out an attack.”

“An attack?!”

Laura, fast asleep, didn’t even stir as she was gently detached from her socket and dragged away.

“Isadora was just hacked. She was receiving orders through the drone interface.” I explained while I strapped Laura’s pod in the chair behind mine.

“There are ten assault ships fast approaching from 36 48,” my brother said. “Vurlixan ships. However, they are not answering my call.”

I took the steering panel while Lyxom got up. “I’ll hack them,” I confirmed, a practiced ease in my tone despite the knot tightening in my stomach, “You just get out there and blow them up.”

Isadora sat by Laura and strapped her own safety belts. Her eyes had a shared understanding of the grim task ahead. What mattered to us was keeping our baby safe.

My hands flashed across the console as I flicked buttons and threw switches. Once all the humans were secured in their escape vessels, ready to be ejected if danger came, I pushed the ship, altering its trajectory to veer sharply away from the approaching assault units. This manoeuvre cleared a direct path for Lyxom’s fighter, allowing him to launch straight into the heart of the impending conflict.

There was no speed our ship could reach that would protect us from enemy fighters. I just turned on all the emergency systems that would keep the vital parts chambers with energy and oxygen in case of the worst, then let Lyxom do his job.

His ship showed up on my detector, flying closer to the enemy.

Through my personal interface, a stream of data flooded my vision. I began to read all the communication frequencies, sifting through the cacophony of white noise, static, and panicked chatter. Once I isolated what I needed to access, I got to work. My algorithms worked tirelessly, isolating and decoding the incoming transmissions.

“This is Auric Sovereign Xorath,” I broadcasted. “I am warning you — do not approach. We’ll not take chances; you will be shot down.”

“Fuck you, alien scum,” a very human voice, crackling with raw hatred, shouted back, a harsh laugh following.

I was stunned. Irtix had put our tech into human hands.

“Your master sent you to your deaths, I hope you realize that before it’s too late.”

Suddenly, the screen flickered, displaying a complex pattern of energy readings. The ships were charging their lasers. Lyxom’s smaller vessel was already shooting at them, hitting their weapons.

“They’re not backing down,” Isadora’s voice came from behind me, tight with fear.

“They aren’t.” I answered her, and switched my languages to talk to Lyxom. “How many will escape you?”

“Two,” his voice, calm and resolute, filled my helmet.

“Hold on,” I warned Isadora, bracing myself. The ship bucked violently as the first laser hit us, almost piercing our armour. Explosions bloomed on the display. Laura burst into disheartening weeping, a second before our ship was hit again, one of our thrusters blown to uselessness.

Focus. Stop the attack. That’s what I had to do. My hands moved on their own, typing codes to my software linking us to the enemy ships. I found their helmets, one by one. Not volunteer units, but Vurlixan ones. Stolen. I activated the submission routine. They were cut off from reality: sight and hearing blasted with light and noise.

Three of them disappeared soon after, hit by Lyxom. Their weapons engines blew up with disastrous consequences. The rest were neutralized.

The only sound was Laura’s cries. Rage gripped me. I managed to take a hold of myself enough to bark each word, slowly, so everyone connected to their network could hear me clearly.

“Listen up, you who dared to set up this miserable trap. You think death is the worst I can do to you? I swear, if anything happens to my daughter and her mother, I will destroy this operation from within. The Vurlixan fleet will die starved and hopeless. There will be nothing left of the directive, not even in memory. And every Vurlixan on their death breath will know to blame you, you fucking disgrace.”

We had to be tugged to Bastion by a rescue fleet. Relying only on the remaining thrusters would make the journey last three times longer than planned. I was not surprised to find that the enemy pilots were all dead, not by my meddling, but by their own hands to keep their secrets.

Isadora isolated herself in a sleeping cabin for the rest of the trip, hugging Laura’s small safety pod to her body. I remained on the command deck, even though the Ironclad could have relieved me.

The Bastion’s landing port was underneath the entire titanic structure of the station. Platforms were lowered in enormous lifts, so the ships could come down over. Artificial gravity already took hold by that distance, which made landing a bit easier. While the lift traversed to the actual port, going back inside the Bastion, air was introduced to the environment, together with the decontamination agents.

When it reached ground level, we found ourselves inside a massive space enclosed by organic-tech walls. From there, I still had to drive the ship to its parking slot just near the gates to the first floor.

There was a committee waiting for us, as expected. The Obsidian parents, each with their personal entourage, plus all my brothers, Sovereign’s and Forgers, with their trusted followers.

All of them had come to see Laura. It was everything I had dreamed of, but I just wanted to reach my private chambers and work on how to tie Irtix to the assault we’d been through.

I met Isadora at her pod. When the ship was bound by gravity, the pods lay horizontally. I expected to find her curled onto herself, nervous, biting down on her nails. Instead, she was meditating.

If I could go back in time, I’d make fun of myself, sneering at that woman whom I’d grow to admire so much. Adapting, changing and ever evolving, she was more Vurlixan than many out there on that hangar.

I brought her helmet, now fixed. I had tweaked it during the long ride through the lift to make it safe to wear again.

“Here are the changes I made: now, it’s cut off from the Nexus. You will only get information from me and Lyxom, and we’ll be your firewall against intrusive rules. That way, we can also fake your vitals, so it will be easier to pass as a drone.”

A sweet smile drew on her lips.

“I knew you would think of something.”

“I’m just mad I didn’t consider this possibility before.”

Isadora pushed Laura’s pod to my hands so she could crawl out of the tight private chamber.

Once she stood, I saw the worry in her eyes. Her hand reached for me.

“Can you hold me? Just for a moment?”

“For as long as you need, shimmerlet,” I pulled her close and into my arms, wrapping her tightly. Affection was a dangerous feeling. I had not lied, I’d burn everything down to avenge her if I needed to.

Soon she put on the helmet, and breathed in slowly. I held her chin and made her look me up.

“There’s more. I added a laser module to your helmet, like all Ironclad have. You access it through the upper left icon.”

She took a second moving her gaze through the interface to find what I meant.

“It normally has two intensities, one for bruising and the other for lethal forces. Yours has only the latter — if you believe you are in danger, I want you to use it and mean it.”

“Fuck, Xorath, that’s scary,” her voice wavered with emotion. I squeezed her shoulder gently.

“It is, but I’d rather you were able to protect yourself. It will ask you to confirm before shooting, and you do it by looking to the centre of the interface. The firing will happen for as long as you keep your eyes still. The beam itself is precise, going straight in the exact direction your head is turned to. It can cut through most materials, but if it’s something thick, the hardware will require pauses midway to not overheat.”

Isadora seemed to understand, but still denied in disapproval.

“Does that mean I have a huge battery somewhere in my head now?”

“It’s not a ‘huge’ battery. It’s a compact, high-density power cell integrated to fuel the weapon’s energy demands. It’s designed to be incredibly efficient and provides ample power for sustained use, recharging passively during periods of inactivity.”

“Xorath, won’t it explode?”

“What? Of course not! The power cell is encased in a reinforced, thermally regulated housing, designed to withstand extreme stresses and temperatures. It incorporates multiple fail-safes and an advanced energy management system to prevent any kind of overload or catastrophic failure. The safety protocols are rigorous; an explosion is impossible under any foreseeable circumstances, even in the event of severe damage.”

She dismissed me with an eyeroll, muttering, “God, you Vur are all mad.”

I scoffed in response. “Excuse me, I find it much more appropriate than the stupid shooters you humans have to carry around.”

We emerged from the main door in a disciplined formation. I led the way, carrying Laura, with Isadora and Tyrax flanking me. Behind us marched our Ironclad, followed by the human Fateweavers.

Lyxom was already engaging with the Obsidian court, likely recounting the chaos of our journey. Irtix stood with Matriarch Farxi and Patriarch Zenix, his posture betraying nothing about his treachery.

They all turned when we showed up. I opened my helmet’s channel to the court, and data flowed instantly, bringing greetings and congratulations. Though the court had already reviewed Laura’s files, exams, and images, they were clearly pleased to see her in person. Matriarch Farxi asked to hold her.

My daughter fit perfectly, cradled by one hand, and giggled with abandon. Invigorated by her sleep, Laura wiggled her hands and her head like a bird trying to fly.

“You did so well, my child,” Patriarch Zenix said to me with soft clicks.

“Xorath always promised to be a good child to the directive,” Irtix agreed, as if he hadn’t tried to blow me up a few ticks ago.

I bowed my head, then asked: “Fathers, do we know where those ships came from?”

Zenix understood my urgency to change the subject.

“We tracked those ships to Eclipse Forger Erxe’s fleet. He sent orderd to find out what happened. Humans stealing and using our equipment is troubling indeed. We are already revising safety measures to ensure it won’t happen again.”

Irtix had his eyes on Isadora. She was quiet, gaze down, her eyes covered by semi-darkness as a drone would have. I couldn’t know how he chose to interpret the failure in his plans, if he was beginning to suspect that she was an individual again or not.

We lingered around the port while Laura was introduced to all the Vurlixan elite. Lyxon and I managed to hold our tongues from discussing the attack, all the while we greeted our brothers. Soon we were all ushered to the next lift by a Fateweaver.

The ascension brought us to the breathtaking panorama of the welcome hall. The enormous, cavernous space, constructed from silvery organic architecture, served as the hub for all routes circling the ship’s numerous sectors. Above us, the verandas of at least forty floors rose in dizzying repetition, forming a delicate lattice rising onto the distant ceiling. The entire space was bathed in a warm yellow-orange light, as Vurlixan eyes preferred. All around us, Vurlixans in full military dress and drones passed by.

Isadora’s pretending of the drone-like apathy gave way to a flicker of human wonder. She looked up. Through the closed channel, I heard all the humans gasp and sigh in awe.

The entire entourage parted ways then. The council wouldn’t happen for another forty-six hours, and we needed to rest. The Fateweaver assigned to my group took us through ascending escalators until we were taken to a flat in one of the highest floors.

I sat at Lyxom’s legs, with Laura in my lap, her mouth sucking on me with all the might she could muster to feed herself. I was trying to fall asleep. Exhaustion weighted down all my limbs, but every time I closed my eyes, I was jolted awake by panic. I knew they would keep me safe, but my mind was still inside the ship, praying that a shot wouldn’t blow us up.

Behind us, Xorath let out a sharp curse.

“I can’t find anything suspicious on the logs. Not even looking at the extended network of followers. Irtix is devious.”

Lyxom turned our chair so we could see him. The room was a bit small for three people, and it reminded me a lot of the first private room I received in the compound, all smooth shapes and no moving parts.

Lyxom brushed my hair gently, but added with the same tone of annoyance in his voice: “he’s been working around the Nexus for longer than we’ve been alive, he must know how to erase his steps.”

Xorath clicked his teeth, sharp and loud. “I don’t think he erases them. I think he got agents who don’t even operate inside Nexus channels. He’s fallen low and he’s not crawling back.”

Lyxom let out a dry laugh, bitter at the edges. “Are you really surprised that he tried to kill us?”

Xorath hesitated. “I am,” he admitted, “I didn’t think he’d go that far.”

I lowered my head and kissed the soft patch of hair on Laura’s warm forehead. She gave a sleepy sigh, her tiny fingers curling. I held her tighter.

Lyxom’s hand moved from my hair to rest on my shoulder, firm and steady. I leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence.

“If I had followed orders,” I said quietly, “If I had taken Laura to the evacuation pod like I was told, he wouldn’t have his minions destroy the thrusters. He’d have destroyed the cabins, or the air filters. But he didn’t. Because of her.” I looked down at the sleeping baby. “Laura is his limit. He won’t harm her.”

Lyxom’s hand squeezed lightly. “But he’d gladly kill the rest of us. And if he can’t, he will try to take Laura to use her as leverage.”

“Exactly,” Xorath said. “We’ve managed to deceive him in some ways. He doesn’t know me and Lyxom are amicable, and that we are both affectionate of you, Isa. He thinks this whole presentation is just some petty act of revenge on my part, working alone, as a public humiliation for him meddling in my affairs. That assures me he won’t try to take you as a hostage, and that he won’t put Lyxom on the line either. So that leaves me and Laura as the main targets.”

Lyxom took a second to think.

“Inside the Bastion, he can’t use rogue agents. That means he can’t dispose of Xorath without creating a digital trail. Laura is his best chance to shut you up.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of Laura’s tiny body grounding me and unravelling me at once. “Then we don’t let her out of our sight.”

“We can’t afford to give him any chances.” Xorath replied. “However, Irtix is desperate. He knows once the council convenes, he loses everything. He’ll scramble to find a solution, and there’s a hundred ways he can go about that.”

“Then we keep adapting,” Lyxom said. “No matter what he plans, we’ll surprise him instead.”

I didn’t sleep. I drank the fizzy drink the food dispensers gave me to down the anxiety medication, got Laura set for the day, and followed my boys around. There was always somewhere to be. Irtix’s plan was very obvious: keep Xorath and Lyxom constantly occupied, buried in meetings, always on the move through the station so they couldn’t guess where he’d attack next. Xorath chose to play along initially. He took the opportunity to let me see the different structures of the Bastion. From large squares to machinery rooms, hydroponics and air filters, water recyclers and composters, labs and cloning facilities.

The station had been running for hundreds of years, something I couldn’t grasp. It had left their home planet so long ago with no plans to ever return, and most of the Vurlixans alive had been born in the cloning facilities, never knowing other life. Their purpose was maintaining the Bastion and striving for a future for their species, something that was finally within reach — my daughter as its ultimate symbol.

To keep her close, we got Laura the Vurlixan high-tech version of a baby carrier and took her wherever we went, either strapped to me or to Xorath. When Xorath had to leave for some Auric Sovereign meeting, Lyxom took over. It was right on time to chaperone Clara and the delegation of Fateweavers to visit the Vurlixan children’s nursery, something I was anxious to do.

The visit was overseen by a hybrid Vurlixan: a human-looking agent dressed in black and orange, wearing a simplified version of the sleek, bird skull-like helmet. She spoke in soft clicks and a raspy voice, calmly describing the process of creating those children.

They had a batch of reproductive cells collected years ago. Those cells were spliced in a lab, then transferred to artificial uteruses, which were large sacks of transparent membrane and organic tech. Inside all the nutrients were pumped to keep the baby healthy and growing.

The guide showed us the three babies still in development. The sight of those fetuses in metaphorical jars gave me shivers, but they didn’t look creepy once you really stared at them. They seemed to be lost in sleep.

The number of hybrid children was kept low, because they had no intention of making a new species of people unable to keep growing naturally. Low, however, meant nearly a thousand individuals. They’d created a large first batch in order to produce the first generation of half-human Sovereign’s and Forgers, but had slowed down since then. Nevertheless, an expansion was already being considered thanks to Xorath’s confirmation of crossbreeding compatibility.

They would kickstart the project to create more individuals to introduce genetic diversity into the populace.

The guide then took us to the nursery, a round, large room that was like an enclosed playground. There, twenty pure Vurlixans welcomed us. They wore no garments, no equipment, only their towering, elongated bodies in mantis-like sleekness. In the warm orange lighting, their skin shimmered a deep, metallic bronze. Around them, there were around twenty infants, from soft just born bundles to toddlers wobbling unsteadily across the space, holding soft rubber toys, crawling through the floor, clinging to their Vurlixan guardians. They were all chubby and seemingly healthy.

Our guide engaged Clara and the other Fateweavers in Q&A about the children’s development. While they were busy, Lyxom guided me to another passage through the metallic corridor.

The open space was a mock public square, complete with fake grass underfoot and an artificial blue sky projected overhead. It was crowded with children running wild. Hundreds of them in every shade of green, olive, and blue—some with glistening chitinous carapaces and shimmering eyes like Lyxom’s. Others, like Laura, looked fully human, apart from the unnatural hue of their skin. None of them wore helmets.

“What chaos! I do not miss this place,” Lyxom said, but his voice was warm with affection.

“This is all so cute. Why is this cute?”

He glanced at me. “What do you mean, cute?”

“Just look at them,” I said, smiling despite myself. “They’re adorable! I can’t even imagine Xorath looking like this.”

Lyxom’s voice hesitated with amusement. “Ah. We probably have archived footage on the Nexus, if you really want to see.”

I tried to imagine Lyxom with just seven years old, gangly limbs, knees too big, racing through this same space with too much energy and nowhere to put it.

“Hell yes, I want to see it. Was Xorath already that grumpy as a kid?”

He gave a short laugh. “He was a bit of a know-it-all, always reading, watching extra lessons. The grumpiness came later, during training. That’s when he decided he had to be better than everyone else.”

A group of the older children recognized Lyxom’s armour as that of someone important. They ran up to him, asking a thousand questions in quick and loud clicks and hisses, talking over each other so fast that my translator had some problem sorting through their voices to feed me information.

Lyxom introduced me, and when he mentioned that I was helping fulfil the directive, it was like he told the children I was a superhero. They jumped up and down and asked to see Laura. I crouched so they could look over the edge of the carrier, eyes hungry for novelty. The first Vurlixan actually born in centuries.

I was exhausted by the time we left. There were still forty hours to go until the council. I was so tired, I could sleep just by resting my weight against the wall.

Exhaustion crippled me so hard that my feet failed me. I tripped. Except… It wasn’t my body that stumbled, but the floor. An opening in the metallic ground swallowed me.

I hugged Laura tight to protect her and braced for impact. It never came. I fell onto a cushioned surface in the dark. I had no time to settle, because I was pulled up by Ironclad and dragged away, taken through a narrow space between two walls. Laura’s cries erupted in fear.

I flared the emergency signal in my interface. Lyxom and Xorath both answered in seconds.

“I’m coming to find you.”

“Keep looking around, we’ll see through your camera.”

I was shoved in a maintenance lift with the four Ironclad squeezing in. My stomach fell with the speed of our descent. My helmet updated me which floor we were passing through, until the Ironclad behind me stuck something in my helmet.

It all went dark for a second. When the system rebooted, I had no connection. The chat was dead. I wasn’t getting any data from the ship. No map, no way to know where to go.

I was going in blind and alone to wherever they wanted to take me.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t another apartment.

That one was clearly lived in, not a guest lodging. There was wear and tear on the furniture as soft scraps at the edges and beaten down textures. Though clean and sleek as I’d come to expect from the Vurs, that place held a bit more personality. There was a planter running through one side that overflowed with gorgeous clumped succulents. Kept under a direct white light, they added a green into an overall orange scene.

On the opposite wall, a massive floor-to-ceiling image showed a rugged landscape of jagged rocks and mountains cutting through fluffy clouds.

Irtix was sitting on the couch, ten steps away from me. He was meddling with his own device, his hands drawing signs in the air interacting with the augmented reality interface. The Obsidian Court wore helmets of unique design. With small lens for eyes, and a halo around their head with many plugs for different cables, they looked the most alien of all the Vurs.

Irtix was connected to the wall through five links. I could only imagine the amount of information he had to work with. The nexus had a pretty amazing wi-fi connection overall to each helmet. The demand of work to cap that bandwidth had to be insane.

The Ironclad left me and closed the door. I was ready to fight, but Irtix didn’t even look at me.

I mean, wasn’t I worth a villain speech?

However, he still believed I was a drone, right? A drone is not talked to.

In the absence of an overseer, a drone was expected to perform their duties as normal. Laura still hadn’t come down from her whines, so I unclasped the carrier and held her to my chest turned to her side, rocking her up and down. She went quiet right away, but I knew she needed to be changed soon, and fed, and I myself needed to use the restroom.

I opened the chat room and looked into it. There was no connection, I didn’t have the AI to answer my questions, nor could I search for help. All I had was my own interface and my apps.

“Overseer, where can I perform the task of cleaning the baby?” I tried in my poor Vurlixan.

Irtix moved his head only slightly.

I heard steps in the room hidden from my sight. A human walked out, clasped in uniform from head to toe, obscured by the dark helmet.

I couldn’t tell if they were a man or a woman. Their body was androgynous, and the clothes concealed any detail. They moved with silent, precise efficiency, almost mechanical.

Of course Irtix had a drone. My blood ran cold with fear.

The drone pointed the way for me. I followed them through another lounge and into a comfortable, expansive washing room. They opened a cabinet and retrieved a few tins of sanitary lotion and cream.

Once I was alone, I inspected my helmet for the jamming hardware. There was something attached to the back, round and smooth. I gripped it and yanked, but it didn’t budge.

Instead of panicking, I focused on what I could do. I set Laura down on the metallic counter and worked fast. Wiped her clean, washed the gel diaper, applied antiseptic moisturizer, and tucked her back into her clothes. I strapped her into the carrier and took my time using the toilet.

I had Laura and she was safe with me. Xorath and Lyxom would find me eventually. Everything would work out. My job was to keep her close. She wouldn’t leave my reach. Not even for a second.

The drone was waiting for me. It led me back to the lounge then returned to whatever task it had been performing.

I sat in a chair and tucked Laura close so she could feed. That, finally, drew Irtix’s attention. He didn’t speak, but I felt his gaze settle on me like he was watching an animal in the zoo.

He clicked some words I didn’t understand. He got up in a swift step. I flinched, tightening my grip on Laura, but if my behaviour was strange, the patriarch didn’t react. He shoved my head down, and pulled a cable from his head, plugging it into the intrusive hardware.

If he accessed my logs, he’d know I wasn’t a drone. And worse, that I wasn’t powerless. I wasn’t harmless.

The problem was, I was a coward.

I couldn’t shoot.

I opened the weapon interface. The confirmation message popped up. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the button.

Then he tried to pull Laura from my arms, and that uncertain voice died down by sheer will to protect my baby. My sight was taken by white and then, a hole showed up on Irtix, just below his neck. I kept my eyes on the trigger and moved my head. The hole became a cut, slicing him sideways.

The noise of the laser had been a terrible thing, electric and fiery, sizzling even the surrounding air. After I shut it out, the baby cries took the small space by storm. I was trembling so furiously, even my teeth were clattering.

Security arrived in seven seconds. By then, his soft insides were just a massive mess on the floor.

The Ironclad didn’t know what to do with me. They got in, understood the scene and, flabbergasted that the killer was just a drone rocking a baby back to sleep, they stood in place, waiting for more orders. I remained where I was, in shock.

Lyxom showed up a minute later, and my tremors turned into tears.

The official story was easy enough to tell.

Irtix and I were in open disagreement, so he decided to take my drone and my baby hostage to block me from presenting my argument at the council. He triggered a security routine when he tried to take Laura from Isadora, and that’s what caused his death.

The remaining Obsidian parents reviewed the recordings from Isadora’s helmet and the other drone present at the scene. What they saw was evidence enough. I received a mark for putting lasers on drones without warning.

The matter of even allowing such an occurrence was added to the queue for the next council and that was it.

Once we brought Isadora back, she handed Laura to Clara and shut herself down in her room. With Lyxom watching over her sleep and me protecting our baby from any further absurdities, she slept through the following twelve hours.

My brother woke up midway and came to find me. By his posture alone, I knew he was ready to commit murder.

“You fucking planned that,” Lyxom shouted.

I crossed my arms. I didn’t need his approval, now more than ever.

“Isadora was the perfect bait. I wasn’t relying only on her, but it was the one plan that reached success before my other options.”

“You put our daughter on the line,” he snarled.

“My daughter was never in danger. Irtix was greedy, but not suicidal. He’d never risk the directive.”

Lyxom put his hands around my neck as the brute he was. I could see his eyes behind the black glass frozen in a furious glare. I called the interface of my lasers. The white glow reflected on his helmet like the full moon against the night sky.

“I doubt Isadora would ever forgive me if she knew,” I agreed. “But you are not going to tell her. She’s finally happy. You wouldn’t dare ruin that.”

Lyxom shoved me to the side and walked away before he lost control.

“You are the scum of our people, Xorath. I hope you are proud of yourself.”

I wasn’t, but I’d never tell him that.

The council was delayed for one hour. In that free time, the Nexus quickly arranged Irtix’s funeral. Most of the ceremony went to reciting the list of his many feats and the several projects he had spearheaded. To think that all that honour was wasted in pride and ill-taken decisions was almost reason to laugh.It was almost laughable to consider that such honour had been squandered by pride and poor choices.

His body was left in the funeral wing for visitations and the elite moved on to the arena, the widest open space in the Bastion. Each delegation occupied a box, and there were as many of them as they could be fit distributed through the floors, all surrounding the main screen. Delegations were formed as follows: one for each pair of military commanders, one for each Bastion leader and their secretary, one for each member of the Obsidian Court, and a single representative from each worker’s union.

I sat with Lyxom, followed by Tyrax as my data expert and the two Fateweavers who’d give us support. The box was a comfortable space to help one endure the many hours of discussion ahead, but it wasn’t in no way vast. We all sat close by.

The first discussion started the day with the most intricate and multifaceted urgency we had to decide. Three pairs of Sovereign’s and Forgers presented their choices of locations for the permanent settlement, Draxen and Yexeth being one of them. Arguments ranged from the concern of safety and defensibility against both known and unknown threats, to the nuanced considerations of prevailing weather and their long-term impact on well-being and resource management. Furthermore, each pair meticulously detailed the ease with which infrastructure could be established and expanded, alongside the potential for sustainable growth in agriculture and other vital industries.

Food and drink were brought over without interrupting speeches. We voted quickly once the last arguments were settled. The Obsidian court would take our votes and make the final decision.

Next followed a few hours of more trivial matters. Changes in fuel, pitches for new weaponry, updates on the safety protocols. The discussion of whether volunteers or drones could receive weaponized hardware was brought up last. It was quickly decided that it made sense to happen, but they had to receive a special ID and an exclusive helmet shape. Futhermore, any Vurlixan authority would have access to disable those parts of the software.

We took a six-hour break to rest, just enough to get some sleep. Then, it was time for my lecture. I went down to wander in front of the screen, my pride straightening my back and strengthening my voice. I took the position of the speaker in the council’s closed call and started.

I was not the most charismatic of my brothers, but they all knew I always brought consistent, undeniable data to back me up. My presentation was planned to directly ask for Irtix removal from the court, but taken what had happened, I changed it last minute. Instead, I discussed the overall tendency of treatment towards Sovereign’s and Forger’s by Bastion leadership, how those behaviours had developed in the last year during our invasion, and which arguments had base in fact and which didn’t.

Vurlixans paid great attention to patterns. Too many individuals repeating the same unwanted behaviour meant an error in the structure of training and indoctrination. There was no need to vote anything at the end, but I received several endorsements and a request for a follow-up for the next meeting in a year.

As I was coming down from the stage, to my surprise, Tyrax walked forward to take my place. While it wasn’t unheard of for officials to present their own cases, the established standards dictated that such matters be routed through their superior commanders. The fact that he had submitted an application and arranged a hearing without my knowledge left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Then Fateweaver Clara entered from the far corridor and joined him. Tyrax began by giving her full credit for the research, stating that he was only there to “translate.” That single phrase told me something was wrong. Clara was a competent logistical coordinator, but she had no history of high-level analytical work or expertise in psychosocial research.

I braced myself.

What followed wasn’t a petition, but a lecture. A structured, data-backed presentation on human nature, cultural context, and the effects of sustained trauma on vulnerable populations with a specific focus. The core of the report examined women subjected to systemic violence and the impact such trauma had not only on their mental health, but also on their reproductive biology and their children’s development.

They laid out contemporary human research linking maternal stress to adverse intrauterine environment. Then, citing studies from epigenetics and neuroendocrinology, they explained how high cortisol levels during pregnancy could alter fetal gene expression, affecting brain development, stress reactivity, and long-term behavior. The data emphasized how a traumatized mother might unconsciously transmit that trauma to her offspring through biological, hormonal, and behavioral pathways.

Every correlation, every reframing to suit our Vurlixan expectations, every word chosen it reeked of Isadora’s mind. The sources, the anticipation of our biases, the layered ethical framing that made us question not only what we allowed but what we encouraged.

She ensured no woman would be treated as she had been, and that anyone who dared to be half as bold as I was would be swiftly punished for treason.

Isadora did all that behind my back. Without my knowledge.

I left before the vote. It didn’t matter. They would win. There was no denying the facts they brought. The diarchy of Forger’s and Sovereign’s would be turned into a triumvirate, with a third leader focused on the peaceful integration of volunteers into our people and the health of the new generation.

And I… I was made a fool. Not just defeated, but exposed.

I marched in our housing unit. Isadora stood amidst the Fateweavers. Victorious, untouchable, without even a vestige of the fear she once had. And she looked at me with the cool certainty of someone who had outgrown her captor.

Immigration applications piled up in the system, a never ending list growing only longer by day. I went through thousands of them already. The Vurlixan system crushed each person down to simple features and numbers based on the thirty-seconds video recorded at registration. Then the system suggested I did the absurdity of eliminating people in bulks based solely on the tags.

And I just knew I couldn’t, even if I should. If only I wasn’t relying on space, I’d welcome everyone, but limited housing meant prioritizing, and the directive asked for young, single individuals. We were favouring those without family or affiliations. I disagreed with the criteria, but the commanders voted against me.

Then, from the long list of single and destitute men and women ready to build their family in Vur territory, I needed to select those to pass along for the lottery.

At least they agreed we needed people from all over the world to increase the gene pool, so from anywhere where the internet could reach we accepted applications. And since I successfully enlisted the Vurs in humanitarian efforts, significantly boosting our public image, they kept coming, more and more every day.

The dismantling of Eurasian and African bases left us with an excess of Ironclad now in need of new directives. Saving people from floods, forest fires and armed militias was the least they could do. Food printers were already making a considerable difference in the communities we were pivoting them.

It was still far from the idea of the nation I wanted to build, but it was a start.

“Alloysmith Isadora, it’s past your lunchtime,” Fateweaver Urxi’s voice chimed through the interface.

“I’m coming. Can you send someone to watch Laura for me?”

“Sovereign Xorath is already on his way.”

My office overlooked our central square. Through the window, I saw Xorath approaching, bundled in a heavy black jacket against the cold, rainy winter he disliked.

He walked in, heading straight for Laura’s crib.

“The cat shouldn’t be here,” he promptly complained.

“Why not? He’s watching Laura. They love to cuddle.”

“It’s not hygienic,” he sneered.

“She needs the germs to develop her immune system. Otherwise, she’ll grow up to be a bubble baby like her daddies.”

The first weekend we spent outside the new base without helmets, Xorath and Lyxom both caught a cold. He had never been sick before and despised every moment of it.

“Stop fussing, Gonzo is not going anywhere. I’ll kick you out first,” I threatened. Xorath still judged me harshly, but he fell silent and sat by the crib, watching Laura. She held onto the bars, perched on her baby knees, almost ready to push herself up, dancing in excitement. He awkwardly mimicked her wobbling, shaking his head.

I watched their interaction behind the windows in my AR interface. Displaying open and genuine affection wasn’t Xorath’s strongest ability. What he could express, he did through words and reassurance. Laura, of course, didn’t understand most words yet, so he had to be present, holding her hand, sharing her laughter, if he wanted to pass even a bit of love to his daughter.

And God bless his heart, he tried. Lyxom was a natural girl dad, always speaking in a baby voice, offering cuddles and hugs, ready to play. Xorath, though, would be the one she relied on when life got tough. He’d know what to say and what to do, he’d give her all the tools to be whoever she wanted to be.

“Did she eat already?” He asked.

“An hour ago. She just woke up, so you might try giving her the feeding bottle soon. And did you eat already?” I asked.

“I did. I’m taking my lunch break right now.”

“Then I’m off, before Urxi shows up with a chain to drag me.”

Xorath laughed. “They would never do such thing,”

I passed by them to leave, kissing Laura’s silver hair. Then her dad grabbed me and pulled me against his body. With a lower whisper coming from his helmet to mine, caressing my ear, he said:

“I, on the other hand, would love to have you in chains.”

I felt a thrill go up my spine and shoved my hand on his visor. “What have you been reading?” I asked, pretending to be horrified. “I’ll make sure Amanda doesn’t recommend any more books to you.”

“You will not! You love the ideas they give me.”

Our relationship and our sex life was fucked up and hard to explain. There was too much mixed in. I’d never get completely over the triggers he put in my mind. He’d never get over the fact that I had bested him. I’d never get over the times he assaulted me, and I had Lyxom ready to obliterate him at any second.

And only because I had that safety backup, I could live with Xorath and put my trust in him. We had our daughter, our colony, and our plans. We were building our lives together. That was enough.

“Let me know when you have free time again,” I said, “you massive nerd.”

“Next tests are Friday. Ask me on Saturday if I manage to survive them.”

“You will do great. You always do.”

“Not if Lyxom doesn’t take this seriously, I won’t.”

“He will do his best for you. He would never let you see him slacking.” I said, because it was true.

Xorath clicked his teeth and his head swayed, trying to take discomfort and tension from his neck.

“I feel him drifting away. He’s not into it. We are perfect to become Solar Sovereign and Dawn Forger and coordinate the others, but Lyxom doesn’t want to take more responsibilities.”

Not surprising that they were fighting all the time again — and I was caught in the middle, trying to maintain my sanity. His thoughts seemed to stray, so I turned him to me by the beak of his mask.

“Listen, love, so what? He wants to focus on Laura, you want to keep climbing the hierarchy. Maybe it’s time to rework the teams. You and Lyxom don’t have to be attached at the hip forever.”

I wished I were able to see and read his face. Alas, he seemed to calm down.

“I could suggest that… But most pairs are harmonious and quite glad to work together.”

“You can’t be sure. Maybe there’s a Forger out there uncomfortable with his Sovereign. Things are changing. If I were you, I’d ask around.”

July’s drizzle dampened my coat as I walked through the quiet streets between container offices and construction sites. Most paths had been paved already, modular housings were in full production, and we were past the worst of the pillar hammering for the larger buildings.

But cables still ran like vines everywhere, and most houses were empty. Operations were transferred slowly, civilians had yet to move in. Trees and bushes had yet to grow. It was a weird halfway point that made me feel a little off, trying to find my footing in uncertain terrain;

There were still too many variables. Too many undercurrents. I knew — I had access to the reports. I understood every issue, every place things would go wrong and how long it would take. Every day, I watched the Sovereigns push resources around to mitigate the worst predictions. How did they manage taking so many decisions a day without anxiety? I envied their confidence.

I was at the center stage, being the first in my position. They called me “Alloysmith” because I was supposed to fuse us all, humans and Vurlixans, soldiers and civilians, conquerors and refugees, into something stronger than the sum of our parts. The soul of the colony was still forming between Vurlixan efficiency and human desperation, trying their best to make that place better than all the shit out there. No poverty, no hunger, no price tag on basic housing or medical care.

I was no expert, but I had plenty of them anwering my messages. I did my reading. I listened and tried my best. I knew that the Vurs, in their ever vigilant search for efficiency, wouldn’t let me slip up.

At the mess hall, I shook the water from my coat and joined the short line. Food was simple but warm, just like it had been on the first compound. I sat at the corner table, watching the mix of humans and Vurlixans trickle in and out. Dr Monique waved at me on the way out. I was glad she decided to stay, even after everything. Everyone from the compound that remained kinda clung together. We had all chosen homes closer to each other.

“Isa, can you help me review this flowchart?” Clara asked me through the messages.

“I’ll be there as soon as I wrap my lunch break.”

“Of course. Don’t let Urxi catch you skipping your rest again.”

After finishing my meal, I took a long walk back through the damp and swampy plains past the hydroponic labs. In the distance, wild clouds gathered over the blue mountains, heavy with storm. The summer rains would be even worse, but nobody feared. The plans were made around the prediction of floods, prepared for the worse scenario.

I called Lyxom.

“Hey, want to work together this afternoon?”

He laughed, that deep masculine sound that made me turn into a puddle. Pure Vurs vibrated in happiness. The hybrids had learned to laugh with us.

“Sure. I saved some boring reports to go through,” he answered, mixing words in Vur and Portuguese. We were almost developing our own dialect, playing with the sounds of both languages.

“I love boring. Boring sounds awesome,” I said. “Meet me in an hour.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you.”

Sometimes, I imagined leaving. Packing Lyxom and Laura into a car and just driving into that horizon. I never would, because I couldn’t. I was building something bigger than myself, for her and for us.

Regardless of how overwhelming the colonial work became, it was still my home.