#sftd excerpts

[sftd-official]

Concilliabule with Mordenna and Lily?

Concilliabule - A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.

Lily wished Mordenna would get a rush on. If this was to go any measure of well, he had to get here quickly.

With Mordenna using the vents as a means of transportation more and more frequently, Lily had taken to using them to move around to do maintenance, herself. Not usually, and definitely not when she had a bunch of tools she had to tote… but right now, she needed them.

Benald and Pattie had apparently got it in their head that it would be funny to go through the Workshop and put everything in a different place with no regards for organization. While harmless, it took her and Mordenna an hour or two just to put everything back–and Mordenna looked pretty damn peeved that they touched his personal workbench.

So a day or so later, Lily had called Mordenna to this secret meeting. They were in the vents just above the exit to the Mess Hall, far enough away from any entrances to be heard, so long as they kept their voices down.

Thumping in the vents ahead of her said that Mordenna was finally on approach. She scooted closer to one of the walls, giving him enough room to come in. Lily scoffed as he sat down. “That took you long enough. Where were you?”

“Oh, nothing much.” He sat down. “Retaliating.”

Lily blinked. “What?”

“I was retaliating. Y’know, Ben and Pats, moving all our shit around? I wasn’t going to take that sitting down, so I went and got them back.”

“What… what did you do?”

“Well, we’re close enough to the Mess Hall.” He jabbed a finger at the intersection. “Wanna go listen?”

Wondering just what the hell Mordenna did in a day’s span, Lily nodded, following him as he turned around and crawled out quietly. When they were near the end of the Mess Hall–where all the appliances were–he turned around and pressed his ear to the floor, Lily copying him.

From here, she could actually get a clear listen of the conversation down below. “–and I ain’t got any clue where any of it is.” That was Benald.

“I’m tellin’ ya! They hid ‘em! Took ‘em right out of our personal stash!” The next voice was Pattie. When Lily looked to Mordenna for an explanation, he held a finger to his lips.

She put her head back to the floor to hear Benald reply. “I didn’t even know they knew where our mini fridge was. Think they drank ‘em?”

Oh. Mordenna must’ve pilfered their soda bottles. Benald and Pattie somehow always managed to have those opaque glass soda bottles with them. Well, fair enough. But Mordenna was still listening, so Lily stayed there too.

“Probably. Goddamn Lily and Mords… whatever, we still probably have a few in the fridge here, if nobody else drank ‘em.”

“Fair by me. We pranked them, they pranked us back, even if just stealing our soda ain’t much. Get me one, would you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” There was the sound of the fridge opening, then a span of silence. Then: “What the fuck.”

“What? They all gone?”

“No. No our bottles are here. They’re in jello.”

What. Lily looked to Mordenna again, who had a huge grin, but motioned to still keep quiet.

“Uh… well, upgrade my impression of their prank to ‘sizeable.’ Just pull ‘em out, I guess, leave the jello for someone who’ll eat it. Just wash your hands and the bottle afterwards.”

“Jeez, why do I gotta reach in the jello? Whatever.” There was the sound of a plate being taken out of the fridge. “What kinda flavor of jello is purple, anyway?”

“Probably grape. Eggplant if we’re unlucky and they expected us to eat it to get to our sodas.”

“Yeah, well, not me.” Lily couldn’t really classify the next sound, but she supposed it was the sound of the bottles being taken out of jello. The sink ran for a minute. “Alright, here. Guess we won’t be messing with them again–I really don’t wanna fish my soda out of jello everytime we piss ‘em off.”

“Fair point. And I told you not to go through Mords’s stuff. He ain’t the kind of man I wanna piss off.” Oh, if only he knew. There was the sound of one of them opening their bottle… then a spit take. “What?”

“It’s–It’s fucking–” Pattie continued sputtering, like she was trying to get something out of her mouth. “Lemon juice! Fucking carbonated lemon juice!”

Finally, the dam broke for Mordenna, who started cackling. Lily, meanwhile, was in no small amount of awe. Mordenna pilfered their soda, encased it in jello, but sometime before that, replaced the soda inside with lemon juice, and carbonated that.

Ben was right. Lily never wanted to piss Mordenna off.

[redlikelove]

“C’mon, Eliza.”

The Commander had her head in her hands as she looked over the plans that Mordenna had laid out in front of her. On one hand, they were very well laid-out. Potential security accounted for, most viable access point highlighted, there were even recommendations as to who she should bring on the squad, should she deploy on it. All around fantastic plans, something she would expect coming from the Hunter’s tactical mind.

On the other hand... “So we’re looting your Hunter’s Lodge. For your knick-knacks?” She looked up at him, a mix of exasperation and pure confusion coloring her face. “Mordenna, I’m sure you’re aware, but a mission like this isn’t going to do much for your reputation.”

He pouted, leaning back and crossing his arms. As he did, his eyes scanned the room, coming across a certain figure on the Commander’s desk. “That an EVIL-COM Commander figure, Commander?”

She stopped in her head-kneading, hands gently falling to the desk. “You recognize that thing?”

He chuckled. “Of course I do. They’re all the rage in the cities, and I’ve noticed more than a few of your soldiers trying to start a collection of all of the figures.”

“Your point being...?”

His grin turned wolfish. “I think you’re wrong on how much this is gonna do for my reputation. I have the whole collection knocking around in my lodge. Plus all the bootlegs I could get my hands on--which was all of them, the last time I was there.”

The Commander stared at him blankly, before leaning over and pressing a button on a terminal. “Central, this is the Commander. A high-priority mission just came up.”

[hastily-drawn]

“He’s alive.”

“Yes.”

“On… on your ship.”

“Yes.” Commander O’Leary tried and failed to suppress a smile as she conversed with Volk. “Yes, the Hunter is alive, on my ship. He’s captured.”

Excerpt from Chapter 4 of @sftd-official

[sftd-official]

As a French speaker, it is my duty to ask for the romantic "Baisemain" with Jax Rai.

Baisemain - A kiss on the hand.

If there was one thing Jax enjoyed, it was his interactions with his followers.

Things had been tentative when they were all getting used to the Avenger, but now that they were a few months in? His  whole congregation had eased into life on this mobile ship of theirs, and their fears had  relaxed when it was shown  that he, himself, was doing alright.

The atmosphere, to him, was far more comforting than the one that hung in the air at his Stronghold... especially in the month or so leading  up to Eliza taking him in. The air was clear, here, and  there was no looming threat of violence if he didn’t meet expectations. Eliza had made that very clear.

So, he was entirely free to be more of a present force amongst his followers. At the  moment, he was currently looking over the finished results of his brother’s impromptu art session. Curiously, Odette had joined--Jax hadn’t thought her one to draw close to his brother after everything. He moved from another Mystic’s painting to hers, her scooting aside with her seat to give him a better look.

Odette was one of the more natural painters among the Mystics, and it showed in her skill. Her paintings usually made very good use of rosy light and softer edges--the few darker shadows that did happen seeming to vanish even on the page. He was used to her usual style of art...

... so this was very different. Mordenna had ample lighting on him when he was sat on his table, but here he was cast in darkness. He had been relaxed in his pose, but here, there was a tenseness to his  features, as if he was ready to leap out of the painting at any moment. Odette had been sitting at  an angle to him--nearer his head  as he stared directly ahead, but here his eyes were locked directly with the viewer’s. His mouth was absent, but by the microexpressions of his facial features, Jax could tell there was a hint of something underneath. Malice? Aggression? It seemed deliberately open to interpretation.

He looked to Odette, who was steadfastly looking away. This was certainly a very different take on his brother--but one he fully understood. This was a glimpse of a Mordenna of old, a being of manifested spite and whim. He didn’t blame  Odette for still being afraid of him, but for her to brave her fears and express them on canvas? There was a courage to that. Mordenna had left without looking at any of the finished results, confident that they all had done their bests. But if he’d gotten a glimpse of this one...

Jax kneeled, taking one of Odette’s hands. “Odette,” he began, voice soft, “your art is as brilliant as it always is. There is much merit in different interpretation, and you have clearly proven that.”

Odette swallowed, finally meeting his gaze. “B-but... we are all reconciled with the Hunter, are we not...? Is... isn’t it childish of me to still hold my fear?”

Jax shook his head, bringing her hand to his lips and giving it a reassuring kiss. “With your circumstances, and with my brother’s nature, it is completely understandable to still hold the feelings you do. I wish, one day, to help you and him resolve this conflict between the two of you But you are doing just fine, Odette. Do not mistake this.”

Odette let go of a tense breath, shallowly nodding. “Ok. I... I want to see things repaired between us, as well. I trust you, Holy Father.”

Jax smiled. He, as always, dearly loved his congregation.

[sftd-official]

Strikhedonia for one of the Rulers, if you will. -AvengerCommander

Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”.

Vel’kiin wondered how long they would all dance this dance.

To her, at least, it was very clear the feelings between the rulers. Them all joining hands the minute they confirmed their freedom set the tone, and their day-to-day interactions operated on this sort of plausible deniability. It was as if they  were all establishing a sort of safety net, where if they found out the others didn’t  feel the same without confessing, there was no damage done.

Well, Vel’kiin was getting tired of it. Polyamory was a part of all of their cultures, so why didn’t they form their own little group? The only reason she hadn’t come forward was that she was hoping that they would all resolve it within themselves. Best to let it resolve naturally than her butting in on everything–her mother had always chided her for her tendency to try to solve things herself.

But as they were all lounging, chatting about nothing in particular, she could feel the tension between all of them, the space between hands, the relaxed postures ruined by enforced distance. The conversation had muddled on without her as she watched all of them  and thought on the situation.

The chemistry was there. Vel’kiin loved  all of them–not just because they freed her, but they were courteous enough to learn her language, learn the sparks to her rages, even offering to help with all the heavy lifting when she brought up  mothering a runt. Rodin was charming but there were ways to blow that out the window and get him flustered, where he would bluster and sputter like a physical fitness-minded Muton. Shazara-Ta became cold in personality when he figured out his physiology warded others away, but beneath that was genuine caring for those of his own and the tenderness of not wanting to be hurt. Celosia was calm, level-headed… until she got to talking on something she liked, where it all flew out the window and she could ramble for hours on end. She wasn’t blind, either–she saw how they looked at her, how the tone of their conversations could occasionally turn. They loved her, clearly, but she knew she was a hard one to read. Without visible eyes and with a differently-structured mouth, she lacked the expressiveness of her fellows. She knew it was hard to tell what she was feeling when she wasn’t speaking.

“Vel’kiin, my queen?”

Her thoughts turned back to the conversation as Shazara-Ta grabbed her attention. “My queen” this, “darling” that.

To hell with it. “I’ve been thinking, you lot. And I’m  just about tired of leaving things unspoken between us all.” At their confused, slightly apprehensive expressions, she barreled on. “It’s clear the feelings we have for one another and this dance we are performing of leaving them unspoken is ridiculous! If it falls  to me to be the first adult in all of this, so be it. Listen carefully: I. Love. All of you. Romantically. I want to have you all by my side through tempestuous storms and fiercest foes. Any questions?”

The stunned silence her words left in their wake was promising. All of her fellow rulers looked to each other, then back to her. It was Rodin who first spoke, jetting up from his recline on the ground. “I… I must also confess to tiring of this charade. My feelings are the same as Vel’kiin’s. I would wish to have all of you as mine, and me to all of you.”

Celosia stood up from her rest. “We were really acting as children… I third this proclamation.”

Finally, Shazara-Ta looked incredulously between them all, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. But eventually, he rose up from his coil. “Admittedly, I… was waiting for one of you to make the first move. Now that it has happened, I certainly have no shame in saying my open love.”

Well, there it was. Four confessions in  quick succession. Her mother was right sometimes, but in this case, something just needed to be done. Vel’kiin stood and drew them all in for a firm hug, Rodin killing his jets as she did. “Good. No more dealing with our feelings as children. I love all of you, and we shall go through this together as loving equals.”

When she got nods in response, her heart warmed. They would get through this.

[sftd-official]

Strikhedonia-Mords!

Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”.

Mordenna got up to some strange hijinx, trying to hang out with his siblings.

It was fun to mess around with them. Sometimes it was even more fun to mess with them. This was a strange time when the two were overlapping.

When Mordenna had entered the Studio to talk with Jax, instead of sitting down on one of the chairs like he usually did, Mordenna vaulted onto the table and reclined there, talking at Jax with a straight face. His brother… definitely looked like he wanted to say something, but apparently hadn’t mustered the urge to argue him down. Fine by Mordenna–it was always a game of seeing who would budge first.

Eventually, however, Jax caved in. “Brother, I can hardly have a civil conversation with you while you’re lounging on the table as if you intend to be the next model for the artists.”

Mordenna grinned. “What if I’m getting my practice in, huh?”

Jax stared at him a bit… then scoffed, looking away. But even as he seemed to be projecting distaste, there was a certain challenge to his next words. “We all know you could never contain yourself long enough for them to complete a full picture. Heaven knows that you would be leaping off of the table and running laps within ten minutes.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mordenna jabbed a finger at Jax. “Betcha you won’t. Betcha you wouldn’t let me get within a mile of that modelling station.”

With a dramatic air, Jax stood up from his seat. Looking Mordenna in the eye, he raised his voice. “Do I have anyone who might be interested in basing a piece off of Mordenna?”

The madman! This was turning into a series of them calling each other’s bluffs. Surprisingly, more of Jax’s followers than he thought spoke up in affirmation. They moved to set the area up as Jax continued to stare his brother down. “Well, Mordenna? Will you leave them disappointed? Or will you live up to your joke?”

Honestly… Mordenna hadn’t been looking to sit down and do nothing for however long it took them to complete a picture of him. He had stuff to do, and in a way, Jax was right–if he knew he had other stuff to do, Mordenna could be strangely impatient. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

But, as he watched all of Jax’s little ducklings set up the area, even moving one of the tables over, having seen Mordenna in his recline…

Eh. To hell with it. Mordenna grinned up at Jax. “Don’t make bets you don’t expect to see happen.”

[sftd-official]

The chosen/Eliza-gymnophoria

Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.

Eliza usually trusted her Commander’s Hunches often, but lately, she felt they were all over the place.

Like when Fal-Mai had come to hang out while Eliza was doing her tri-weekly workouts in the GTS. As always, to make sure she didn’t strain anything, Eliza did her stretches beforehand, even if they did make her a little impatient to get to the workout proper. She wasn’t about to be the poor fuck who strained a muscle because they didn’t follow clear orders.

She currently had her back to Fal-Mai as she was sat on the ground, doing toe-touches. Eliza was blabbing away slightly as she tended to do, on some tangent about how she learned how to fight in the military. Things she could say between taking measured breaths and warming up her muscles, per usual. But as she was moving on to the people she had to use her expertise on, she got a very, very strange sensation. Fal-Mai hadn’t really replied to the last few times she left the conversation open for her to say something, and now she got the strange feeling that…

No, it couldn’t be. She looked back to Fal-Mai and Fal-Mai was looking away, intently focused on the whiteboard in the room. Eliza looked to it, remembering she forgot to erase it when she was explaining the “Three-Man Pulley” to her soldiers. Maybe Fal-Mai just got distracted. Eliza stopped where she was at. “Interested in what that means, Fal-Mai?”

Fal-Mai seemed to jump, and it took her a second to respond. “I-I could stand to learn more of the tactics you employ, Commander.”

Shrugging, Eliza went into the details on that, and she really didn’t get the feeling again.

There was another time she felt it, too. She’d been in the Studio with Jax, watching as Maria modelled for Jax’s congregation. They were working with charcoal this time, courtesy of the Workshop’s surplus. Jax and Eliza were standing off to the side, observing the whole event.

Modelling was always a strange concept to Eliza. She’d personally feel a little awkward taking cues from a live person in front of her, knowing that the longer she had to work, the longer they had to stay there. Modelling herself, however? Maybe if it wasn’t the nude variety. She looked over to Jax. “So who all gets to sit in the middle of these people?”

Jax shrugged. “Whoever wishes to serve as the figure whenever the urge for everyone else to study them comes around. I’ve done it many times, but occasionally one of my own will take up the challenge. Admittedly, they are not as versed as I in the art of staying still, but practice makes perfect, as always.”

“There’s an art to staying still?” Maybe Jax was just pulling her chain…

… but he nodded. “After a while, most are drawn to fidget or readjust, their body’s nervous energy wanting an escape. There is also the matter of more muscled subjects needing to maintain a constant flex for the aesthetic of their figure to shine through. Admittedly, I have it easier than most, considering the Elders modelled me for more visually pleasing muscles rather than useful ones.”

“Ah, yeah.” That made more sense than she thought it would. “A lot of actual strongmen and weightlifters used to get shit because they still had guts despite all their strength. Even guys–and girls–who aren’t dehydrating themselves will have a bit of a belly when relaxing–shit, I do. It’s a little depressing to see people beat themselves up when their bodies are usually pretty healthy.”

“A shame.” Jax sighed. “Were my figure not genetically locked to its current state, I would enjoy maintaining my physical form as you do.”

“Honestly, you could probably just work out for the hell of it.” Shrugging, she looked back to Maria, still holding her pose. “… you think I’d make a good model?”

She was still looking at Maria as she asked, but for a second, she got that feeling again, very intensely. When she looked back to Jax, he was looking away, clearing his throat. “With some instruction, I imagine you would do just fine. You will have to let me know if you ever wish to model–I think my congregation would adore having you.”

Again, she didn’t feel it after that, even as Jax looked to her while talking. She couldn’t help but feel that, just then… no, no, absolutely not. A man like Jax wouldn’t do that.

Finally, Eliza had been showing Mordenna the Psi Lab, since he’d apparently never gone in there on his own, if he was to be believed. With all of their psionic soldiers trained and with Eliza not having picked up any human rookies in a few months, the place was gathering dust, somewhat. If Mordenna could do something with it, she figured that’d be great.

“The twin cells,” she continued from her last tangent, “happened just before we got Benald and Pattie. When Pattie expressed an interest in getting ‘weird mind powers,’ we told her of the long days she’d have to spend alone getting it. She was about to back out when Benald said he’d do it with her, if we had room. Since we’d just built the twin cells, I figured ‘why not?’”

Mordenna nodded, absorbing the info. “And these are kitted out to suit their daily needs as they get absolutely blasted with psionic energy?”

“That’s correct, yeah, what with the corner of the cells having a covered bathroom. Took Shen a bit, figuring out how to route the pipes, but we haven’t had trouble with them since installation. Not that I know of, anyway. As for getting absolutely blasted…” She shrugged. “Tygan mentioned something about ‘a balance’ and ‘avoiding psionic irradiation’ but all of the big stuff about psionics tends to sail over my head, honestly…”

Mordenna shrugged. “Understandable. Some of the stuff about psionics goes pretty deep.”

Nodding, Eliza began to wander over to the second cell, continuing. “We don’t really see any use out of this room nowadays, but we haven’t really needed any additional rooms, since we had a free one before we brought you guys along. If you can figure out what to do with this room–”

There, just then, Eliza got that overwhelming feeling. It sounded like Mordenna hadn’t followed her, and she turned around to confirm it. Mordenna hurried over to her, looking a bit caught off-guard. “Yeah, yeah, honestly a room where you can blast things with psionic energy seems just to my tastes! Maybe I can give myself something new, who knows.”

Fal-Mai she wouldn’t accuse. Jax, she wouldn’t accuse. But someone like Mordenna… she couldn’t either. The Chosen, looking at her like that? No way. She sighed but smiled, shaking her head. Maybe she was getting a bit frayed out, in her old age.

[sftd-official]

Apodyopsis for Mordenna and Eliza 🙈😳

Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone.

If Eliza were a more unchained woman, she didn’t know what she’d be doing with herself right now.

But even as she was, it was hard to look away from Mordenna at the moment. The man didn’t have his hood down often, but right now he did, shedding his armor as well as he worked all of his strength into cranking a wrench. The two of them were down in the Workshop, with Mordenna doing repairs on the “forge” they used for heating things. Eliza had stopped in to check on the progress of things, and had caught him about to start on it. With not much else left to do in her day, she opted to stay and watch.

With him being the least muscled out of his siblings, Eliza hadn’t expected Mordenna to be too strong. As she watched, however, it was clear to see that there was more strength to him than his frame belied. His sleeves were rolled up as far as they’d go and his bracers were off, allowing him full range of movement as he worked the machine in front of him over. With his arms bare, Eliza could see what little visible muscle he had straining with each turn. Not glistening with sweat yet–apparently Chosen had higher endurance than that.

Higher endurance, hmm? With Mordenna’s back to her, Eliza figured it was safe to bury her head in her hands at that thought. Oh, her useless longings!

Even as she chided herself… Eliza brought her head back up again. Mordenna’s arms were thin, but his chest was broad and he had the legs of an Olympic swimmer. His build was strange, but enchanting. With him not having such a chiseled form, she wondered if he had abs. It was hard to see through his shirt–the material was thick and didn’t cling to him so much. Before she could stop herself, her eyes flitted a bit down, then she cursed herself. Stop staring at his ass, me.

Mordenna blew out some air, standing up and stretching his neck. He looked back at Eliza, who had gathered herself just in time. “I honestly though you would’ve left by now, Liz. Is it that exciting to watch me sweat over one of Lily’s contraptions?”

Trying to calm her beating heart, Eliza gave a slightly breathless chuckle. “I don’t really have much else to do today, and I honestly like watching people work on stuff and see how it’s put together. Reminds me of a show I used to throw on when I was a teenager.”

Mordenna grinned wolfishly. “Oh, a voyeur, are you?”

If only Mordenna knew. Eliza scoffed at him. “If you want me to take a hike, mister, I will.”

“Far be it from me to tell the Commander where to go in her own ship!” Mordenna held up his hands. “Honestly, I appreciate the company. I just gotta give you shit because it’s my thing. Might talk at you since Lily’s off doing god-knows-what with Tygan.”

“Would be happy to oblige.”

“Nice.” Mordenna transferred his wrench to his other hand. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He bent back over, going to another area on the forge, leaving Eliza to watch him all over again. Oh, the follies of her human heart!

[sftd-official]

Today. Today would be it. Today would be the day he sprung himself from this hellscape.

Those exact words were running on repeat in the Viper King’s mind as he watched, coiled up in his test tube. He eyed the humans, in their white coats, that ambled around and checked monitors. Shazara-Ta didn’t know how long he had been captive in this facility, subject to tests and procedures that warped his very form. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had been taken from his home planet, deposed as the rightful king and kidnapped by the Collective. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had fought a futile war with the invaders from beyond the stars.

He did, however, know how much longer he would wait until he sprung himself... and his fellow test subjects.

His eyes slid over to the containment chamber across the room. There, the Archon King hovered, giving an eyeless glare to the scientists that paid him no mind. Shazara-Ta didn���t even know his fellow ruler’s name—but as it turns out, they both knew ADVENT, and that was enough to make plans in broad view. It seemed none of the personnel their captor had amassed knew their language, and that allowed them to formulate an escape. They just had to wait; there was one person in particular that had to arrive for her daily checkups in order for this to happen.

They didn’t have to wait long. Shazara-Ta’s eyes flitted to the door at the far end of the room as it opened, and in stepped the despicable slag that watched over them like a jailor to inmates—Vahlen. Shazara-Ta had heard her name enough times beyond the glass of his tube to know it’s what they called her. For the abuse he suffered, for the abuse she made the others suffer, she would die slowly and painfully.

Discreetly, he looked over to the Archon King. His own eyes seemed to be locked on Vahlen as well... but the signal came through as clear as the day. He flared the props on his wings in a specific pattern, indicating he was ready. In response, Shazara-Ta rapidly vibrated his hood—a symbol of aggression with the pattern he chose, but here? It was a sign of rebellion.

Clutching his chest, the Archon King’s thrusters began to flicker out, sending him bumping into the walls of his cell. If this had been any other species feigning death, he knew it wouldn’t work—the scientists had visuals on their vitals on their screens. But something Shazara-Ta had been informed about Archons is that they could take control of the machinery in their body down to an impressive level. The Archon King was shutting down vital systems to serve as a distraction.

It worked—the scientists began hurriedly rushing over to his station, pressing buttons and uttering words he couldn’t understand. Vahlen herself ran over, providing her own commentary. The Archon King crashed at the bottom of his cell, unmoving, and this sent the humans into a further panic.

If Shazara-Ta wanted to do this, he had to work fast. His fellow king couldn’t keep those systems shut off forever without killing himself. With that urgency in mind, and with the taste of freedom so close, Shazara-Ta rose from his despondent coil on the bottom of his cell. Using his natural mobility and the scales on his underside, he rocketed up the glass of his cell and launched off of it in the minimal space he had, careening his tail forward and putting massive force into striking the glass.

The glass shuddered violently, and he could see a head or two turn towards him. He had to keep trying. Scrambling up again, this strike created webs of fractures against the glass where he hit it. Another strike sent them shooting further out, and he could feel the glass starting to buckle.

One more strike, and his prison shattered in an explosion of shards.

That was enough to send some of the humans screaming out of the room, sure of their fate now that one of their test subjects had escaped. Not wasting his moment long, he felt his hood vibrate in anger and adrenaline, venom rising up his throat. He would sicken them and make them feel just a tenth of the agony he had. Squeezing his chest, he spat it out behind them, intent on trapping them against the cloud.

What happened, however, reminded him of the detestable things Vahlen had done to him. Instead of a cloud of poison, once the liquid hit the ground, it formed a large chunk of ice. Some of the humans that had been too close or already running for the door found themselves trapped within it regardless. As much as Shazara-Ta wanted to mourn for what had happened for him, there was far larger prey to take down. Vahlen herself was backing away in a panic, spotting the one area the ice didn’t cover and making a break for it. Shazara-Ta found himself starting to course after her—but a thought stopped him up. What if the humans had thrown some sort of killswitch in the Archon King’s tube? Vengeance was one thing... but the Viper King had grown very attached to his fellow test subjects. Leaving him to die so he could get his revenge wasn’t something he could abide by.

Turning around, he could see the Archon King’s thrusters activate again, propping himself up on the glass as he sluggishly got up, no doubt groggy from what he had just performed. Shazara-Ta couldn’t claim to know what the buttons on the console meant, and knew that mindless mashing could be the king’s further doom. He could easily coil around the glass and shatter it... but without a cushion, he’d undoubtedly get a few glass shards in his tail for his troubles. Without a cushion. He hadn’t spent his whole allotment of freezing venom on his previous expulsion. He could use a layer of ice to protect himself.

Making his way up to the other tube, he brought up his venom again, applying it evenly around the lower middle section of the tube. Once he had a good enough layer going, he turned to the Archon King. “Get down!” He barked in ADVENT. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Nodding, the Archon King dropped to the floor once more. Sliding up the tube, Shazara-Ta coiled himself around the layer of ice he had created. The tail muscles in Vipers were to be feared—as he squeezed the tube, cracks rapidly formed, and he could already feel the material bending. Just a second more and the Archon King was freed in a shower of sparkling glass, the ice acting as an effective protection.

Landing right next to the king, Shazara-Ta righted himself, offering a hand to his fellow ruler. The Archon took it, jets activating and propelling him into a stable hover. The two shared a quiet moment before the Archon King’s head jerked back towards the door. “Vahlen. Where is she?”

The only humans that remained were the ones trapped in the ice, and Shazara-Ta had half a mind to go over and kill them right now. Vahlen wasn’t among them—presumably having escaped as Shazara-Ta freed the Archon King. No such love lost for the trapped scientists, it seemed. Shazara-Ta clenched his fists. “Escaped. I wouldn’t leave you behind to kill her if it meant you dying from a failsafe.”

The Archon King looked... surprised, to hear that. Maybe slightly touched. “That... is noble of you, Viper.”

“It’s only fair. Without your distraction, I wouldn’t have escaped.” Speaking of escape, his head careened around. “Best we get the others out. I don’t think the Berserker Queen wants to spend another moment in there.”

“Right.” But before Shazara-Ta could make his way to the Berserker Queen’s area, the Archon King grabbed his arm. “... Rodin. My name is Rodin.”

Looking back, Shazara-Ta paused for a moment. He now had a name to put to the Archon King. Wanting to return the favor, he nodded. “My name is Shazara-Ta. Let’s get the others out, Rodin.”

Not wasting a moment more the two of them made a course for one of the other doors in the room, leaving the humans behind. A corridor or so later and they ended up in a large room. There were monitors on the wall, hooked up to a camera feed that showed the Berserker Queen, curled up in her cell. Half of the room was taken up by her containment, with no windows to speak of in favor of maximum security.

No windows meant nothing either of them could break to free her. As Rodin flew over to the console, trying to make sense of any of it, Shazara-Ta scanned the room. Surely there had to be some sort of emergency switch he could flip, or perhaps... his eyes locked on a bit of white coat poking out from a piece of machinery. Slowly, he stalked up, rising up and above the machine. Sure enough, there was a human behind there, hiding and shaking terribly. Feeling no empathy for the trapped human’s plight, Shazara-Ta swooped down and plucked the human screaming from its hiding place, dragging it over to the console.

Rodin stepped aside as Shazara-Ta forced the human against the console, making sure he had its attention before pointing to the door. Hopefully that was a clear enough indication. It seemed like it was, as with shaking hands, it entered in a sequence that Shazara-Ta paid close attention to. Klaxons blaring, the door to the Berserker Queen’s cell slowly started to open.

Having seen to it that the human did its job, Shazara-Ta threw it in the direction of the door. It took the hint, scrambling up and out. Rodin started after it, but Shazara-Ta stopped him. “It did its job. I’ll allow it some gratitude by letting it escape.”

“And the door to the Gourgeamus Queen?”

“I watched the sequence the human put in. It should work for the other cell.”

Their conversation was summarily interrupted by a terrifying crash against the opening door of the cell. The Berserker Queen was just beyond, trying to force the door open. Shazara-Ta rushed over, making sure he was in sight. “Berserker Queen! Can you understand us?”

The sight of one of her fellow Rulers, free, fully stopped up the Berserker Queen. Head swiveling from him to Rodin, she looked back to Shazara-Ta, nodding. Good. Hopefully the Gourgeamus Queen also spoke ADVENT. “We’re getting everyone out of here. The door will open on its own.”

The Berserker Queen’s head bobbed again, but even still, with an impressive display of strength, she forced the door fully into its frame, stumbling out. The machinery on her back was plainly visible, and while the pumps were inactive now... Shazara-Ta turned to Rodin. “Get her out in the open and start severing what you can of that accursed machine. Something tells me it’s not any good for her.”

Turning to them, the Berserker Queen growled and grunted in what was assuredly a language... but not one either of them could speak. If she knew ADVENT, why was she speaking her own language? Then again... the ADVENT language kind of required a tongue and lips, neither of which she seemed to have. She could understand it, but not speak it, went Shazara-Ta’s guess. Still, he shook his head. “We... can’t understand your language, Berserker Queen.”

With an impatient growl, she pointed to Rodin. Then she pointed to her back and mimed a yanking motion. Pointing to Shazara-Ta, she then pointed to the door, miming the act of opening a door. Understanding, Shazara-Ta moved for the exit. “Just my thinking. I’ll spring the Gourgeamus Queen. Get those tubes out of her, Rodin.”

“Understood. Good luck, Shazara-Ta.” After hearing Rodin’s well-wishes, Shazara-Ta hastily made his way out of the Berserker Queen’s containment, through the joint containment, and into the final room. It was much like the other queen’s room, with half of it being taken up by the cell itself. This time, there was a window into the chamber, allowing him to get a better look at the fourth Ruler.

She was impressively tall, standing at the Berserker Queen’s hunched height. Her lower body reminded Shazara-Ta of some of the four-legged reptiles from his planet, while her upper body was vaguely humanoid. A veritable bouquet of flowers adorned her head, while leaves and vines trailed down from it. Sharp teeth and four slitted, glowing-gold eyes accented her face, and she was even more built than Rodin. Her skin was a verdant green and peppered by leaves and hanging vines, with four fin-like leaves extending a ways away from her back. Bulging spores dotted and lined her more reptilian back, and her tail was capped off by what looked like a trapping plant. Throughout her form, there were highlights of glowing purple, almost fluorescent in nature.

Seeing Shazara-Ta free, she rushed to the glass window of her cell, pressing her hands against it. He could see her speak—but the glass was too thick to allow any communication. Shaking his head, he slid over to the console, inputting the sequence of buttons he’d seen the scientist do. Sure enough, the door to her cell started to open, and he rushed to the crack in it. “Gourgeamus Queen. We’re all free.”

She was quick to join him at the door, peering out. “—please tell me Vahlen’s dead.”

He sighed. “I let her escape so I could free Rodin.” If they had any escape devices in this facility, she was likely long gone. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. Better to make sure that everyone gets out than have your revenge.” Looking back over her body, her shoulders slumped. “Look at what she’s done to me. I should’ve never adapted spores like this—and what does she think I’ll do with this dysfunctional tail? It will take me ages to adapt this all out...”

Feeling a stab of jealousy, he leaned against the doorway. “—forgive me for being envious, but at least you can adapt it all out. I’m stuck with this icy venom—and who knows what she’s done to me otherwise.”

Looking to him and frowning, she nodded. “Yes, I should... consider myself lucky. Who knows what she’s done to the others.”

The distinctive roar of a Berserker echoed through the facility. Shazara-Ta looked to the door. “About that. Rodin’s trying to get a machine off of her back the we don’t even know what it does. That didn’t sound good.”

“Certainly didn’t.” With the door open wide enough for her to escape, the Gourgeamus Queen did, galloping towards the door. “Come on!”

Not wasting another moment, he followed after her. The scene in the main area was one of destruction—the ice block he’d made was destroyed, as if something powered through it at high speed. Humans were tossed about, a few definitely worse for wear from the experience. No skin off of Shazara-Ta’s back—they knew what they were doing to the Rulers. The Gourgeamus Queen and Shazara-Ta ran further, into what could be called the lobby of the lab.

There, the Berserker Queen was in the middle of the room, clutching her head and giving another pained roar. There were some tubes missing from her back—but one remained, and Shazara-Ta could see a green fluid coursing through it as the pumps on her back were fully operational. Rodin was off to the side, trying to approach the Berserker Queen but kept at bay by her blind swipes.

Shazara-Ta tried approaching as well, but flinched back as she swung around again. It was the other queen who calmly approached, and he could see the flowers and vines on her head start to move. “My Queen. Look at me, please.”

The Berserker Queen whipped around, panting, an orange mist puffing out with each breath. She gave an uneasy grumble, clutching her head again. The Gourgeamus Queen continued to approach, kneeling down to her eye level. “My Queen. Come close, breathe deeply.” It was then that there seemed to be a silvery mist floating off of the exotic flowers on her head, starting to envelop the Berserker Queen. Doing her best to obey, she staggered towards the other queen, clutching her when she got close enough. Turning to Rodin, she spoke. “Destroy the pumps, sever the tubes. Do what you can to prevent it from enraging her further. My mist can only do so much.”

Rodin sprung into action, flying up to the pumps on the Berserker Queen’s back and giving them a solid yank. The jostling made the Berserker Queen give an uneasy croon, to which the other queen hugged her and whispered calming words. Shazara-Ta himself slithered over to the remaining tube connected to her gauntlets, yanking it out. When more of the green fluid seeped from it, he sealed it up with a quick spit of ice, preventing even the smell from reaching her. As Rodin broke off the first pump, he crawled up her back and handled the other one, crushing it in his tail. What machinery the could destroy now gone, the two of them came down, huddling around the two queens. Unintentionally, Shazara-Ta inhaled the mist, and it was... calming. He eased himself into leaning against the Berserker Queen. “It’s broken now. We’ve done what we can.”

The Berserker Queen nodded uneasily, still clutching to her fellow queen. Rodin came in and leaned against the Gourgeamus Queen. The four of them shared a moment of silence as the Berserker took in deep breaths of the mist that hovered around the other queen, and the two kings took a moment to calm down, themselves.

The calm was swiftly broken as the front of the lab exploded, and the four Rulers immediately assumed combat positions, despite being weaponless. When the smoke cleared, in streamed... Mutons. Vipers. Archons. Shazara-Ta had half a mind to think ADVENT themselves came for them. That is, if he couldn’t recognize a face like Shel-Za’s anywhere. He perked up, rushing over. “Shel-Za!”

Almost dropping her weapon, Shel-Za clipped it to her belt and met him mid-way hugging him. “My King, Shazara-Ta, you’re—” She shuddered. “You’re very much cold. Are you alright?”

“Cold?” He didn’t feel any different. He watched as his inner circle approached, gathering around him. Sure enough, they reached for his skin and recoiled. “... I’m. Cold.”

Shel-Za hugged him again. “That scientist did this, didn’t she? No matter. We’ve found you, my lord.”

As angry as Shazara-Ta wanted to be at Vahlen... he wasn’t going to let it dampen this. His inner circle, his court from his home planet were here. Reaching for them and heedless of his own body temperature, he pulled them in for hugs. “I’ve missed you all,” he muttered, switching to his native language for privacy. “I...” He took in a shuddering breath, the years of agony catching up to him. “I m-missed you.”

His court pressed around him, and their relative warmth helped ease his pain. They whispered assurances and mutual sorrow, squeezing him in embrace. He’d missed them, so much, and thought of the long hours he spent wailing for them when there was no one around but Rodin.

Speaking of his fellow ruler... Shazara-Ta lifted his head. Rodin was crowded by Archons, of different shades and colors. Mutons circled the Berserker Queen, their armor marked and distinguished from the usual ADVENT brand. The Gourgeamus Queen... merely watched as the three of them reunited with those closest to them. Feeling empathy for her plight, Shazara-Ta broke off from his group and came over to her. Wordlessly, he held out his arms. She didn’t hesitate long before she took the invitation, sweeping him up and holding him close. The other rulers seemed to notice—soon, Shazara-Ta was trapped in a four-way hug and sandwiched by the Berserker Queen.

“We’re free,” Rodin breathed. “Free of the tortures of this lab.”

“We can stake out our own lives.” Shazara-Ta looked at his fellow royalty. “We can rebuild. Leave.”

“Is there anything left for us?” Their eyes turned to the Gourgeamus Queen. “My servants sacrificed themselves to sabotage one of their Gates so I could flee. They... they drained my homeworld of its resources. Is... is there anything to leave to?”

That sent some quiet into the group hug. Shazara-Ta, himself, regretted the suggestion. Of course there was nothing to return to. If their stories were anything like his, there was a puppet ruler in their places, and a population indoctrinated by the Collective. All they had now were their servants... and each other.

“Ourselves,” he interrupted the silence with. “We have each other. There must be some force rising up on this planet against ADVENT. If we gather our numbers and cooperate with them...”

The rest of the rulers got the implication, and there were nods. Surprisingly, it was one of the Berserker Queen’s Mutons that spoke up. It seemed like they could speak ADVENT—if a little poorly due to their mouth structure. “There is a resistance force on this world. It calls itself XCOM. They have been fighting against ADVENT for a while, now.”

“XCOM...” Well, it was worth a shot. “I believe we should remain together. Try to gather those of our own in ADVENT who wish to fight back.”

Rodin nodded. “A noble plan. There is safety in numbers, and... I would be loathe to leave all of you. We have all suffered together under Vahlen’s torturous eye. When we have rallied our numbers... perhaps XCOM will allow us to fight alongside them.”

“It’s possible.” This time, it was Shel-Za who spoke. “XCOM have shown themselves willing to align with former ADVENT forces in the Skirmishers. I suspect they would be respectful to our wishes to fight with them.”

“Then it’s settled,” the Gourgeamus Queen replied. “We will stay together. Forge a new home of our own. Then, when the time comes... we may fight back.”

The plan settled, the group hug broke. Looking over the lab, just the sight of the machinery was enough to make Shazara-Ta sick. He huffed. “Let’s move outside. My servants, scavenge the area. Look for weapons, usable materials, anything.” His own Boltcaster should still be here, hopefully.

Rodin turned to his followers and spoke something in his native language. The Archons nodded and flew inside, and similarly, all but one of the Mutons did on the Berserker Queen’s order. That left the rulers, along with the single Muton. Silently, Shazara-Ta moved outside, past the blasted-out door of the front.

The whole facility, once Shazara-Ta was outside and could see it, seemed to be embedded into the mouth of a cave. There were hurried footsteps in the sand... as well as some shot-down scientists and personnel. Their rescue party must’ve parsed them as threats. He went further—enough that the warm glow of the setting sun soaked into his scales. He turned behind him to find that his companions had followed, all stepping out into the sun. The Gourgeamus Queen fanned out the leaves on her back, closing her eyes and literally soaking up the sun.

Looking between the two queens, Shazara-Ta realized something. “I... I don’t think I got either of your names.”

Rodin shook his head. “Neither did I.”

The Berserker Queen said something that was probably her name, but... it was hard to parse. Noticing their confusion, the Muton with her turned to them. “The closest I can put into ADVENT is ‘Vel’kiin.” Vel’kiin chuffed, pleased with the translation. “My name is Du Mag.”

Shazara-Ta smiled. “It is good to know you, Vel’kiin, Du Mag. And yourself, Gourgeamus Queen?”

She opened her mouth to reply... and then closed it, looking towards the ground. “I... I can’t say I remember. Those long years of solitude...”

A dagger of empathy felt as if it had pierced Shazara-Ta’s heart, and he went over to rest a hand on her shoulder. “If you would like to pick another name—”

“Celosia.” All eyes went to Du Mag, who seemed a little embarrassed, but he pressed on. “I... had taken to finding books to teach myself ‘English.’ It seems to be a primary language for humans. One of the books defined native plants and...” He pointed to one on her head. “That one. I’m sure it isn’t the same, but it looks like a celosia flower under a certain mutation. Don’t remember the name, but...”

At Du Mag’s offer, she smiled. “It’s... as fine a name as any. I don’t have anyone waiting on me as you all do, so consider my new name Celosia. Thank you, Du Mag.”

Vel’kiin planted a hand on Du Mag’s head and gave him some affectionate nuzzles, to which Du Mag uttered something in his language to her. Giving a throaty chuckle, Vel’kiin relented.

Inevitably, Shazara-Ta’s gaze went back to the setting sun. The reality of the situation kept occurring to him; he was free. They were free. No more labs. No more scientists. No more Vahlen... until they found her again and exacted revenge. Wordlessly, his hand fell to hold Celosia’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the chain continued; Celosia to Rodin, and Rodin to Vel’kiin as they all looked to horizon.

They were free. They could start living, again.

[sftd-official]

Monachopsis, Eliza

Something had happened, that day in the GTS.

Well, Eliza knew a few of the events that happened. A hell of a headache, for one. Jax thinking it was all his fault, for two. Of course, a lot more psionic power on her plate, for three. She didn’t need to be told that when it felt like it was all buzzing around in her head like a swarm of particularly aggressive moths.

Over the course of a few minutes, Eliza had simply been inspecting herself in her room. After a round of hair-brushing had come away with more than a few white hairs, she took a few strands of her hair from either side of her head and brought them into vision. She knew her bangs had been steadily turning white from stress, but… these white streaks were a little ridiculous. Was the rest of her hair a bit lighter, too? She’d seen what happened to psions they brought up in the Psi Lab, so she knew there was precedent for this. She just… never really imagined it’d happen to her.

There was the matter of her psionics, too. When she’d pulled off that Stasis on Mordenna, she’d intended to do it from the very top of the Avenger, when she started falling. A good bit of her distress was only pulling it off the second before they both hit the ground and the terror that came with that. Now, in her room? Summoning a Stasis around herself came as easy as breathing–even if she couldn’t breathe within it. Jax really had pulled off all the limiters. Watching the leftover Stasis energies bleed  off of  her, Eliza contemplated their color. Light blue. From the minute Marlene had pointed out their color, there was something that didn’t sit right with Eliza. Light blue. In a world of purple psionics. The closest she’d seen to another color was Jax’s weird, pink-red-purple psionics, and who knew why that was?

What had happened to her, in those  twenty years? Mordenna gave her enough of a start; she didn’t have to guess too hard what would’ve been done  to her with a name like the Siren. Were her colored psionics a part of it? Nobody had mentioned them being possibly modified… in fact, nobody had mentioned them at  all before Marlene did. Mordenna would’ve seen them before she put a Stasis on them, right? Surely Tygan would’ve found some hints during one of his routine checkups? Why did  it fall to someone outside of her circle to tell her something about herself?

More than a little distressed, Eliza put her brush on the table and stalked off to her bathroom, coming face-to-face with herself in the mirror. She’d stared at herself in this mirror plenty of times before. It was habit; every time she started to question herself like this, she’d come  in here to affirm just how off she was. It didn’t take an eye like the Hunter’s to point out she was fifty six and didn’t look a day older than First Contact. Maybe a few more gray hairs before, but that was it. If she looked off-putting to herself…  it wasn’t a stretch to imagine what others thought, looking at their Commander.

And how that Commander was  changing! Looking in the mirror, the hair situation was worse than she thought. Her bangs were now entirely white as opposed to the few streaks from before, and there were more  bolts of white propagating everywhere else. Her own hair seemed a bit longer, too. Her gaze went down to her eyes. She’d seen them before all this–pale blue, with flecks of purple she’d written off as  a consequence of being hooked up to a psionic Network for so long. Now they were the same color as her  psionics: a brilliant light blue. She’d changed, so much. Was she the same person, now? Did others see her as the same?

Sighing, Eliza tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Look. I know we like  to go down this rabbit hole a lot. Of how much we’ve changed,  if people are just following us because there’s no better option, I know. Doesn’t change the fact that someone’s gotta get the Elders out of here, and if that falls to us? So be it. We may not be  the best fit for the job but better us than nobody, right?” Right. She was used to pep-talking herself every time she got into this mood. Most of the time it worked. Sometimes, it took a little bit more doing to stick, and even then… it really depended on the day. She was still unsettled by herself and stuck with a feeling like everyone else  was, too–but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it.

Even still, she lingered at the mirror, looking over her features. It took getting psionically overloaded just to put a few more gray hairs on her and make her look just a little older, hair-wise. Didn’t change the rest of her face. At least the bags under her eyes  added a few  years, right? Her mouth settled into a thin line, eyes still wandering over her face. She wondered if the other psions had to deal with the existential  nightmare that was their own  features changing right before their eyes. She wondered if they ever wrestled with sense of self. She wondered if  they ever had that blue phantom behind them–

In a panic, Eliza wheeled around. The silence was  palpable as she confirmed that there was nothing between her and the door. Her eyes had roamed far enough in the mirror to look behind her, and she could’ve sworn her psionics coalesced into something behind her. Whatever it was, it was gone now, if it even was there in the first place. Catching her breath a bit, Eliza stood up from her lean on the counter, holding her forehead.

“Eliza, Eliza, Eliza,” she chided herself with, “the last thing anyone on this ship needs is you hallucinating any more than you already do.”

[sftd-official]

Moments like these, Fal-Mai cursed how little basic knowledge she had.

In an effort to try to get more into this “friendship” business, Fal-Mai had wanted to make tea for her and Eliza—maybe just some for her and Sammy if she lost her nerve. Having at least the knowledge that she should head over to the Mess Hall if she wanted to prepare food of any kind, she found herself crouched down, starting at a variety of machines she couldn’t discern the purpose of. Well, one of them with a glass pot underneath it she somewhat recognized, if a little grimly; she’d seen it in cleared havens before, and it seemed to be a bit of a staple.

Fal-Mai had tea before. She’d just never been taught how to make it. Hot water had to be involved somewhere. Was there a machine for it? Where were their stores of tea? Was she even looking in the right location? Honestly, Fal-Mai didn’t even know where to start, and it was a little demoralizing. Not knowing how to do something as simple as prepare tea was humbling, and told her how little common knowledge she possessed.

“Fancying a cup of coffee, Assassin?”

A familiar voice made her turn her head, watching as Bradford walked up behind her. Looking back to the machine in front of her, she sighed. “I was hoping to make tea for Eliza and I, but... I fear I do not know how.”

“Yeesh. Elders didn’t teach you Chosen much, did they?” Bradford came to stand next to her with an empty mug, setting it down on the counter. He joined her in staring at the machine. “Of course they’d empty my brew and not make a new pot,” he grumbled, before grabbing the glass container under it. “Here. Eliza’s not much for tea—and I don’t know how to make it either, anyways—so I’ll show you how to make the coffee she likes.”

Fal-Mai followed after Bradford as he went over to the sink, putting the glass pot under the faucet and turning the water on. “You’re going to want water, first of all. You’d want to shoot for better quality where can, but, not much we can do about that here.”

“Is the Avenger’s water not filtered?”

“It is,” he said, gesturing, “but enough to make it safe to drink. Lily’s the one in charge of maintaining that, but Raymond’s the one who came up with the filter. Does a pretty good job, at least—haven’t heard anyone complain about the water.” He sighed. “Yet.”

Raymond was an unfamiliar name to her. She almost sought out the Network in order to place him, but decided the source she needed to ask was right here, anyway. “—who is Raymond?”

“Kinda surprised you don’t know.” Bradford picked up the now-full pot, walking back over to the machine. He lifted a top part of it and continued to talk as he poured the water in. “He was Lily’s old man. Responsible for a lot of the features on this ship before Lily got ahold of it. Was there at First Contact alongside Eliza and I.”

Ah. So he was the head of engineering before Lily took his place. “Where is he, now?”

Bradford was quiet for a moment, emptying the pot and putting it back in its place. He responded after a bit. “Gone. I don’t know what happened exactly but he went along with some of our personnel to try to make a difference, out there, promising to keep in touch. We... we lost contact with him after a while, and it didn’t take long to figure out the tower he was keeping holed up in got raided by ADVENT. Nobody survived that I knew of.”

The answer made Fal-Mai hush up with her questions for the moment. She hoped Bradford didn’t see her as a nuisance for asking so many. Eliza had said it herself; how was she going to learn if she never asked? Still, she felt the need to apologize. “I’m sorry. Had I known, I would not have asked so callously.”

Bradford shook his head, reaching up into a cabinet and taking out a clear container filled with dark brown, almost black powder. The label read “DEATH RATTLE COFFEE.” “Don’t be. Never going to know if you don’t ask—and I figured it was the case, anyway.” Seems Bradford and Eliza were of like minds on a few things. He gestured to the coffee machine, bringing her attention back to it. “Before you put the grounds in, check to make sure there’s a filter in there.” That must be the white, thin, paper-like object in the machine. “Seems someone was decent enough to replace it. If you need more, there’s some in the cabinet with the grounds.”

He pulled out a drawer, grabbing a spoon. “You’re going to want to fill the filter up to a certain degree. I don’t know how many tablespoons—I try not to dirty those so the cooks have them clean. After a while, you learn to eyeball it.” He opened the container and started to fill the filter. It was then that the smell of the grounds hit Fal-Mai—the face she made must’ve been funny, as Bradford looked back at her and chuckled. “Yeah, my mix isn’t for the unprepared sort. You build up a tolerance to it—but hell, it’ll keep you awake far longer than adrenaline would.”

Humans were very, very strange creatures. “You would ‘build up a tolerance’ to something like this?”

“Coffee’s got caffeine, Fal-Mai. We need caffeine to stay awake around here, and we’ve grown to the point of needing some very hard stuff.” After a bit of filling the filter, he pointed to it. “You’ll want this much of the grounds in there if you’re making a full pot—which we tend to do, since anyone can stop by and make themselves a cup.” He closed the lid and hit a few buttons, and Fal-Mai could hear mechanical parts in it come to life. “—think I heard Mordenna wanting to tweak this thing so it’d brew faster. I’m all for it, but I’m almost afraid to hand ol’ reliable off to him.”

“He is a competent engineer, if nothing else,” she remarked. Her gun was thanks to him, after all... and perhaps she really did need to hand it over to him so he could tweak it. She owed him that much after pestering him with insensitive questions. “As... interesting as his projects may get, I believe it would be a wise choice.”

“Fair enough. Only problem is that we’re going to be without a coffee maker for as long as he’s working on it, and I imagine that’d cause some people to riot.” An almost-black liquid started to fill the pot, and the smell filled the room. “That’s it for the coffee, really, if you like it straight like I do. Eliza doesn’t, so I’ll show you what to add when this is done brewing.”

Fal-Mai contemplated for a moment before coming at Bradford with her next question. “How long have you known Eliza?”

Bradford whistled at that, scratching his stubble. “That’s a question. We met in boot camp where I had to apologize for one of my dumbass friends for thinking he could pick a fight with a woman like her. Obviously, he hadn’t met Eliza. He got court martialed later for something related, so he wasn’t cut out for it all in the first place. We were pretty quick friends after that before XCOM came around and recruited the both of us to the program.” His expression turned grim. “She doesn’t like to talk about what she did there much, so I won’t either. She got taken at First Contact, and I escaped, but only because of her. To answer your question? Over thirty years.”

Thirty years. Fal-Mai had only known Eliza as she did now for a month or so. Bradford was father ahead of her than she could ever possibly hope to be. Crossing her arms, she looked down. “It must be nice to have known her for so long.”

“To be fair,” he muttered, “twenty of those were apart from her. And...” He sighed. “Eliza was... different, before those twenty. Sterner, to put it lightly. How to put this...” He looked to Fal-Mai, mouth set into a line. “Old Eliza probably wouldn’t have given you guys the chance she has.”

Oh. That was certainly a way to put it into perspective, even if Fal-Mai couldn’t imagine an Eliza like that. She nodded at the information. “I... understand, even if I cannot fathom her being like that. She’s just...”

“Kind? Soft? Has an ear for anyone who needs listened to?” Bradford looked back to the pot, filling up with coffee. “You and me both, Fal-Mai. I was shocked, myself, those first few days of her being out. I’d gotten used to the Eliza of old, so to have her going around, being genuinely kind to Tygan and Lily? Took some getting used to, but I wasn’t complaining.” He gave a tired smile. “She made me look like a fool. I’d built the soldiers up on expecting a tough, no-nonsense Commander, and the first thing she did was sit down, introduce herself, and get to know all of them. Half of them thought Eliza was pulling a joke, the other half thought it was me being a joker.”

Bradford saying that with a smile on his face truly told Fal-Mai she didn’t have the breadth of experience to make such a phenomenon make sense. Then again, when she thought over Eliza... she wanted to smile, too. Even at more somber memories such as her comforting Fal-Mai in the Resistance Ring after what she had learned of her creation. Was Eliza just that kind of person who could make anyone smile?

He chuckled, leading Fal-Mai to discover she was smiling. She looked away, pouting. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Bradford assured, “Eliza’s got this aura about her that tends to make people feel a bit better.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m pretty sure that might be literal, nowadays, but that’s beside the point. Whatever you thought of Eliza before, with the Elders, I think it’s safe to discard that thinking.” He paused. “Actually, I don’t think I ever got around to asking why you wanted to make Eliza tea. Something special?”

Fal-Mai’s face further heated up. Truth be told, she’d been thinking of Eliza fondly before she had arrived here, and wanted to do something for her. Making tea was about the only thing she could fathom of, since Sammy was the one who introduced her to the idea indirectly. But, as with Sammy’s reaction to reading her fondness for the Commander, something told her that she shouldn’t tell him the actual reason. “No reason,” she muttered, “other than wishing to repay her how I can for taking me in as she has.”

“Good on you.” Seems Bradford believed her. “Always nice to have someone caring for Eliza rather than the other way around. I take pride in my job, but that woman needs to see she can lean on other people instead of having to be strong by herself all day.” He settled his hands on his hips. “Maybe if she hears it from more people outside of me, she’ll start to believe it.”

Yes, Fal-Mai remembered the incident, not too long ago. Even though her brothers had openly—and correctly—guessed that she was there in the Infirmary, she wasn’t going to reveal her hand. Eliza... she hadn’t guessed she could break down like that. The thought squeezed her chest, and made her want to lie beside her as Mordenna had. “I will see what I can do, Central. I... do not wish for her to suffer.”

“You and me both, Assassin. You and me both.”

Some silence spanned between the two of them, and it was long enough that the pot finished filling. Clearing his throat to break the quiet, he grabbed another mug out of the cabinets, as well as a container of what looked like sugar. He went over to the refrigerator, grabbing a gallon of milk. He came back with it and started to pour out the coffee into both mugs. “Eliza never has her coffee straight. Some days it’s just sugar, some days it’s just sugar and milk. Considering she’s negotiating with some havens today, I’d say she needs both.”

Done filling the mugs, he took the milk and poured a bit in, Fal-Mai noting down the exact amount in her head. He then spooned in some sugar. “Three is usually her gambit, and I don’t blame her. If you’re not me or Lily, you kind of need to dull this stuff down to make it drinkable. Got all that?”

She nodded. “I am sure I will remember it for the future. Thank you, Bradford.”

Bradford began to place all the components back, including the coffee pot. “Happy to help. And... far be it from me to say ‘stop worrying Eliza so much,’ but what I do want to say is... I think I’d be willing to hear you out regarding what might be troubling you. The impression of you I get is that you’re genuine, but need to ask a lot of questions to get up to speed, which is understandable. You understand what I’m saying?”

Fal-Mai blinked. It wasn’t as if she was adverse to the offer. Bradford simply did not strike her as the type to care. Perhaps it was the interaction between him and Mordenna that fostered this. “... I do, Bradford, but you will have to excuse me if I do not think you as the kind of person who would be concerned with a Chosen’s worries.”

“Me neither, a while ago. But I think Eliza’s rubbing off on me.”

She nodded slowly. “Eliza... is a good influence, I believe.”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. Still, we have a deal?”

She didn’t think she could fully confide in Bradford just yet... but there was a question or two brewing in her mind that she believed she couldn’t ask Eliza herself. Perhaps he would be a good alternative. “I believe we do. Thank you again, Bradford.”

“No problem.” He picked up his mug, sliding Eliza’s to her. “She should still be in the Resistance Ring right about now. She could probably use the pick-me-up right about now.”

Picking up the mug, Fal-Mai gave Bradford a gentle smile. “I will see to it that she receives it.”

Taking a sip of his own mug, Bradford bobbed his head. “Don’t forget to tell her who taught you.”

Still smiling, Fal-Mai returned the nod and walked out of the Mess Hall, keeping the mug steady. Bradford, despite his appearances, struck Fal-Mai as a kind person, almost in Eliza’s vein of being. Perhaps he was more worn from the passage of years and showed it more than she did, but there was a certain warmth to the conversation they had held. It left Fal-Mai considering his offer further.

She eventually made her way to the Resistance Ring, tapping the panel and stepping on it. The screen at the end of the room was darkened, and Eliza was slumped across one of the couches. Seeing Fal-Mai enter, she perked up. “Oh! Hey, Fal-Mai. What do you need?”

The Assassin shook her head. “I require nothing of you, Eliza, other than to take what I offer you.”

Fal-Mai walked over and offered Eliza the mug. Recognizing what it was, Eliza’s face lit up and she took it, taking a quick sip. “Oh, Fal-Mai, you’re a doll. Thank you.” The praise... certainly was unwelcome, but Fal-Mai had to fight back a blush. After another sip and some blowing on the coffee to get it to cool down, she looked to her. “—I didn’t take you to know my blend.”

“Bradford taught me.”

Eliza grinned. “Aww. You and that man are real treasures, you know that?” More praise? That blush was getting harder and harder to fight. “You know what? Maybe I need something of you, Fal-Mai. Mind sitting down?”

“N-not at all, Commander.” With that, Fal-Mai gently sat down beside her. To her surprise, Eliza softly lifted her arm and leaned against her side, relaxing.

“Oh, good god. Fal-Mai, running relations with havens is a mistake. Don’t do it. You’d think after this long in the war and ‘taking out’ three whole Chosen I’d have more of a bargaining chip up my sleeve but you would be wrong and so much more.”

Having Eliza this close was very distracting, and Fal-Mai’s arm draped over her shoulders was even more so. Still, she did realize what Eliza was doing—she was venting to her. Bradford mentioned this would be a good thing. She nodded quickly. “I-I would think that they would learn some gratitude, but... I am only one year old.”

That got a laugh out of Eliza, who tried to keep her mug straight as she did. “Hah! I wish I had that specific brand of optimism.” She took another sip, face falling a bit. “It’s. It’s alright if I just gripe at you, right?”

Not knowing too much what to do, Fal-Mai found herself patting Eliza’s side. “Of course, Commander. I... believe you could use the relaxation.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I could.” Even as she said it, Eliza didn’t seem to believe it. Still, she remained leaned against Fal-Mai, a smile returning to her face in a moment of quiet. It turned into some form of annoyance as she went on. “Ok, where was I. Right. This joker called Bastion thinks that Edgar is some sort of bargaining tool for supplies! Apparently he’s got it in his head that he’s the one who led us to Edgar, when I distinctly remember it being Edgar’s choice to join up with us. I cannot imagine...”

As Eliza continued, Fal-Mai found herself relaxing in the situation. Eliza’s closeness still stirred something in her chest, and she found herself wanting to know more about these feelings she had. She felt as if she wanted to hold Eliza closer and tell her secrets, or even teach her what she knew of her own weaponry. She couldn’t place anything on what it was she felt, but the feeling made her happy. Eliza made her happy, and that was all Fal-Mai could ask for.

[sftd-official]

This excerpt is meant to take place during Chapter Thirteen. Trigger warnings for that chapter apply here. Abuse is implied and spoken of.

Mordenna had thought today was going to be a decent day. As things would turn out, he’d rank it right up there with the day he’d realized the Elders weren’t such hotshots.

His sister had been freshly captured and thrown into her cell and he was ready to head down to the Workshop to hopefully just work things out and not think too hard for a few hours or so. There were always tweaks to be done to his weaponry, of course, and he’d been meaning to experiment with a new woven mesh to his armored vest.

Mordenna’s pace in the vents was casual, not too much minding the noise he might’ve been making. He was absolutely fine with spooking anyone below, though he tried to keep a cap on it with the Assassin captured. Wasn’t a stretch to assume someone jumpy might think she’d gotten out and try to solve the problem themselves.

The first sign of trouble Mordenna got was when he was descending one of the ducts and felt an odd squeeze of his chest. Stopping in his tracks, he immediately sat down and inspected his vest. No, no pinching there. Wasn’t like his clothes were constricting him, either. So why was his heartbeat speeding up a bit? The pace he was going at shouldn’t have disturbed anything at all.

The chest squeeze continued, but there was an odd... disconnect, to the feeling. Mordenna’s heart continued to race. “What the everloving fuck?” He muttered, a hand grasping the front of his armor. In a haste, he undid the vest and threw it off. Already, his mind was racing for a diagnosis. With their immune systems, modified by the Elders, they shouldn’t be getting any sort of illnesses that might cause this. Was his body breaking down? Was it his fault? Why did he have to mess things up like this?

Wait.

Mordenna’s brows furrowed. Those... those weren’t his thoughts. How the hell--

That was when the pain started.

Mordenna collapsed in the vent, sucking in a gasp of air as a familiar, yet different feeling overtook his back. It felt as if he was getting one of his usual rounds of punishment--but it was not the striking, punishing force that Odin usually put forth. There seemed to be different spots being struck on his back in quick succession. As if to overload him. With the pain, Mordenna finally realized what was happening. Jax was getting punished, and it left him--and Fal-Mai, he bitterly thought--to deal with the ghosts of it.

But, this had to be different. Mordenna felt like his back was getting boiled alive. Surely it shouldn’t be this powerful if he was just getting the ghosts of it, right? Mordenna had gotten afterimages of Jax’s migraines that weren’t as bad as the real thing. If this was the pain he was feeling...

The assault continued, and Mordenna curled in on himself, desperately trying not to make a sound. Jax’s bewilderment was now his bewilderment, and he lost track of what room he was above, if at all. He couldn’t betray what he was feeling to some nobodies. He couldn’t let them know that the pain and the specter of Jax’s feelings was enough to make tears squeeze past his eyelids as he took silent, shuddering breaths.

It was going on for far, far too long to be any round of traditional punishment. Cronus must’ve been trying to vaporize Jax on the spot. How would it feel, to experience a sibling’s final death? Not even that, but a final death by being unmade? Of being slowly, painfully annihilated where he lay? Mordenna couldn’t think. All he could feel was the pain, and how much he and Jax wanted it to stop.

All at once, it did. The pain at his back dissipated. The vents were silent once more.

Even so, the memory of the feeling left Mordenna curled in on himself, anticipating anything. A second round, another lashing of feelings... It was hard to tell if the dread suffusing his chest was his own, or not. Perhaps a mix of him and Jax. 

Mordenna only uncurled and hissed out a breath when a flood of relief went through his system, movements gentle, as if he would stir up the pain again. Palming at his eyes, he took the moment of peace to regain stock of his surroundings. If he remembered correctly, he was right between two rooms, both of them frequented by soldiers. Best he didn’t make any noise, after all. Not wanting to dwell on his feelings somewhere he might be heard, he gingerly collected his vest, put it back on, and began to move again, crawling near silently.

As he moved forwards, his thoughts went to what just happened. That... was far too brutal a lashing for just Fal-Mai getting taken, wasn’t it? If Mordenna didn’t know any better, it was like Cronus was trying to nip that potential last kidnapping in the bud--in the worst possible way, granted. He took a deep breath, trying not to think on the pain. It was fine. He was used to it. He could deal with it.

Eventually he reached the vent over the Workshop, opening it up and looking in. Empty. When he left the Bridge, Lily was still there. They’d had enough time to secure the Assassin and take off, so she must’ve gotten wrapped up in conversation and planning with the Commander. That all just worked to Mordenna’s favor--he wanted isolation. He prepared to drop down.

ANSWER ME!!

What should’ve been a regular descent turned into a free-fall as Mordenna lost control of himself, mind ringing with the force of spectral words as he landed on the floor in a heap. The pain of landing so harshly should’ve been nothing--but even still, Mordenna could feel his eyes stinging again. Of course. Jax was going through aftershocks. It was familiar... too familiar.

Mordenna took in a gasping breath, a hand reaching out and dragging him closer to his workbench. He had to be hidden. Lily could stumble in any minute now. But his trembling limbs wouldn’t cooperate. Jax’s terror and grief hardly needed to encourage his own when he was suddenly swept up in old memories. He’d just wanted to ask questions. He was built for efficiency. Why should he be struck when he merely performed his duty? Why should he be struck when he, not a perfect system, occasionally failed? Why?

He got as far as being half-hidden by the counter before he choked out a sob, curling up on the spot. Mordenna pressed a hand to his eyes, the other arm hugging himself. No. He was beyond this. He was past this. He’d gotten used to this. It may have hurt in the moment for him, but punishment wasn’t supposed to mean anything anymore. But Jax’s feelings aggravated his. Taking deep, shaking breaths, Mordenna tried to hold them for as long as possible before hissing them out. He hadn’t openly sobbed in fourteen years, and he didn’t intend to start now.

Tears streamed past his eyelids and he cursed every second of agony he had to go through. Maybe it wasn’t Jax’s fault--it definitely wasn’t--but it was directly what Jax was feeling that was making him suffer like this. Seething, venomous thoughts rose. It’d be easier to kill him off when you get the chance. No more enduring this. No more having the past thrown in your face. He shouldn’t be alive to shove his feelings into your skull. As much as Mordenna wanted to reason against it, another stab of his own memories surfaced and his next breath out threatened to be a sob.

He tensed, not of his own volition. Odin asked what he had to say for himself. “I-I’m sorry--”

His chest heaved, almost feeling like it was trying to turn concave. He hated this. He hated every single moment of time that passed. He hated Jax, he hated Odin, he hated himself. He hated how he had to feel. In his sorrow and the terror forced upon him, the only thing Mordenna could cling to was hatred and spite. One day. One day you’ll strike back against him. He’ll repay in blood. Father was right. 

A bit of the edge of the storm was taken off, but it wasn’t nearly enough. It wasn’t enough to stop the plans of revenge, against who, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough to stop the thoughts that he didn’t have to feel if he was dead. It wasn’t enough. He didn’t have to feel if he could just get over to his weapons. He knew his Darkclaw was on the table. He reached up, starting to right himself.

His fingers got to touching the receiver of his gun before the storm lifted more and more. Rationality returned, and Mordenna’s hand slipped off of the table as he rested his forehead against it. What... what was he doing? This was just as temporary as it got. Once they had Jax, there wouldn’t be anymore cataclysmic events like that. Just the standard fare. As he contemplated that, Mordenna stared blankly at the material of the workbench. He took in a breath.

“God, Mordenna,” he muttered, voice shot, “you’re pathetic.”

[sftd-official]

Six months of training. Six months of tests.

Ref-Il Mordenna kneeled in front of his Sarcophagus, eyes wide open as they flitted about the energies keeping it suspended in the air. Curious. He had known this life for a year now--a first year filled with strenuous tests and trials. It was worth it, he was told. He was the Chosen Hunter.

“Do you see now, Ref-Il? What constitutes this device?”

The voice of Father, Odin, filtered into his mind. Ref-Il gave it a few more once-overs before replying. “... Void-based energies,” he began softly. “This isn’t so much what revives me as a gateway to the Void itself, where You reconstitute me. I...” He furrowed his brow, looking long into the silvery sheen of his Sarcophagus. “I can’t identify the compound. I can see traces of titanium and iridium, along with the ‘astral metal’ the armor You granted me is made out of.”

Odin’s laugh was a soft, hissing chuckle. “Excellent. I did not expect you to fully identify it--though you managing what you have means you are performing above parameters. Knowledge of the main material is reserved for the Ethereal Collective.”

Ref-Il closed his eyes. “I understand.”

“Understanding info is one thing, child. To use it to your advantage is another. Take this first, unguided day to go out and gather what you can.” The presence of Odin in his mind began to lift. “But remember this--your brother, Jax-Rai? He is not to be trusted. Learn of him. Know his weaknesses. Stay close enough to sink a dagger in.”

Nodding, Ref-Il waited until the presence of Him was back to nothing. He was left in his Inner Sanctum to contemplate his thoughts. His mind buzzed lowly with the hum of the Network--he could feel some of his mind’s processing power being filtered into it. Not enough to matter to him--it had been a condition since his birth. A part of his mind eternally devoted to the Elders.

He would not have it any other way.

Ref-Il moved to stand, turning and walking through his sanctum. Knowledge. So much to gain, so much to be used to his advantage. Odin had instructed him to make his own weapons, something better than the rudimentary set he had been given. Ref-Il could already think of more than fifty improvements to the prototype sniper rifle he’d handled and he fully intended to put them all to use. But, how exactly?

“Simple,” he muttered softly to himself. He couldn’t explain the compulsion to talk to himself. It started happening after his six years of imprinting. “Logical conclusion to the inability to modify and manufacture my own weaponry would be to learn.” He crossed his arms close to his body. “Extensive fieldwork can be done once I have armed myself accordingly. To guide is one thing; to support is another.”

Stepping on his Ascension Pad, Ref-Il watched as the Void around him shifted and twisted, creating a safe capsule for him as it shunted him across worlds, ferrying him from his sanctum to his Stronghold on Earth. Calculating the landing velocity in the time it took him to be transported, he was fully prepared and braced when he landed.

“Brother.”

Ref-Il looked up slowly. Before him stood someone who looked almost related to him--tall, purple-skinned, prominent cheekbones and slightly sunken eyes. A half-circle tattoo running across his forehead and connecting his eyes. Long, white hair, red psi-horns, and near full armor, with his biceps exposed. Gauntlets, as well. All conclusions led to this being his predecessor, the one he was meant to succeed--Jax-Rai Tessura.

The Hunter stood up from his crouch. “Jax-Rai. Do you have business with me?”

His senior looked at him with mild disdain. Despite Ref-Il being on the higher ground, he could easily tell that Jax-Rai would be taller than him if he was on his level. “Merely to observe the brother the Elders have gifted me. I must say, you are of a lighter build than I would expect for a Hunter... though I believe the Elders have plans in all actions They make. Do you believe as such, Ref-Il?”

It seems as if it was Jax-Rai’s full intention to consider him a brother. Genetically speaking, they couldn’t be related at all. Odin and Cronus were far different Ethereals from one another. But, of course, it was circumstantial. Ref-Il started to slowly walk down the steps. “Of course. The reason for my reduced body mass compared to you is to create a more subtle profile in the field. Capes were deemed too unwieldy to disguise my silhouette, so a hooded jacket such as the one I’m wearing now was an acceptable alternative. Less weight means lighter tracks I leave behind me. I fully believe in the Elders’ vision, brother. They tell me I am the perfect Hunter, and I intend to live up to such.”

It was a moment, but Ref-Il watched as every subtle inflection on Jax-Rai’s face conveyed the fact that he’d passed some unspoken test. Jax-Rai’s arms, formerly crossed, relaxed and fell to his sides. “I see we will have no quarrel with an attitude such as yours.”

He is not to be trusted.

Odin’s advice flashed across Ref-Il’s mind, and he picked over it a bit. Best he doesn’t think I know that for now, was his response, and he nodded. “I’d rather not pick fights that aren’t useful to me. Stay out of my affairs if I don’t want you in them and I’ll do the same for you. Sound acceptable?”

Jax-Rai bobbed his head. “I can hardly find fault with it. Remain loyal in your mission and thorough in your duties and you will find success in Their will. Who knows,” he said, turning to leave, “perform well enough and I might be accepting to help you in future.”

He fully turned his back. For a split second, Ref-Il considered pouncing... but thirty-seven different ways that could go wrong played out in an instant in his mind, and he stayed his place on the stairs. Jax-Rai could go free, for now. Ref-Il watched him leave fully before his eyes slid to the left of the doorway.

There was much to be learned.

[sftd-official]

WARNING: This chapter is much like Ch13 of SFTD. Abuse and the effects thereof are shown explicitly.

With his vast library of definitions and simulations, Ref-Il could accurately describe the feeling he got, waiting in the Gathering Hall, as dread.

He knew exactly why he was in there. Ref-Il had started to test himself, recently, seeing just how optimized a force he could mobilize against threats. His most recent action saw him bringing, in hindsight, an underprepared force against a well-stocked Haven. He had thought he had run the numbers correctly, seen the outcomes, but it would appear he was incorrect.

Incorrect. Such a nebulous state of being. With his new hobby of engineering, being incorrect was minor. A setback that wouldn’t take long to fix, especially if he could pinpoint where he had made his error. But, in the field, using the resources the Elders had given him? Failure was so much more costly, and the first mark was always the worst.

But Ref-Il wasn’t afraid of the failure itself. The Elders’ forces were innumerable, and with what had happened, he could strike again as they were rallying back the resources spent recovering from his attack. It wasn’t as if he’d done no damage, either—he’d made his mark on that haven. Another strike would prove lethal, especially in such cold months as these.

No... what Ref-Il feared, in some measure, were the possible consequences. When code failed, frustration was bound to follow, and he would not blame Father for feeling as such. Considering he’d already made an unrelated mistake before, Ref-Il looked to alleviate the problem; he already had a second plan of action in place and was fully prepared to explain where he had failed and why. Streamlining the process should speed things up and bring about a much faster resolution, something He would look favorably on, as far as Ref-Il had calculated.

So here he stood, gazing long into the hollow center of the room. He’d already taken his time to analyze the rest of the area, since he’d never been here before. Now he simply waited, running over what he would say and how he would carry himself in his head.

A sound directly in front of him made him raise his view. Far at the end of the platform, Jax-Rai stood, standing tall even after a trip through the Void. His brother opened his eyes and looked to Ref-Il. “Brother. I would not suppose you would know why we have both been called here?”

The sight of his brother here was already throwing a wrench or two into Ref-Il’s visualization of the whole situation. If this was meant to be a private meeting between Father and child, why was he here? He quickly ran through a list of reasons and none of them really checked out. Unless he’d missed some memo that this would be another meeting he’d need to be concerned with, he couldn’t really fathom why Jax-Rai was here.

Ref-Il shook his head. “—as far as I had known, I was going to be talking to Father. Alone.” From the way Jax-Rai spoke, he’d been summoned here. “Did They tell you anything?”

Jax-Rai scoffed. “The Elders need not tell me anything but what They require of me. I come when They call for me and I do not ask why.”

That seemed slightly backwards. Asking questions was how you learned more about your mission. Asking questions led to further knowledge, things you could base hypotheses on and gain answers to. Jax-Rai must’ve been used to blindly following; Ref-Il was built to learn and execute on what he knew. The Elders—especially Father—would understand his need to know. “If that’s your thinking, I won’t tell you otherwise.”

Ref-Il’s rather simple reply led to Jax-Rai crossing his arms, walking forwards to what seemed to be his place in the Gathering Hall. He said nothing more, and Ref-Il found no problem with it. He dropped his gaze back to the hollow of the room and waited.

Though his patience was unlimited, Ref-Il found he didn’t have to wait long. The braziers in the room lit up and their spectral flames rose to impressive heights as he could see the shape of the Elders manifest in the center of the room. He dropped into a respectful kneel, watching as They appeared even to Sightless eyes. They appeared to face him—but he could see an afterimage of Them also facing Jax-Rai. An interesting trick, if nothing else. “Our children.” The voice further made him rethink how things were going to go. It seemed to be a blend of voices—Odin was in there, but He was not the only one. Was this a meeting of all three Elders? He was starting to think this really was about something unrelated.

His hopes were dashed as They continued. “While We have seen your successes in the field, We are also no stranger to witnessing your failures. As children of Us, We would hope you understand why We look so poorly upon unsatisfactory results.”

It felt as if weights were placed upon his shoulders as he could feel Their attention turn primarily to him. “Ref-Il Mordenna. We are certain you understand why you have been called here today.”

“I am,” he replied, looking at Them... where Their eyes should be, anyway. “I understand the last force I fielded was inadequate. But I already have solutions in mind and I know exactly why I have failed. You needn’t worry.”

The mood of the room seemed to shift from calm to cautionary. When the Elders spoke again, he could more clearly hear Odin. “We would not worry were it not clear there is reason to. Considering you have presented that you can fail so early on, We are not so certain We should heed your ‘suggestion.’”

Had they assumed he was making a generalizing statement? No, of course Ref-Il wasn’t meaning to imply They should never worry about him. Systems failed, and this was a reality. Were They truly expecting perfection from him? “—apologies if I’m speaking out of turn,” he began, “but I certainly don’t mean to say you should never worry about me. Father, you know no system is perfect—?”

Wrong answer. Ref-Il flinched back as he saw Odin break from the whole, rushing towards him and looming over him. Dissonant whispers tugged at his mind, making the hair on his head stand on end. “Ref-Il, are you to imply that I have made a mistake in creating you? Is that what you mean to say? Would you like to make Me admit in front of My fellows that I made the wrong decision in taking you from a life where you were nothing and granting you everything?”

This wasn’t looking pretty. All of Ref-Il’s predictions about how the situation was going to go down had been thrown right out the window, and he was struggling to pick up the pieces. One thing screamed at him; he shouldn’t respond. Not verbally, at least. It was clear he’d agitated the situation by speaking his mind and asking questions, though the notion that He would reject him doing so still threw him for a loop. Ref-Il cast his gaze downwards, shaking his head. Hopefully Odin would see he hadn’t meant to imply that, or anything else.

That didn’t seem to be enough for Odin. “Of course. That is what you say now. What spurs you into trying to undermine Me, child? How have I cut you in your mere year of living? Or... is it nothing at all?” He could feel Odin press closer, almost as if He were whispering into his ear. “Do you lash out for the pure sake of doing so? Is your life merely so fulfilled that you must create conflict? I cannot fathom where I have gone wrong with you. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Father’s last line was delivered dripping with venom, and Ref-Il flinched back. He clenched his fists, shaking his head. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” He spat, rising back up. “A mere sorry. It’s clear to Me that you will not learn through words alone. I must apply a different approach.”

Nothing in Ref-Il’s life would have prepared him for what happened next.

One moment, he was kneeling and sitting still in the Gathering Hall. The next moment he could parse, a coursing, searing pillar of energy and psionics was striking his back, making him give a strangled cry as he fell on his front. Any efforts to get up or even flee were quickly dashed as the force of it pressed more and more against him. He felt as if his very bones were being bent well near breaking point, and it was next to impossible to breathe.

The pain continued and Ref-Il was mouthing fervent apologies, eyes squeezed shut as his fingernails scratched at the metal floor. He had never known pain like this. The closest he could come to was the pain of his Ascension, where he had endured being worked to literal death—but this was far, far worse. Beyond his eyelids he could see the flood of psionic energy peeling off of him as Odin continued His assault.

Why. Why? He’d stood down. He’d become subservient. Why did Odin endeavor to punish him so? Ref-Il couldn’t fathom a logical reason. Ref-Il could barely think under the punishing wave of energy he was put under. What he could process was the sheer emotional hurt of the situation. Father should’ve understood. He should’ve known.

Slowly, but surely, the pillar of energy lifted. Ref-Il was left shaking on the floor, tentatively propping himself up on an arm. He barely wanted to move—Odin had very clearly done damage, as his chest still felt compressed, and every breath in brought pain. His body’s natural regeneration felt slower than normal, languid in its pace to undo the damage done.

“Kneel, child.”

The expectation put upon him further made his chest squeeze, but he did his best to comply, planting his hands on the floor and shakily bringing himself to the best kneel he could muster. Taking in a shuddering breath, he clutched his chest and kept his head bowed. When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurry... and it was then he felt the hot tear tracks down his face. Crying. He’d been crying the whole time.

“Hopefully that has done enough in showing you how to speak to Me.” The vitriol in Odin’s voice stung with every word, and Ref-Il was barely breathing, fighting with everything he had to hold back sobs. “Consider yourself lucky that I do not entertain anything more lasting, seeing as you’re shaping up to be a problem child.” He wasn’t lucky. A knife had been shoved into his chest and Odin was just twisting it. “From now on, do not question Me. I am resolute in my decisions and observations, and always remember you are speaking to a god. Whatever feeble suggestions you can bring to bear I have already considered and ruled out. Is this clear?”

Ref-Il shallowly nodded. “Good. Leave, Ref-Il. I’ve nothing more to say to you.”

Just before the tug of the Void shunted him from the Gathering Hall, he chanced looking up just enough to catch sight of his brother, who was witness to the whole scene. On Jax-Rai’s face he could register fear and... something else he’d never seen before. Whatever emotion it was, Ref-Il couldn’t study it for long before the Void roughly grabbed him and escorted him out.

That left Jax-Rai, immediately casting his gaze downwards again as the Elders moved to address him. What he’d seen, what Ref-Il had just gone through... “Our eldest child.” The Elders were back to speaking as one. “We know you to be absolute in your resolve and unwavering in your belief. Even so, hopefully your brother’s failures tell you of the consequences of straying from your path.”

“I understand,” he muttered immediately, not wanting to leave any ambiguity. If he didn’t want to ask questions before, he sure as hell wouldn’t, now.

The air in the room shifted back to calmness, and he could feel the Void rising around him. “Know that We love you, Jax-Rai. Go, and find success in your duties.”

With that, Jax-Rai willingly accepted the Void as it gently wrapped around him and carried him away.

  Ref-Il was practically thrown into his Inner Sanctum.

He landed roughly, tumbling over himself before coming at a stop in front of his Sarcophagus on his back. Laying on it brought even more pain so he curled up on his side, breathing carefully. That was all he did for a minute or so—silently trying to recover as he hugged himself and tried not to jostle anything too badly.

Eventually, what just happened hit him in force. Odin had struck him. He’d asked a question, a reasonable one, and asserted himself. That earned him the metaphorical belt, right in front of his brother. Simple reasoning earned him punishment. Ref-Il sucked in a breath through his teeth. His chest heaved and brought a stab of pain, and he hiccupped. Every breath brought agony and yet it couldn’t stem the oncoming tide of frustration and pain.

In his Inner Sanctum, alone, Ref-Il began to cry. He brought a hand to his eyes in an attempt to stem the flow, but it was largely worthless as his hand shook.

Worthless. Worthless, worthless, worthless. That was what he was. That was what he felt like as Odin had spoken to him, looked upon him with disdain. He had been nothing before and he would be nothing without His care. But was this what His care was? Beating him and then leaving him alone to cry without nary a comfort?

Ref-Il’s breaths were ragged and his sobs raw. Every prick of pain in his chest reminded him of what Odin had done, and his back still burned with the force of the punishment. How was he to know that just asking a question would bring something like this? True, the Elders may be gods, but... thinking on what had happened, Ref-Il couldn’t come up with a counterpoint. Why had he asked? Even so, why was that his punishment? Why was a first transgression met with such aggression?

The only answer Ref-Il got was the sounds of his own sobs echoing in his room. He was alone in his suffering. The minimal staff he had would not empathize with his plight, and there was always the chance that one of them might somehow contact the Elders about him. He’d been made an example of in front of his brother, so Jax-Rai would not want to interact with him so soon after. Even if he wanted to seek out the Commander for advice, one of the Elders was probably listening in to what she answered.

Worthless. Stupid. Alone. Those words and what Odin said throbbed in his skull and Ref-Il’s next sob was full of emotion, pushing his chest as far as it could stand to go as he vented his sorrow. What was he to do? Simply get up and act as if nothing had happened? Go about his business as if he hadn’t been brutally punished? He didn’t know what to do. Odin did this to him.

Odin did this to him.

In the middle of Ref-Il’s grief, something else arose, born of tenants Odin had drilled into him. Odin wronged him. Odin had slighted him. Odin had struck him and expected him to walk it off.

Leave, Ref-Il.

Odin referred to him derogatorily and expected him to take it sitting down, didn’t he? His sobs started to die down as the pain in his chest morphed into something different, something he grabbed ahold of and used to ward away his sorrow. Odin wronged him. The new feeling in his chest rose to his throat as his databases were able to identify just what it was he was feeling.

“Spite,” he breathed. “Of course. Why... why else but spite?” He gently sat up, not bothering to wipe at his tears. “He expects me to walk this all off as if he didn’t just beat me to a pulp. But... that ain’t exactly what He raised me for, is it?” Rising up, the Hunter stared long into the distance. “Of course. I’m sure the old man didn’t mean it, but I’ve learned, alright. He thinks what I did was embarrassing him? Oh, I’ll teach him what it’s like when I’m actually trying.”

Ref-Il. The way Odin spat it left a bad taste in his mouth just thinking about it. Stepping forwards, Mordenna shambled towards his Ascension Pad.

If he was going to be the problem child, so be it.

[sftd-official]

As Jax stood in front of the bathrooms’ mirror, clutching a lock of his hair, he was beginning to rethink this whole XCOM deal.

He was in a state of mild panic as he looked over the hair in his hands, gauntlets temporarily off and set to the side. It had been a few days now, in the Avenger, but the damage had already been done. His hair, once a silvery white and soft as clouds, was now turning dull and merely smooth as opposed to unbelievably silky. The haircare products on the Avenger clearly weren’t up to the task of keeping his hair up to his usual standard—but he had hoped against hope that it would be this bad.

It was a travesty! His skin would largely maintain itself, but his hair was a special exception! It need not be merely acceptable, it had to be outstanding! Indignant, Jax could also confirm the same malady was befalling the hair on his chest. Oh, the agony. It wasn’t a bullet or a streak of plasma that would be the death of him, it would be subpar hygiene.

What was he to do? All of his special formula shampoo was at his Stronghold, and it was his Mystics that handled ordering more when he ran out.

Dropping the lock of hair, he set his gaze in determination. His Mystics. Perhaps one of them would know a solution. He was sure none of them had smuggled a bottle of the sacred shampoo, but maybe one of them knew the formula? It was a shot in the dark, but he had to take it. Putting his gauntlets back on and throwing on his undersuit and armor, Jax stalked out of the bathrooms.

Of course, with his psionic-sensory abilities, he could easily find where his congregation was—currently in the Mess Hall, leftover from lunch and largely the only ones still in there. They all perked up as he entered, and he strode over to them, sitting down amongst them. “My followers.”

“Holy Father,” they greeted in unison. He nodded to himself.

“Surely a few of you have noticed the tragedy that has befallen me on this very day.” At that, he could feel their mood shift from happy to concerned. Rightfully so, in his eyes. “Indeed; my condition worsens as my days on this ship drag on. I fear something must be done before it reaches a truly reprehensible stage, but I fear I may lack the tools to do so on my own.”

The members of his congregation sat closer to him and started asking what they could do in so many words. After a few more seconds of worried whispers, he held up a hand to silence them. “It is simple if one possesses the knowledge, but that very knowledge may be at a premium.” He gazed over his followers seriously. “Do any of you recall the formula for my shampoo?”

There was a moment of almost stunned silence amongst his own. Surely they could realize the gravity of the situation and were trying to recall if they knew.

At least, Jax thought that before a majority of them started laughing.

He was left baffled as the mood had once again shifted to one of mirth; watching as his followers—chiefly the non-Mystics—snickered and tried to suppress laughter. He pounded a fist on his leg, indignant. “I will have you know this is a serious matter! It is of utmost importance that I—”

“I know, Holy Father.”

The laughter stopped shortly as all eyes turned to one of the Mystics. It had been Bastet who had spoken up; she was chiefly one of his best sculptors, but she also did a lot of the numbers around the Stronghold. “I recall it. What would you have of me?”

Short, sweet, to the point. That was Bastet. He nodded. “If there is no way to procure it, surely...”

As if taking his words under consideration, Bastet tilted her head... then nodded. “I understand. Tygan, yes? He would be able to replicate it from my knowledge.”

Certainly it wasn’t what he was thinking at all—he hadn’t even thought to get Tygan involved—but he wasn’t about to admit that in front of the rest of his congregation. If they found him wanting to be in physical form hilarious, he could only imagine the chortles he’d get admitting that it hadn’t been his idea. “Precisely. Come, Bastet—we must be about solving this situation.”

Without any further commentary, Bastet got up as Jax did, and the two of them took a silent trip off to the Lab. Admittedly, he hadn’t the foggiest if Tygan would be able to replicate it or not. Explosives, acid, and poison were one thing, he could tell. Shampoo? An entirely different field.

Eventually, they happened upon the Lab. Jax opened the door and carefully ducked under it, making sure Bastet made it behind him before walking further in. Tygan himself was watching what looked like data on a screen. He must’ve heard them come in, as he turned and nodded to the two of them. “Jax. Bastet. Do the two of you require something?”

Jax half-turned and gestured to Bastet. “I would like to inquire if you are able to replicate something for me, but I believe it would be best if Bastet lists off what I require.”

Bastet, taking her cue, walked up to and bowed slightly to Tygan. “Doctor Tygan. May I borrow a datapad?” At that, Tygan offered her the one in his hands. Taking it, she rapidly tapped through a few options and brought up a few items in a list, looking over it before presenting the screen back to Tygan. ���Are you able to procure these materials somewhat reliably?”

The looks in Tygan’s eyes changed from curiosity to recognition as he eyed the list. “—judging by what you are asking about, I take it you would like a specialty shampoo? I already fabricate a solution for the soldiers so we do not have to rely on trading with havens.”

“Precisely,” Bastet replied. “The special ingredients required are themselves compounds. Judging by the inventory list I was able to glance at, you have everything required. Would you please make the Holy Father his shampoo?”

Tygan looked between the two of them for a moment, adjusting his glasses. “My schedule is not so clogged as to make me decline. I would be able to manufacture your specific formula soon. I imagine the other soldiers—”

“It’s not,” Jax said, quickly interrupting. “It’s not for them. Simply a personal request on my part. I humbly ask that I am the only one to receive this formula.”

Further eyeing Jax, Tygan seemed to think for a while regarding the whole situation. He eventually came to an answer, silently requesting the datapad back. As Bastet handed it to him, he began. “I suppose I can honor your request—it’s not as if I would be gaining anything out of spreading it against your will. But.” He leveled a look at the Warlock. “I do have one condition. I have noted Bastet’s prowess in her field, and have heard of her skill. She was able to size up my inventory at a glance and knew what she would need to manufacture the exact ingredients I would need. If you wish to keep this shampoo private, I request that I have Bastet as an honorary assistant. I will need her help regardless to make what you ask of me.”

Hmm... to share his Mystic... well, it was as Tygan said. She would be able to help him make the shampoo, and it wasn’t as if he needed Bastet on a daily basis. He looked to her, silently asking her opinion. She matched his gaze. “I will go where you tell me, Holy Father. Though, if I may speak, I would cherish the opportunity.”

That was that. He nodded to Tygan. “Consider Bastet your assistant for as long as she wishes to stay.”

Jax could swear he saw Tyan flash a smile just for a second—but it was as gone as quickly as it came. “Excellent. Expect to have your new shampoo ready shortly.”

Jax grinned. At least one person around here saw the importance of it.

Jax held a lock of his hair to the mirror, smiling gently. Silvery white, and as soft as clouds. His chest hair was much of the same quality. It seemed as if the manufactured shampoo Tygan was making was doing the trick. Everything was right in the world once more, and he would no longer have to waste away under subpar conditions. Just because there was a war going on didn’t mean he had to go without his usual personal care routine.

A wolf whistle from elsewhere in the bathroom turned his attention, and it was none other than Moody. “Am I ever glad to be a bachelor! I can definitely see why you were one of the Elders’ Chosen—they plucked you right of a painting, didn’t they?”

Jax was no stranger to others admiring his appearance, but something so brazen almost made him want to turn up his nose. As it stood, he gathered his bodysuit. “Your compliments have been noted and filed, but if you presume to court me, you are—in a word—bold.”

Moody shrugged, leaned up against the wall. He had a towel around his waist and not much else—with his hair down, it was clear how much the braids did to shorten the length of it. “Gotta put myself out there if I hope to achieve anything—and I’ve had a taker or two before. You’re just a tall drink of water and I am mighty parched.”

Jax scoffed. “If I were indeed from a painting, you could not afford to even see me, much less take me home.”

Moody clutched his chest. “Oh, come on, I’d like to think I’m a bit of a higher standard than that, love!”

The Warlock turned away from him, putting on the top of his bodysuit and replacing his chestpiece. “I am far too rich for your blood, mortal.”

“And who could buy you, then?”

Jax’s mind immediately shot to one answer and he turned his face away from both Moody and the mirror, lest he see the look he surely wore. “No mere rube such as yourself, that much is for certain. Consider your advances rebuffed.”

Moody sighed. “Alright, alright. I’m flirty but I’m not pushy. You go on your merry way, and consider me jealous of whoever does land you.”

Giving a short “hmph” to note he heard Moody, Jax put on his gauntlets and left. Jax did not ever consider romance a prospect for him—humans were below him and his “equals” were his siblings. There were none who could match him in status, and he wasn’t interested in dating someone he did not think he deserved.

Of course, you consider Eliza an equal.

He sighed through his nose. He could not entertain such a thing, especially having harmed Eliza as he had. Besides... she, most likely, didn’t see him in such a way. She was a Commander, he was a soldier. A high-ranking soldier and close enough to her to be comforted in his times of need, but a soldier nonetheless.

Still, even as he was shooting the concept down, he found his hand running through his hair, fluffing it out. Perhaps she would notice...

[sftd-official]

Skulduggery GO NUTS

Skulduggery: devious behavior

If there was one thing Mordenna liked about his interactions with Lily, it was the occasional mischief he got up to.

He usually didn’t play tricks on Lily for the hell of it–all of his pranks were in “revenge,” of sorts. Lily made a statement about him being unable to do something and he was unable to disprove it on the spot? A prank for later it was. Such was the circumstances of his current activity… rearranging her tool box.

Poor girl hadn’t even an inkling that she should lock it once he was on this ship–and he supposed that was up to trust. He knew he could only do this once before she wised up and locked it up, so he had to do this right. Wrenches in the bottom drawer except for one, slid underneath the tool box. Screwdrivers all jumbled up. Her favorite wrench… suspiciously untouched. He’d leave that alone. Mordenna didn’t even know why she had a carjack in there  but it was being used to ever so slightly tilt the whole  box.

Finally, the coup de grace. Mordenna plucked out one of her socket wrenches and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. She could organize the whole thing again, she could fix what was made wrong. But could she find something lost when it was on his person? Well, time would answer that one. Mordenna didn’t have too much of it left–this was all done during one of her rare coffee breaks, considering SYN was out of commission and Julian wouldn’t fetch so much as the paper.

Making sure the socket wrench was secure, Mordenna disengaged from the abused tool drawer, scuttling back and up the vents, quietly closing the latch behind him. There, perched comfortably, he waited.

His patience was quickly rewarded as he heard the door slide open–Lily, undoubtedly–tracking her footsteps by sound as she went over to her workbench, set something ceramic and full down, and then over to the toolbox. Mordenna listened as one of the drawers slid open… and then there was a heavy silence.

“MORDENNA.”

Perfection.