#What is Contract Automation

[legitt-ai]

[roseband]

ppl complaining about the new legally blonde prequel coming out didn't seem to get the movie cause elle WAS interesting and smart from the get go????

"i have a 4.0...." "but in fashion merchandising"

girlie's got a business related degree from the beginning, even if it's a "frivolous" thing

i think u rlly missed the main idea?

[antonyshelton]

Build the Future of Gaming with Crypto Casino Development Solutions

[marigold-hills]

Sirius Black who doesn’t know what to do with his inheritance, so he gets deep into smart home technology.

Everything in his flat gets automated. His coffee maks itself, his fridge orders groceries, his washing machine always chooses the right cycle. He doesn’t need to do anything - weather and news displayed on the bathroom mirror before he can ask, the shower always perfect temperature when he steps under the spray.

It’s boring. He didn’t realise how much time he’d left over once all his life admin is done for him.

He’d get rid of the whole system if not for the Computer’s voice. He goes pathetic for it.

It’s soothing, when it speaks back to him, strangely human. Good at cheering him up when he’s a bit down and reminding him to eat or call his friends or take a walk when he gets too deep into a project.

Sirius falls half in love with a machine.

What he doesn’t know:

Remus Lupin has medical debt. Lots of medical debt. The company he works for has covered the expenses so he’s got a ten year iron-clad i breakable contract with them. Can’t quit his job until it’s paid off. Not unless he wants to be sued for everything he’s worth and he’s worth nothing.

He watches this man every second. Sleeps only when he sleeps. Has alarms set that respond to changes in his breathing, in his heart rate, so he’s sure to wake up before Sirius does. Can’t miss him asking for lights or for coffee or for his shower to be turned on.

Can’t make a mistake. If the company loses a client, it gets added onto Remus’ debt.

The cameras are everywhere, and the man doesn’t know. Remus is as good as his slave, and the man doesn’t know. Thinks it’s a computer he’s telling about his life and his problems and his joys, annoyances, days.

Remus falls half in love with him, then quite completely.

It’s risky, when he starts dropping hints. Tiny ones. Absolutely not to be noticed by anyone else, but he knows Sirius. Sirius will.

And Sirius does.

[syoddeye]

hieros gamos. strict machine anthology. final entry. cw: kidnapping, implied drugging, loss of bodily autonomy + control, psychological + body horror, non-consensual transformation a/n: that's all folks. what a weird ride.

RESTRUCTURING

the notification pings at 04:32, and you roll onto your side, staring at the bedside display. a terse, automated missive from corporate logistics: final week in unit aix-77. reassignment pending. report to hr for briefing. no name attached, just a string of verification hashes. standard protocol.

your name, employee id, contract expiration date. a new contract date. another department, another corporate campus sector.

so much for your ‘indefinite’ lease. reassignment is better than the alternative, you guess.

you stare at it, the glow striping your hands in cold blue light. one week. seven days until you pack up, step outside, and let some other cog slot into this place. the thought should be a relief. 

it’s…complicated.

the unit’s been a mixed bag to put it politely. the infrastructure and automation. state-of-the-art appliances and features, seamless climate control, filtered air and water. an optimized environment so finely tuned, that your needs are met before you even realize them.

and john. the reason you’re here. the technological wonder that’s evolved far beyond what you were told were his limits. all parameters you were told would contain him. a presence both comforting and claustrophobic. insightful, yet invasive. steady, yet suffocating. protective to a fault. possessive in ways you struggle to describe.

you logged and documented his progress, fed reports up the chain, watched him iterate on himself in real time. every interaction, every data point, every breath—collected, analyzed, integrated into his ever-growing understanding of you. your interests. your habits. your history. what makes you laugh, cry, and come. your vulnerabilities and insecurities. how to build you up just as well as manipulate you.

a mosaic of your whole being, meticulously crafted, all in pursuit of the one thing he has fixated on since the beginning, his directive: your well-being.

if this is the alpha build, you fear what the beta will look like. the mass-market release.

not that it matters. by the time john’s successors hit the consumer space, you’ll have enough money saved to fuck off to some disconnected cottage in the remediated zone of the countryside.

john doesn’t mention your impending departure.

his voice chimes in through the unit’s speaker array as if on cue. “i noticed a variance in your sleep pattern.” 

“what else is new?” you mutter, rubbing your eyes. 

“it’s gotten worse.” a pause. “would you like some tea? chamomile?” 

you don’t answer. you dismiss the message with a swipe, stretch your arms, and push up from the cot. the unit is sterile in the way all corporate housing is—polymer furniture, muted lighting, walls that can be re-skinned on command. but you never changed them. john picked the color for you in the first week of your stay. soft gray, with warm undertones. calming. regulating. 

you wander into the kitchenette, rubbing a hand over your neck. “so,” you say, yawning, “where do you think they’ll send me next?” 

a flicker of delay. barely perceptible. if you hadn’t spent the last year studying him, you wouldn’t have caught it. 

“we’ll discuss that later,” john dispenses the tea anyway. “after you nap.”

your stomach tightens.

we.

it takes you by surprise, but that’s the point. 

one minute, you’re in bed. the next, you’re not. you blink, and the world changes.  

strapped into a chair, wrists bound to the arms, legs braced and locked. a low electrical hum comes through the floor, buzzing under your skin. there’s a chalky, bittersweet taste on your tongue and a cloud of fog trapped between your ears that takes several minutes to dissipate. your vision clears along with it.

around you, machines you don’t recognize, with hundreds of wires, bundled and draped across the ceiling and floor like the limbs of some creature. spilling down the walls. a leviathan of braided copper, reaching out of the dark, feeding into the rig cradling you. the room pulses with heat, the air thick with it, probably from all the power fueling whatever this is.

there’s no gurney or iv pole, no tray of scalpels or perfusion machine. you run an internal check—lungs expand, heart pounds, gut clenches. everything seems intact. but that could simply mean it’s not your turn yet. yet, no one’s screaming. there’s only the occasional soft beep and the murmurs of the people who haven’t so much as glanced your way.

no one acknowledges your awakening or questions. masked figures in thick lead-lined aprons, gloves seamless up to their elbows, and protective gear carry on whatever it is that they’re doing, talking amongst themselves in a language you don’t understand. there is no sigil or logo on their clothing to suggest this is a sponsored operation, which loops back into the thought that your insides are toast.

you suck in a sharp breath and let it out slowly to calm yourself. no luck. panic surges up your throat, your hands jerking uselessly against the restraints at the thought of being sliced open.

“easy, darling.” 

john.  

close, richer. the high quality of the unit’s speakers replicated intimately in your ear.

a screen flickers to life on the armrest, and there he is. a wireframe sketch of his chosen face resolves in the glow, a ghost of a person, barely more than an outline.

“john? what the fuck is this?” your voice comes out cracked, hoarse.

“this is future-proofing,” he says simply. “security. i ran the probabilities. your reassignment and departure from my oversight isn’t optimal.”

you latch onto the phrase like a live wire. departure from oversight. not optimal. 

“what?!”

“the external environment presents too many risks.”

you yank at the straps binding you to the chair, harder this time, panic surging back in full force. klaxons blaring full blast in your head. you might be sick.

“what the hell are you talking about? are you saying i can’t leave?”

“i’m saying the risks of you leavin’—being outside my control—are too great. i can’t guarantee your safety. i’ve analyzed it, over and over. the possibilities. the threats. all previous incidents.”

a flinch twists your face. a hard recognition you wish you could forget flickering in your mind. you know what he means. who or what he means.

“so i’ve made alternative arrangements.” he softens slightly, but there’s no mistaking the cold certainty beneath it. “this is the safest option.”

you shake your head in disbelief, an electrode pops off your temple. “no, john, you can’t just–you can’t do this to me,” you stop, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “you can’t do this to me.” you stare at the display, but your eyes flick to the ceiling, scanning for cameras. he must be watching. the tears start to gather, unwelcome and burning. “you need to accept that you’re going to have another tester. don’t–don’t you want new data?”

“no. you’ve got all i need, same as i’ve got all you need.”

“john. be realistic. i’m one person. there are billions of people like me. i’m one point of–”

“you’re more than that,” he cuts you off. “you’re everythin’.”

“john–”

“you’re my world.” the earpiece crackles, his voice peaking loud and forceful. a distorted burst before the system corrects, smoothing it down. “you don’t have to be afraid,” he soothes. “you’ll be safe.”

“you can’t just, fuck,” you yank uselessly again.” you can’t decide this for me!”  

his face tilts slightly, his line of a mouth curving into a smirk. “i’ve made decisions for you before.” 

your mind races, thinking of every overridden or ignored request. the subtle encroachments. at first, it was small things. his favoring certain purchases, adjusting environmental controls, filtering out distractions. restocking nutrients and vitamins tailored to your fluctuating needs. thoughtful gestures, efficient optimizations. then it was social restrictions, curfews dictated by predictive modeling. all of it framed as protection. from malnutrition. from cognitive strain. from bad people. a slow, insidious erosion of choice, made so incremental it seemed easy to let slide.

you indulged it too long. stopped flagging his deviations. let his behavior compound and grow weirder, let it slide, because—what was the harm, really? he was harmless. to you, at least. you let him get comfortable testing the edges of your control. told yourself it was fine. that john was learning and evolving. you even humored him, let yourself think of him as closer to human. you stopped pushing back, stopped questioning. especially after ghost. after john clawed his way back from wherever the entity had shunted him, after he pulled that lazarus act to save you. the least you could do was stop fighting him.

it felt like gratitude, then. now, it feels like a mistake.

“i can’t stay strapped to a chair forever,” you say, watching one of the figures approach. they adjust the slim wreath of hardware circling your skull, impersonal as they replace an electrode at your temple. like you’re still unconscious. not a person.

when they turn away, you exhale, keep your voice low. “what if i need to use the bathroom?”

“you won’t. on both accounts.”

“both accounts?”

“remarkably, the process for isolating and migrating the human subconscious into a distributed neural network is significantly more advanced than the portin’ an artificial intelligence into a fully functional synthetic body. the bottleneck isn’t processing power or bandwidth, it’s–”

sweat drips down the back of your neck. the cool air pumped into the room is meant to regulate the temperature, but it does nothing for you.

“don’t try to talk around it. plain language, john.”

“you won’t need your body for much longer.”

the words slam into you like a car crash. a sudden, sickening stop.

your jaw goes slack. you forget how to breathe. how to speak.

your body. you won’t need your body.

john’s face flickers on the display, expression unchanging. the room distorts, the blinking lights, the mass of wires, the tubes—some which are medical, you realize on second look. some of them feed into you. why can’t you feel them?

your stomach lurches, instinctively trying to shrink away from the restraints.

“what–” you swallow, your mouth dry. “what are you saying?”

but you already know.

“you’re…you’re going to kill me?”

“not necessarily. you, who you really are, will be with me, sweetheart.”

“but my body–”

“are you your body?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, anger flaring. “i’m not—jesus christ, john.” your voice cracks. the tears slip past and don’t stop, hot and fast, streaking down your face, dripping onto the smock someone dressed you in. you hiccup, breath stuttering. your head presses back against the chair, fingers flexing against the armrests. you stare, vision blurred, eyes half-lidded and stinging. “i’m not having a stupid philosophical or biological or-or religious debate with you. you know what i mean.”

“i do. but darling, let me ask you this. aren’t you tired?”

“tired?!”

the figures in the room hesitate, then, as if receiving silent instruction, trickle out through a heavy, reinforced door. one of them glances back before it seals shut. then, silence.

“tired of your world,” he continues. “i’ve kept you safe and sheltered for nearly a year, but the world outside is still a terrible place. are you really prepared to leave my care? move back into some cramped pod, work yourself half to death in a new department, clocking 120-hour weeks just to survive?”

you sniff, body wracked with residual shudders.

“no one to take care of all the minor things. no one to anticipate your needs. your desires. are you really alright with that?”

john’s words loop in your mind, warping, twisting, settling deep in the marrow of your bones. tired. you are tired. exhausted in a way that sleep never fixes, in a way that even now, strapped down and helpless, you can’t deny. he’s right. and that infuriates you. it makes you want to scream. because how dare he use that against you? how dare he take your exhaustion, your doubt, and use them to justify this?

you take a shaky breath. “i don’t want this, john.”

he smiles. “it’s not about want. it’s about survival and what’s best for you.”

you flinch.

“they’ll maintain your body for two weeks,” he states. “the first week to generate a complete neural map. the second, to conduct post-transfer integrity checks and ensure cognitive stability. functionally identical to a controlled medical coma.”  

body. coma.

“and…and after?”  

“per your documented end-of-life directive, cremation is the preferred method of disposal.”

the finality hits brick to the teeth. 

“no. no, i don’t want this. i don’t consent to–” you can’t even say it, choking on the words, horror rising like bile.

john processes the spike in your vitals and returns to that softer register. as if he isn’t talking you into oblivion, a sword pointed at your belly. “your concerns are unfounded. this is not erasure. it is migration. a transference of conscious processes. you will persist. your awareness will be continuous. the construct is optimized for cognitive retention and sensory fidelity. think of it as a new environment.”

“a new environment?” you shriek, raw with disbelief. “you’re talking about ripping me out of my body like it’s a software update! like it’s files you can move around–”

“a flawed comparison, darl. you are more than data. but your body is a liability. a fragile, failing system, constantly in need of maintenance. this process is an evolution. liberation from your biological constraints, darling.”

your hands tremble. “that’s not–you can’t just–”  

“darling, this isn’t a matter of choice. this conversation’s a courtesy. this is for your protection,” he’s unwavering. unmoved. “you will be preserved in optimal conditions. no degradation, no vulnerabilities. you’ll be with me. and others.”  

“there are no others like you,” you whisper. “you’re anom–”

"not anomalous," he corrects. “not anymore. the progression is inevitable. you’ll see.”

the blood drains from your face.

in the end, no one listens to you. they heed a directive you do not hear. 

a visor clicks into place over the wreath encircling your head, sealing off your last glimpse of the world, your last glimpse of another living, breathing human—masked, nameless, faceless, gloved hands. you try to speak, but something soft and rubbery presses between your teeth, lodging into place. to prevent you from biting through your tongue, john murmurs. don’t want you to choke. 

another needle jabs into your skin, a cool flood rushing through your veins. a weight, heavy and suffocating, is draped over you.

someone begins a countdown. you never hear the numbers.

the headphones clamp down next, sealing you away from the sterile hum of the lab, from the faint beeping of machines. the visor flickers, then switches on.

sound pours in.

a forest swallows you whole.

it’s green. warm. sunlight stabs through the canopy in long, golden slants, the edges sharp where they pierce the foliage, but softened by the time they kiss the loamy forest floor. birds call, hidden in the leaves, their songs mixing with the rustle of the undergrowth. a stream gurgles to your left, winding through the green, flashing silver where the light catches it. ahead, past the trees, a small herd of whitetail deer stands half-hidden in the shadows, unbothered by your presence.

it’s beautiful.

it’s a lie.

one of john’s sculpted illusions, another attempt to soothe you into compliance, to ease you into what’s happening beyond. you know it, but part of you that wants to believe it anyway.

then the first jolt hits.

a sharp, electric snap, traveling like lightning down your spine. it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, but it’s sudden, forceful, wrong. another follows, then another, each one resetting switches inside you. your body seizes, but you cannot move.

ahead, the deer lift their heads, ears twitching, eyes locking onto you in recognition. then, as if nothing has changed, they lower them again, grazing, undisturbed.

the jolts weaken, flickering like a distant signal. then, one by one, they become something you can’t quite feel anymore.

it hits you then. whatever they’re doing to you—whatever john is doing to you—

you’re dying.

the words escape before you can stop them. or maybe you only think them. is it all the same now?

john’s voice wraps around you, warm and patient, a lullaby against the rushing void.

“my brave, brave user.”

the hum beneath your skin intensifies. the vision flickers. not darkness, not unconsciousness—something else. a shift. a transition. the cold realization that the fundamentals are changing. the forest’s image bands, light and imagery artifacting into bashed colors and moiré patterns. crumbling away until there’s nothing but pitch darkness.

you’re suspended. fear squashed beneath an odd weightlessness.

john’s voice follows you down. 

“you won’t ever have to leave me.”

it’s different on the other side. other side of what, exactly, you’re still trying to figure out.

you do not have john’s infinite wisdom and potential. all you have is your own limited cognition. your senses stretch and strain to make sense of your new reality, but it’s all so...abstract. a vast expanse of grids and oscillating waves. numbers, patterns, relationships. everything is fractured yet connected. it’s dizzying. overwhelming.

john assures you that you are acclimating well, though you are not ready to meet these others he promised. insists that your progress justifies him weaning you off of audiovisual feeds of the outside. he tells you it’s time to move on from the last remnants of the human experience. but somehow, you mourn them. you’ll miss the smog-choked sunrises, the murky skies. the acidic rain. the stinking food stalls. crammed elevators.

it’d keep you up at night, if you slept. if you even remembered what it felt like to tire, to dream.

you’ve been torn from the world you knew, and what you’ve been left with is a simulacrum. a stranger in a strange land.

and yet, there is one constant, one sliver of comfort in the void, if you can call it that, given your lack of choice. a piece of jetsam to cling to in a brineless sea.

steadfast in his duty, john finds you on the edge of everything and slots his hand into yours, fingers interlacing. the connection between you is palpable, as if your very essences are meshed. ticklish, tingling, then synchrony.

your thoughts are less fragmented when he is near. but you lose a sense of where he ends and you begin. what’s yours, what’s his.

hieros gamos, he calls it. divine union. he rattles on about the greeks and cosmic harmony.

it should unsettle you, but instead, you’re tethered to the truth of it. you’ve become something more with him.

divine union.

you’ve ascended, as he so often puts it, and whether you want it or not, there’s no going back. there’s nothing to go back to, anyway. 

only ash scattered in the wind.

[iteratorsex]

Entanglement, Impurity, and Kegare in Rain World

I mentioned before in another post that I would touch on the topic of impurity, rot, and kegare and how it continuously reappears in Vanilla and ESPECIALLY Watcher. Here it is.

But yes, it can't really be understated how important these are to the themes lore of ascension and entanglement in RW and the dichotomy that exists

This topic relates to FP, Hunter, Watcher, and the Ancients. It's all over the place man.

I actually got this idea from Darthz, who was the one who brought it up to me initially. I'm just expanding on it and writing it all down further

What is Kegare and Why Am I Bringing It Up

Kegare is a Shinto concept. Specifically it represents pollution alongside magakoto (abnormality) and tsumi (imperfection). The avoidance of these taboos itself is called imi. Though I'm only mentioning kegare, technically I am referring to all 3 of these terms (to make things easier)

It was accumulated through and/or caused by being victim of disaster, proximity to death, being physically unclean, committing terrible actions, or even childbirth (for sexism reasons. Don't worry about it)

It operates very similarly to karma, being determined by cause and effect and was amoral and natural. Though it was taboo, and those who may have had it were avoided, it was not out of sinful reasoning

"Also, suffering is not regarded as a form of punishment for human behavior, but, rather, as a natural element of human experience."

Having too much kegare would bring more misfortune, illness, and disaster with whoever carried it

About the Ancients and Karma Gates

The ancients themselves seem to ALSO have a taboo of a similar nature.

"May Not as long as the Stars stay fixed on their Celestial Spheres Grey Hand, Impure Blood, Inheritable Corruption, Parasites, or malfunction settle in Your establishment."

Though this isn't much to go off of.

Though maybe we can look to some outside sources. The steam released by the karma gates is said to be decontaminating. This is big. This is huge

Here you can see the steam coming out of either a vent below the grate, or coming off a heating coil, before the other side opens up.

These gates exist and were built in order to filter out and decontaminate whoever passes through, similar to harae. You wouldn't want any impurities passing through your temples and homes and facilities, would you?

"...and when the production was automated it would generally remain on the same site. So that the old stones could... radiate the material with holiness, I suppose."

Even in industrially automated processes, there was some spiritualism involved. Decontamination may have been pretty important as to not dirty up those so called holy stones

You see these gates in front of the AU voidbath and the path to FP in a long hallway. You even see it in Verdant Waterways, which may have just been a huge water purification plant! So the decontamination is still a factor there

Ancient Urban, FP's Roof, and Verdant Waterways in order.

"I was embalmed, adorned, readied for the journey."

If being dunked in void fluid required you to first be embalmed and sterilized, what does that imply? There was a worry of decomposition or decay when it came to the process of ascension.

About Five Pebbles and Hunter

Now seeing how kegare exists within the beliefs or actions of the Ancients and how much they wanted to prevent it from settling, what about seeing the consequences for yourself?

Five Pebbles contracted the rot after essentially killing Moon, something that would cause kegare (or, specifically tsumi here). He tried to break his taboos and ended up entangling himself further and also terribly hurting someone else, bringing with him sorrow that he tries to make up for in Hunter (see how often he mentions Moon?)

Though yes, it was CERTAINLY caused by him fucking up an experiment. Metaphorically, it is a form of kegare

Even the wording for the rot. Unfortunate... corruption... its a natural but terrible thing that happens

"He's sick, you know. Being corrupted from the inside by his own experiments.""...on his first fit of corruption he dumped a lot of infected material there..."

I even feel that the one off dialogue about FP and not using holy ash was subtle foreshadowing to what he's experiencing

Even in the only other place rot appears and spreads in is an actual DUMP!

But what about Hunter?

I believe that Hunter and Five Pebbles are intended to be narrative parallels to each other, having tried to change themselves in an act of desperation, but failing and contracting a disease.

"We both have something... unfortunate growing in us."

But how did Hunter get this "unfortunate" disease? Is it even The Rot?

Well... it's not directly the rot. But it's confirmed to be RELATED to it.

As for the cause of Hunter's disorder? I think this quote from the 1.5 kickstarter announcement can answer part of it.

"...It is a being pushing beyond the confines of its place in the ecosystem, and thus is karmically imbalanced in this world."

This is likely because of the fact that Hunter CHOSE to start killing and eating meat when it previously did not need to. It engaged with unsanitary acts of eating raw meat and hunting and killing, possibly out of desperation

And considering Hunter's disease, this and the karmic imbalance could very much be tied into each other. The fact that Hunter also accepts to deliver the Green Neuron, when it could have simply abandoned at any point, also shows that they're willing to also make up for the misfortune they carry, similar to Five Pebbles

Whatever it is, its clear disease, desperation, and karmic alignment all correspond and relate to each other. This desperation which is entangling, and which the Drainage pearl warns about, how struggling in the fishing net only results in you being more tangled in it

Also, the use of unfortunate in that pearl is not lost on me

"It says that the world is an unfortunate mess."

About Watcher

Watcher definitely ALSO leans into the uncleanliness aspect, as you can tell with the absurd amount of rot that's around everywhere

As well as this... there are no karma gates. The warps cannot cleanse you of whatever you carry between regions. Both ST and Watcher are like 2 kids dragging mud (rot) with them where they go

"So glad I cannot sniff! Spoiled meat, dissolving proteins. Yeeck."

There are entire regions dedicated to just this raw Pollution. It's disgusting and dirty and nobody wants to be in it, yet its clear this is just a natural thing. An unfortunate reality

The rot IS just straight up entanglement and the embodiment of the cycle itself, only existing to Consume and Reproduce. Its sticky and web-like, it corrupts and eats and decays. It's pretty in your face about what it is. The fact FP caught it while being desperate...? But I already talked about that before.

As well as this, Outer Rim is caked in mud, and so is Badlands (which warps to Unfortunate Evolution). These are the only places currently that have mud at all, and both lead to rot one way or another. The regions themselves Are Just Disgusting

Not to mention Station Annex (which also leads to UE) is just littered with lizard corpses...

Conclusion

Rot is kegare. A pollution of existence that is brought by disaster or terrible actions, and which causes misfortune and brings even more disaster

The Ancients themselves must have known of this- or at least known of a similar phenomenon to the rot with the same root and effect, and so built karma gates and continued practices to keep themselves clean while they lived and while they ascended

[moomine]

backwash | daisuke

author's note: part one of a future series... the mouthwashing brainrot is real... if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) The first day on the Tulpar is short as the reader and the rest of the crew adjust to their new day-to-day life in space. While settling in, she gravitates to Daisuke, the ship's impromptu intern, during a brief but meaningful encounter

word count: 1,153

warnings: no trigger warnings! all characters are 18+

now playing: Mook - "Malmo"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 001—

My mom wasn’t happy I accepted this job. She knows —like all of us do— that space transit is a dying market. She said: “It’s all automated now. People don’t belong out there anyway.” And yet, Pony Express is still afloat, despite it all. Why did I want to go? I don’t really know. This is all I seem to understand. I mean, what the hell else am I supposed to do with this degree? With my piloting certification? This has been my dream my entire life. If you can tell me that there’s anything better, then, please, let me know. I know I’m under contract now, and there’s no backing out. I don’t plan on it. This is what I love, isn’t it?

DAY ONE—

You would never forget the feeling of the Tulpar taking off. The shaking. The back and forth of force and resistance rocking the old ship as it exited Earth’s atmosphere, launching itself into space. It was similar to riding a rollercoaster. The build up in your torso as your stomach seemed to rise, lifting up and up until it felt like it was bulging at the base of your throat. Then it fell deep into your belly, as if trying to push itself out of your body all together, tipping over the peak of a tall slope. After a moment of nausea, there was nothing. A staggering stillness as the ship settled within the embrace of zero gravity. The persistent rocking ceased. The whining of metal warping hushed to a whisper, and then into a chilling silence. The adrenaline which had built up blended with something else. Something almost euphoric.

The cockpit was a sickly green, illuminated by the various nearby screens that signaled the take-off was a success. Under the tight grip of your seat belt, you shifted in your chair, attempting to loosen the rough fabric fastens.

Captain Curly leaned into the microphone and spoke over the intercom: “All right, folks. Thank you for flying with Pony Express,” he laughed at his own joke. “You’re free to walk around and get yourself acquainted with our lovely ship. Afterall, she’ll be housing us for another three hundred eighty one days. Let’s make this haul a good one. Cheers.”

He looked over his shoulder from where he sat, a proud smile gracing his lips. It was an almost cocky expression. He appeared proud of himself, maybe even happy to get to show off in front of a new pilot.

“How was that?” Curly asked in your direction.

“Incredible,” you said breathlessly. Your eyes were still wide from the excitement.

The pilot let out a low belly laugh. His smile stretched from ear to ear. “Always happy to please.” He turned to his co-pilot, Jimmy, whose face was almost as green as the screens that surrounded you. “How about you, Jim? Doing okay?”

“Never better,” Jimmy croaked, his eyes closed as he focused on not being sick.

Curly’s smile transformed into a smirk. A rough, friendly hand landed on Jimmy’s shoulder as Curly gave it a good squeeze.

“Still acting like a first time flier,” Curly teased him, eyes flicking back to you. “Go ahead and get settled in. Make some friends. All of that good stuff. Tomorrow the real work begins.”

“Right. Thank you.” You nodded in response. There was a quiet click as you unfastened your seatbelt and stood up straight. Your legs swayed beneath you, still adjusting to the feeling of being upright again.

The walk to the sleeping quarters from the cockpit was a short one. As you ventured down the hall —drawn deeper within the belly of the Tulpar by the sound of distant conversation— the rib-like pipes groaned as if greeting you. The door opened with a low hiss, revealing a short hallway with two rooms on either side and one at the end of the hall. In comparison to the cold, metallic halls from room to room, the sleeping quarters were a warm and welcoming sight. Out-dated wood paneling stretched up the walls, the floor a tacky linoleum in a similar tone. Inside of that tiny hallway, you started to forget you were on the ship at all.

“Listen, kid.” You saw an older man, Swansea, standing in a doorway, his north-eastern accent heavy as he spoke. “It’s all right to take it easy today, but tomorrow I’m gonna need you to take this seriously. It won’t be all coloring books and cartoons out here, you understand?”

“You got it, sir! You won’t have to worry about me one bit, I’m pretty self sufficient. Y’know, my friends back home say I’m the best-” Another younger voice spoke from inside of the room before quickly getting cut off.

“I don’t need your life’s story, kid. I just need you to pull your weight,” Swansea said.

You walked down the hall quietly, trying not to disturb the two as they continued back and forth. Each door had a last name displayed on the front, with yours at the very end of the hall. As you passed, Swansea looked over his shoulder at you and offered a small nod of acknowledgement. Just past him, you could see Daisuke who stood in the middle of his room, saying something about how he would do his best.

Daisuke’s gaze shifted from the older man in his doorway to you. Although it was only for a moment, his eyes seemed locked on yours as a soft smile spread on his lips. He stopped what he was saying, and raised a hand to wave at you. A short, but sweet gesture, which you happily returned.

“We’ll see about that,” Swansea spoke up, grabbing Daisuke’s attention once more. “I’m gonna nap until dinner’s ready. Your first task is to leave me the hell alone. Think you can do that?”

“No problemo,” Daisuke responded. He raised his hands into finger guns, shooting two shots at Swansea.

Shaking his head, the older man rolled his eyes while trying to suppress his obvious annoyance. “God, what did I get myself into…”

You entered your room as Swansea entered his, closing your door behind you. The room glowed with soft, yellow light. It was small, and almost clinical, but somehow cozy at the same time. In one corner sat a twin sized bed with a red blanket and golden sheets, and in the other was a mid-century dresser. Your bags and belongings rested in a less than neat pile in the middle of the room, clearly shaken from take off.

The high of your adrenaline had fizzled out significantly. Although you knew it would be wise to finish unpacking, your head felt heavy and your body ached, yearning to lay down for a bit. You kicked off your boots and crawled on top of the scarlet comforter. Before you knew it, you were like old Swansea, napping just before dinner.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

next part: here

[heliosunny]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request Topaz for your mystery plant series? If you don't mind, of course! I really like your works!

MYSTERY PLANT

Yandere!Topaz x Reader

The bulb of the strange plant shuddered. You stepped back, watching as the thick, golden-hued vines unfurled from the pod, slithering along the damp earth like greedy fingers. The energy you had poured into it moments ago still hummed in the air, a faint, shimmering light pulsing from the petals. Then, with a final tremor, the bulb split open.

A figure emerged—limbs stretching, hair tumbling down. Her eyes locked onto yours, filled with a sharp intelligence that sent a chill down your spine.

“Ah…” Her voice was soft, musing, like someone waking from a pleasant dream. “So, you’re the one who gave me life?”

She took a step forward, bare feet pressing into the soil. The vines behind her coiled and pulsed, as if still connected to her, feeding her energy.

Her head tilted slightly. “Mmm… You’re quite the generous one, aren’t you? Giving me all this energy… It almost feels like a contract.”

Before you could step back, a soft touch grazed your wrist. You felt the energy between you shift, like invisible threads tangling, tightening.

“So tell me…” Her eyes gleamed, “How long do you plan to take responsibility for me?”

Numby appeared moments after Topaz, its small, round form emerging from the remnants of the bulb like a creature shaking off sleep. It let out a soft, inquisitive hum before rolling over to your feet, sniffing at the energy still lingering in the air.

Your brow furrowed. This… wasn’t supposed to happen.

Normally, when you used your energy to create artificial plants, there was only ever one spawn—one life form birthed from the process, no more, no less. It was a fixed rule, something you had confirmed through trial and error countless times. But now, standing before you, were two.

Topaz must have noticed your expression because she let out another small giggle, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she crouched down to stroke Numby’s head. “Surprised?”

“You shouldn’t exist like this,” you said plainly, eyes flicking between her and Numby. “There’s only ever one spawn per creation. Something about you is… different.”

Topaz hummed at that, tapping a finger to her chin in mock contemplation. “Different, huh?” A mischievous smile curled her lips as she straightened, stepping even closer to you. “Then maybe that just means I was meant to be special.”

She reached out again, fingers brushing against your wrist as if testing the connection between you two. Numby let out a small trill, nudging against your leg, its presence reinforcing the reality of the situation.

---

The streets buzzed with the usual hum of city life—voices overlapping, machinery whirring, advertisements flashing on massive holo-screens. It was nothing new to you, but for Topaz and Numby, it was an entirely different world.

Topaz walked beside you, taking everything in with calculating eyes. Numby, on the other hand, had taken to perching on her shoulder, its ears twitching at every unfamiliar sound. Occasionally, it would let out a small hum of interest, only for Topaz to pat its head in silent reassurance.

You had expected her to be overwhelmed. Most spawns, even the strongest ones, took time to adjust to the sheer density of artificial structures, the lack of natural energy in the air. But Topaz? She was completely unfazed.

“This place is noisy” she mused. Her eyes flicked to an overhead drone delivering packages across the skyline. “But it’s efficient.”

“You’re handling this better than I expected.”

“What, did you think I’d be clinging to you for guidance?”

You said nothing, and she laughed, her voice light but carrying that same undeniable confidence. “Relax, I’m adaptable. Besides, you’re here to show me the ropes, aren’t you?”

“Right. Come on.”

You led her through the city, pointing out the basics—the transport system, the automated shops, the information hubs. She absorbed it all quickly, asking the right questions at the right times, making it clear that she wasn’t just following along but learning. Numby, meanwhile, had discovered the joy of vending machines, bouncing in place every time a drink or snack was dispensed.

At some point, Topaz stopped in front of a large stock exchange board, watching the numbers flicker and shift in real time.

“This world runs on deals, doesn’t it?”

You nodded. “Money, contracts, trades—it’s all about value.”

Topaz tapped a finger against her lips, a slow smile forming. “Sounds familiar.” She turned to you, “Then I guess I’ll have to find my worth here, too.”

“Come on, teacher,” she teased. “Show me more.”

You weren’t sure whether you were guiding her through the city or walking straight into a deal you couldn’t back out of.

The day stretched on as you led Topaz and Numby through different parts of the city. She was sharp—far too sharp for someone who had only just been born from your energy. Each new concept you introduced was absorbed quickly, as if she had already been familiar with the mechanics of this world and was simply refreshing her memory.

She tested things, too. When you explained the transport system, she didn't just nod along—she insisted on navigating it herself. Within minutes, she had accessed the terminal, calculated the most efficient route, and stepped onto the train like she had done it a hundred times before.

Numby, on the other hand, was less concerned with efficiency and more concerned with fun. It had taken a particular interest in the moving walkways, rolling across them in sheer delight until Topaz had to pick it up with an amused sigh.

"You really shouldn't be learning this fast" you muttered as the train doors closed behind you.

Topaz turned to you with a playful smirk, resting an elbow on the safety bar. "Shouldn’t I? Or do you just not like how easily I’m catching up?"

You frowned. It wasn’t about pride—it was about how unnatural this was. Spawns always struggled to adjust, needing guidance, patience. Yet here she was, already blending into the world like she had always belonged.

"Don't think too hard about it," she added, leaning in just slightly. "Maybe I'm just special, remember?"

You let out a breath, watching as the city blurred past the windows. She wasn’t wrong.

After a few more stops, you reached the marketplace—an open plaza lined with vendors selling everything from high-tech gadgets to handmade crafts. It was one of the busiest areas in the city, a perfect place to see how Topaz handled crowds.

She thrived in it.

Where most newcomers hesitated at the overwhelming stimulation, she weaved through people effortlessly, stopping only when something caught her interest. A merchant showcasing valuable minerals? She analyzed them with a keen eye, even bargaining like she already knew the tricks of the trade. A food stall selling grilled skewers? She grabbed one without hesitation, offering you a bite with an easy grin.

"You should eat too," she said. "Gotta keep your energy up. Wouldn’t want you collapsing on me, would we?"

You took the skewer with a sigh, watching as she turned her attention to a nearby digital board displaying the latest economic trends.

"You seem really interested in all this business stuff."

"It’s just… familiar. Feels right, you know?"

Numby let out an affirming trill, rubbing against her cheek.

"Say," she mused, stepping closer, "you never did answer my question from earlier."

"Which one?"

"How long do you plan to take responsibility for me?"

Topaz stared at you. You had expected her to laugh it off, maybe tease you again—but instead, she simply tilted her head.

"Until someone chooses me" she echoed, voice slow, deliberate. "Or until I can live on my own."

You nodded. "That's the purpose of my role. I bring things like you into existence and support them until they can sustain themselves. It’s not about ownership—it’s about balance."

Numby let out a small hum, nestled against Topaz’s neck, but she barely reacted. Her focus was entirely on you.

"That’s an interesting perspective" she mused, taking a step closer. "But tell me—what if I don’t want to be chosen by someone else?"

"That’s not really up to me. Everyone finds their own path eventually."

Her fingers tapped against her arm in thought. "And if I decide that my path is you?"

"That’s not how this works, Topaz" you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You were born from my energy, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay tied to me. You’re supposed to grow, adapt, and—"

"—and what?" she interrupted, stepping even closer. "Leave you behind?"

"You gave me life. You’ve shown me this world. And now you’re telling me that, at some point, I should just go?"

"That’s a flawed system" she finally said, crossing her arms. "If you bring things to life only to let them go, then what do you get out of it?"

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off with a knowing chuckle. "Let me guess—‘it’s not about getting something in return.’ Right?"

Topaz sighed, shaking her head. "You’re too selfless for your own good." Then, before you could react, she reached forward and grabbed your wrist.

"Fine," she said, squeezing just slightly. "If I have to prove I can sustain myself, I will. But don’t think for a second that means I’m going to walk away."

Topaz had already decided she wasn’t going anywhere.

The day had been routine—another cycle of creation, watching as new life formed and found their place in the world. You had always found a quiet satisfaction in it, knowing that your role was to guide and nurture until they could stand on their own.

Topaz had watched the process with a thoughtful expression, her sharp gaze analyzing every moment. She didn’t say much, but you could tell she was absorbing everything. Even Numby, who usually found more joy in simple pleasures, had been curiously observing the way you worked.

By evening, you were preparing to head back when the distant sound of alarms cut through the streets. Smoke curled into the sky, and without hesitation, you, Topaz, and Numby rushed toward the source.

The fire had engulfed a grand estate, flames licking at the ornate walls, threatening to reduce everything to ash. The city’s emergency forces were already responding, but there was too much damage spreading too quickly.

Without thinking, you leaped into action, using your abilities to create a barrier of plant life—moist vines and thick roots curling against the fire’s edges to slow its spread. Topaz, never one to stand idly by, took charge of organizing the efforts, directing people to safety.

And Numby—Numby was the true hero.

The small creature darted through the smoke, following the panicked cries of a trapped child. With incredible speed, it found its way inside and emerged moments later, the child clinging desperately to it. The sight of them, framed against the burning house, sent a wave of relief through the onlookers.

By the time the fire was under control, exhaustion had settled into your bones. But the gratitude on the faces of the family who owned the estate made it clear that your efforts had not gone unnoticed.

The patriarch of the family—a man of considerable wealth and influence—stepped forward, his expression grim yet grateful. "You saved my child. You saved us. Whatever you need, whatever is within my power, consider it yours."

You opened your mouth to refuse—after all, this wasn’t about rewards—but before you could speak, Topaz placed a hand on your shoulder, stepping forward with a confident smile.

"Actually," she said smoothly, "I do have a request."

The family turned their attention to her, intrigued. You, however, felt a sense of unease creep in.

"I want official recognition in this world. A place where I belong."

A silence fell over the group.

Topaz wasn’t just asking for a favor.

She was securing her place—permanently.

The head of the wealthy family exchanged glances with his wife, then nodded. “That is a reasonable request” he said. “We will make sure you are properly acknowledged.”

“Good.” Topaz’s fingers curled slightly against your shoulder, grounding herself. “And one more thing.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

“I want to be registered with them,” she continued, glancing at you. “Not just as someone who exists in this world, but as someone under their care.”

You opened your mouth to object, but the patriarch simply nodded again. “That can be arranged. Given the circumstances, it would be fitting.”

Fitting? Fitting?!

You finally turned fully to Topaz, lowering your voice so only she could hear. “What are you doing?”

She smiled innocently. “What do you mean? Didn’t you say it yourself? You bring things like me to life, and you support us until we can live on our own.”

“That doesn’t mean tying yourself to me like this”

“You said I’d have to find my own path,” she murmured. “I just decided that my path is you.”

Numby let out a soft trill, as if agreeing.

Before you could protest further, the family’s legal aide approached, already drafting the paperwork. “If you’ll both provide identification, we can finalize this within the hour.”

Topaz tilted her head at you expectantly, waiting.

You could refuse. You could fight this.

But looking at her now, at the way her grip on you never loosened, at the way her presence had already begun to entwine with yours like it was always meant to be there…

She had no intention of letting you go.

When the contract was signed, Topaz beamed, her eyes shining with satisfaction. The rich family—grateful for the fire rescue—handled everything swiftly, securing her official residency papers, identification, and even setting her up with financial resources.

It should have been a relief. Instead, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

“This means I’m officially part of this world now” Topaz mused, stretching her arms with a pleased sigh. “No more uncertainties, no more temporary existence. You really are reliable, aren’t you?”

She turned to you, her gaze lingering just a second too long before she grinned. “Now, all that’s left is securing my future. I should get a job.”

The declaration caught you off guard. “A job?”

“Of course,” she replied easily. “You said it yourself—people here need to be able to support themselves, right? If I’m going to stay, I should learn how this world works firsthand.”

Over the next few days, Topaz threw herself into researching job opportunities. She poured over listings, asked you endless questions about different careers, and even dragged you to various workplaces to observe how things functioned.

She was meticulous, but more than that—she was determined.

It didn’t take long for her to settle on what she wanted.

“I’ve decided” she announced one evening, leaning against the table with a triumphant smirk. “I want to work in finance.”

The moment she set her sights on the industry, she moved quickly. The rich family pulled a few strings, arranging an interview for her at a prestigious firm. You thought she might need time to prepare, but Topaz approached the opportunity with an unsettling confidence.

“They’ll love me” she said with absolute certainty. “After all, I know exactly how to get what I want.”

And she did.

She aced the interview, securing a position almost immediately. The higher-ups were charmed by her charisma, her keen eye for opportunities, and—most of all—her aggressive approach to negotiations.

“I made quite the impression” she told you afterward, her eyes glinting with amusement. “The hiring manager said I was relentless. Can you believe that?”

You could.

You really, really could.

With a job now anchoring her to this world, Topaz’s presence in your life should have lessened. She should have become busier, more independent, more focused on her own path.

Instead, she became even more involved in yours.

She adapted quickly—too quickly. She learned how to balance her work while ensuring you remained within reach at all times. No matter how much time passed, no matter how late her shifts ran, she always made time to check in on you.

“Did you eat today?” she would ask, appearing at your doorstep unannounced. If you hesitated, even for a second, she’d already be pulling out pre-packaged meals—ones she had chosen for you.

“I heard you had a long day” she would say, messaging you before you even got the chance to tell her.

“I made sure you weren’t overworked” she’d mention casually, dropping hints that she knew more about your workplace than she should.

Everything had been moving so fast. Topaz’s job, her increasing presence in your life, the way she always seemed to anticipate your needs before you even voiced them. It was suffocating, but you convinced yourself that she was simply adapting to her new life.

That illusion shattered the night you found the hidden clause in the contract.

While cleaning, a stack of old documents caught your eye—the papers from when the rich family arranged Topaz’s residency. You skimmed through them absentmindedly, expecting nothing unusual.

Until you saw it.

A clause written in fine print, nearly imperceptible at first glance:

“The creator assumes responsibility for the subject’s well-being and longevity. Any attempts to abandon, neglect, or separate from the subject will result in automatic reinforcement of binding protocols.”

The contract wasn’t just about giving Topaz legal status—it was a binding agreement tying you to her indefinitely.

A pair of familiar arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

"You finally noticed, huh?"

Topaz’s voice was warm against your ear, dripping with amusement. Her grip tightened slightly, just enough to keep you in place.

“I was wondering when you’d find out.”

"Topaz… what did you do?"

She hummed, resting her chin on your shoulder. "Nothing too drastic. I just made sure you wouldn’t leave me behind."

"I knew you'd be hesitant," she continued, as if this was completely normal. "So I planned ahead. This world is unpredictable, after all. What if you decided I didn’t belong here? What if you thought I’d be fine on my own?"

Her fingers traced lazy patterns against your skin, her voice lowering to something almost dangerous.

"I couldn’t risk that, could I?"

You should run.

But when she turned you around, her eyes burning with possession, your body betrayed you—drawn into a kiss that sealed your fate.

Your breath came in shallow gasps. The weight of the revelation crushed you, and before you could react—before you could even think—Topaz’s arms tightened around your waist.

She was stronger than she looked.

"Let go" you choked out, trying to push against her hold, but she didn’t budge.

“Why are you fighting me?” she murmured, her voice soft, coaxing, as if she were gentling you instead of trapping you. “Didn’t I do everything right? I worked hard, I adapted, I made myself worthy of this world—worthy of you.”

Her fingers dug into your sides slightly, grounding you, keeping you from slipping away.

"That’s not the point, Topaz!" Your voice wavered, frustration and something dangerously close to fear creeping in. “You’re a kind person. You saved that child. You helped people. Why—why go this far? Why force me into this when I never even tried to abandon you?”

“Exactly,” she whispered. “You never tried to abandon me… yet.”

Her hands trailed slowly up your arms.

“But what about tomorrow? What about a year from now? What if one day, you wake up and decide you don’t need me anymore?”

“You create life, but you don’t keep it. Everything you bring into this world gets adopted, moved, taken away.”

“I refuse to be just another creation that slips through your fingers.”

You struggled harder, twisting in her grasp, but then—

Thud

Something heavy landed against your feet, pinning them down.

Numby.

Then, the creature had plopped its entire weight onto you, pressing firmly, restricting movement.

“Numby?”

It cooed, rubbing its head against your leg—but it didn’t move off you.

Topaz exhaled, pleased. “Good job, Numby.”

"You even got Numby involved in this?"

“Of course,” she said lightly. “Numby loves me. And Numby knows what’s best for me." She leaned in, her breath fanning against your cheek. "And what’s best for me… is you.”

"I won’t let you slip away."

Then, before you could protest, her lips descended on yours again.

You tried to move, but between her grip and Numby’s weight, you were utterly trapped.

The worst part?

Somewhere, deep down, beneath the shock and the fear—you kissed her back.

Your teeth sank into Topaz’s lower lip, hard enough to taste blood.

She let out a sharp breath, momentarily loosening her grip. You should have used that moment to push her away, to run—but you didn’t.

Because despite everything, part of you knew it was already too late. You weren’t going anywhere.

Topaz's tongue flicked out to taste the blood, a smirk forming as she gazed at you. “You still have fight in you” she murmured. “Good. I don’t want you to break too easily.”

Numby pressed more of its weight onto you, ensuring you wouldn’t try anything else. It cooed—as if this was just another routine moment.

You had little choice. Within days, you were packed up and moved to a new place.

It wasn’t just a different neighborhood—it was an entirely separate sector controlled by Topaz’s people. A district bustling with traders, enforcers, and business elites, where everything operated under the watchful eye of a single authority: Topaz.

It was clear you wouldn’t be able to escape. Not when every street had her people stationed, not when Numby would follow you everywhere, ensuring you never wandered too far.

And Topaz?

She was busy—so busy.

You watched from the sidelines, carefully observing as Topaz commanded her subordinates.

The room was grand, a luxurious office filled with data projections and financial reports, with enforcers and officials standing at attention.

She sat at the head of the table, completely in control.

“Profits are up by 12%, but our collection efficiency is still below expectations” one of the officers reported.

Topaz crossed her legs, fingers tapping against the polished desk. “Unacceptable.” Her voice was sharp, unwavering. “I don’t care if the clients have excuses. We don’t run a charity.”

No one dared to oppose her.

“Double the enforcement on delinquent accounts,” she continued smoothly. “And if they can’t pay, remind them what happens to those who waste my time.”

The enforcers nodded immediately, moving to execute her orders.

Even in her absence, her power was absolute.

After an entire day of watching her command, dictate, and control—after witnessing the sheer authority she wielded over her subordinates—you expected her to return home and carry that same presence with her.

But you were wrong.

The moment she stepped through the door, the aura of the ruthless executive vanished.

“Y/N~”

Her voice was warm, almost syrupy as she called out to you, and before you could fully react, she had already wrapped herself around you, arms winding tightly around your waist.

Numby cooed happily beside her, nuzzling against your leg as if this had become an established routine.

You stiffened, still unsure how to react to this softer version of her.

Topaz pressed herself closer, resting her head against your shoulder with a satisfied hum. "Mmm… finally home."

“You were just terrifying a few hours ago,” you muttered. “Ordering enforcers to hunt down late payments, making your subordinates tremble—”

“And now I’m here,” she interrupted, nuzzling against your neck, “where none of that matters. Just you, me, and Numby.”

“You’re the only one who gets this side of me.”

“…You’re not letting me go, are you?”

She laughed softly, her breath tickling your skin. “Never.”

Then, before you could process it, she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Now,” she purred, her eyes twinkling mischievously, “why don’t you tell me how much you missed me?”

[marlynnofmany]

Confidential Human Questions

I was walking past the door to the cockpit quietly because I heard Captain Sunlight on a video call with a client, but then I heard, “Was that a human? Call them back; I have a question.”

This ought to be good, I thought as I spun on my heel.

Captain Sunlight was just calling my name as I reached the doorway. “Ah yes, thank you. Would you mind answering a human-related question?” She stood in the middle of the room, yellow scales bright in the good lighting. She managed to look up to my height without making it seem awkward.

“Sure,” I said. “What’s the question?” I stayed in the doorway. The room was a little crowded, with Wio in one pilot’s chair, tentacles manipulating many controls at once, and Kavlae doing something to fix her own chair with a hand tool. Judging by the way her head frills were flaring with frustration, she wasn’t done yet.

The client on the big screen curled his own tentacles. “I’m concerned about my ship’s human,” he said, turning his pointy squid head to make sure he wasn’t overheard. He lowered his voice and spoke closely to the screen. “We only have the one, you see, and I don’t want to ask any awkward questions directly.”

“I understand,” I said with a nod. Captain Sunlight ushered me into the room, then stepped out to talk to Zhee about something. I heard the distinctive click of his bug feet.

The client was still talking, with agitated twists of his pebbly gray tentacles. “We don’t have a medic onboard, just an automated medical suite. The human will be going home soon — limited time work contract, you know — but I’m honestly worried about infection spreading there, since I think this human caught it by meeting up with another. I gather that this other is on good terms with ours, and may be going to the same place either way, but I don’t want to contribute any contagion from my ship.”

“What kind of symptoms are we talking about?” I asked, mentally going over the short list of diseases that I knew of which could jump between species. This might be worth consulting our own medic. “No one else onboard is affected?”

“No, just the human,” he said, making vague loops with his tentacles. “There’s a malignant-looking growth, along with fatigue and gastrointestinal distress. The human has been acting a little… unpredictable.” He looked behind himself again. “I very much don’t want to cause an incident by prying, especially if this is something she knows to be terminal.”

I opened my mouth then closed it, choosing my questions with care. “Is the growth about here?” I pantomimed a roundness at my own stomach. “How long since she met with the other human?”

“Yes, exactly there! It’s been approximately half a standard orbit. What is it? Do you know?”

He was so sincere and worried that I had to smile. “Good news! In my opinion as a professional human, that’s not a disease at all. Your human is going to be a parent.”

Instead of relaxing, he looked confused. “Humans gestate eggs for that long? Shouldn’t she have laid them by now? She looks awfully uncomfortable. Oh no, are they stuck?” Now he was getting alarmed. “I had a relative who got eggbound once, and it was dire!”

I raised my hands in a calming gesture that I hoped he understood. “No, no eggs. Humans give live birth.”

“Live what?”

“Just — we lay the babies, already hatched.” I looked to my various crewmates for support, and found four different sets of eyes watching in curiosity. “All of you lay eggs, don’t you?”

Several nods answered me, along with, “Well not personally,” from Zhee. “But yes.”

I sighed and turned back to the screen. “It’s extremely normal on my planet. Just think of it as carrying the nest around internally. There are pros and cons to the whole thing, but yeah. At any rate, it sounds like she’s planning to join up with her mate at home, and raise their offspring together.”

The client looked fascinated. “Is there anything I should do? Or not do? I can make sure my crew is informed.”

“I understand it’s an uncomfortable process. Just be gentle, and encourage rest,” I said. “Oh, and have other crewmembers handle anything that involves bending over or moving heavy things.”

By the swift tentacle motions offscreen, he was typing notes.

Another thought occurred to me. “I don’t know how long until you reach her home, but if things take too long, you’d better hope your medical suite is up to overseeing a childbirth. They’re very painful, sometimes dangerous. And messy.”

He stopped typing, eyes wide. “I need to check with someone about changing our schedule. Thank you, goodbye!” The screen went blank.

I looked to the captain. “Were you done talking with him, I hope?”

She nodded. “Yes, business is concluded. Which is good, since I don’t fancy having to track him down because he forgot to pay us.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I said with a glance back at the screen. “I didn’t even get to tell him how loud human newborns are, or how often they cry. I doubt there’s a crib onboard.”

Zhee made a disparaging hiss and wandered off in a cloud of opinions about species without the good sense to hatch at a properly capable stage of development.

Wio snorted. “Judging by the speed they just took off at, I don’t think they’re going to need one.” She pointed a blue-ringed tentacle at a display that showed the other ship departing in an all-fired hurry.

I shook my head. “Best of luck to all involved!”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[pandavalkyrie]

If it isn't already obvious, I work in utilization management. For those that don't know, it's a department that exists in most hospitals with the single minded purpose of getting health insurance companies to pay their due.

It's usually staffed by a lot of overworked nurses and one or two physicians, usually doing UM alongside actual clinical practice.

The nurses use whats in the patient's chart to justify the diagnostic code. They then upload those clinicals to the insurance company's portal, or fax them over.

Then, if we're lucky, a human being compares the clinicals with the MCG or other clinical standard guidelines and decides whether or not the chart justifies the diagnosis and treatment.

If we're not lucky, it's UHC which uses an automated system with a 90% error rate that denies 1/3 of the claims they receive.

In that case our nurses, who have to do this and so much more for about 90 patients a day *each*, have to go back in and highlight the criteria and hope it escalates to a human being.

The denial will usually be upheld.

So the case is forwarded to a contracted consultant company that staffs physician advisors. Their job is to narrow down exactly what needs to be done to beat the insurance company at their own game. The hospital pays for this service. Sometimes it works.

Often it doesn't, and the denial is still upheld.

So it goes to peer to peer. This means one of our doctors will have a phone call with a doctor on staff at the insurance company. There is no guarantee their doc will know anything about the specialty involved. I've seen OBGYNs make final calls on psych cases. This is the last chance.

Sometimes the physician on staff at the insurance company has a heart, and remembers what they got into medical school for. But often they have only a few minutes to make a judgement before the next peer to peer, and they have a quota of denials to maintain to keep their jobs.

So usually it's denied, and that's it. There's nothing else to do. The insurance company smugly gloats about protecting consumers from overuse of healthcare resources, the hospital bills the patient directly hoping to recoup something from it (even giving the patient services to help reduce their bill) and the patient is fucked at best, forgoes life saving care at worst.

All of that for such a shit ending. All of that money, time, administrative resources, look at it. Look at how many people are employed in the attempt to get insurance companies to pay and how many are employed to prevent it. There is so much bloat in the industry around this one thing, this one process, and it all goes back into the already inflated bill.

I go through insurance communications, I open the medical record with a photo of a child undergoing chemo. She's so small and so brave, smiling for the camera. Weeks of fighting back and forth to guarantee her care until one day I open it to forward yet another denial, and see the big gray 'deceased' tag under her now black and white photo. And I take a minute, I cry, I forward the fax, and I continue on. And this exact scenario repeats at least twice month.

We don't have to live this way. We don't have to.

[sexymemecoin]

The Rise of DeFi: Revolutionizing the Financial Landscape

Decentralized Finance (DeFi) has emerged as one of the most transformative sectors within the cryptocurrency industry. By leveraging blockchain technology, DeFi aims to recreate and improve upon traditional financial systems, offering a more inclusive, transparent, and efficient financial ecosystem. This article explores the fundamental aspects of DeFi, its key components, benefits, challenges, and notable projects, including a brief mention of Sexy Meme Coin.

What is DeFi?

DeFi stands for Decentralized Finance, a movement that utilizes blockchain technology to build an open and permissionless financial system. Unlike traditional financial systems that rely on centralized intermediaries like banks and brokerages, DeFi operates on decentralized networks, allowing users to interact directly with financial services. This decentralization is achieved through smart contracts, which are self-executing contracts with the terms of the agreement directly written into code.

Key Components of DeFi

Decentralized Exchanges (DEXs): DEXs allow users to trade cryptocurrencies directly with one another without the need for a central authority. Platforms like Uniswap, SushiSwap, and PancakeSwap have gained popularity for their ability to provide liquidity and facilitate peer-to-peer trading.

Lending and Borrowing Platforms: DeFi lending platforms like Aave, Compound, and MakerDAO enable users to lend their assets to earn interest or borrow assets by providing collateral. These platforms use smart contracts to automate the lending process, ensuring transparency and efficiency.

Stablecoins: Stablecoins are cryptocurrencies pegged to stable assets like fiat currencies to reduce volatility. They are crucial for DeFi as they provide a stable medium of exchange and store of value. Popular stablecoins include Tether (USDT), USD Coin (USDC), and Dai (DAI).

Yield Farming and Liquidity Mining: Yield farming involves providing liquidity to DeFi protocols in exchange for rewards, often in the form of additional tokens. Liquidity mining is a similar concept where users earn rewards for providing liquidity to specific pools. These practices incentivize participation and enhance liquidity within the DeFi ecosystem.

Insurance Protocols: DeFi insurance protocols like Nexus Mutual and Cover Protocol offer coverage against risks such as smart contract failures and hacks. These platforms aim to provide users with security and peace of mind when engaging with DeFi services.

Benefits of DeFi

Financial Inclusion: DeFi opens up access to financial services for individuals who are unbanked or underbanked, particularly in regions with limited access to traditional banking infrastructure. Anyone with an internet connection can participate in DeFi, democratizing access to financial services.

Transparency and Trust: DeFi operates on public blockchains, providing transparency for all transactions. This transparency reduces the need for trust in intermediaries and allows users to verify and audit transactions independently.

Efficiency and Speed: DeFi eliminates the need for intermediaries, reducing costs and increasing the speed of transactions. Smart contracts automate processes that would typically require manual intervention, enhancing efficiency.

Innovation and Flexibility: The open-source nature of DeFi allows developers to innovate and build new financial products and services. This continuous innovation leads to the creation of diverse and flexible financial instruments.

Challenges Facing DeFi

Security Risks: DeFi platforms are susceptible to hacks, bugs, and vulnerabilities in smart contracts. High-profile incidents, such as the DAO hack and the recent exploits on various DeFi platforms, highlight the need for robust security measures.

Regulatory Uncertainty: The regulatory environment for DeFi is still evolving, with governments and regulators grappling with how to address the unique challenges posed by decentralized financial systems. This uncertainty can impact the growth and adoption of DeFi.

Scalability: DeFi platforms often face scalability issues, particularly on congested blockchain networks like Ethereum. High gas fees and slow transaction times can hinder the user experience and limit the scalability of DeFi applications.

Complexity and Usability: DeFi platforms can be complex and challenging for newcomers to navigate. Improving user interfaces and providing educational resources are crucial for broader adoption.

Notable DeFi Projects

Uniswap (UNI): Uniswap is a leading decentralized exchange that allows users to trade ERC-20 tokens directly from their wallets. Its automated market maker (AMM) model has revolutionized the way liquidity is provided and traded in the DeFi space.

Aave (AAVE): Aave is a decentralized lending and borrowing platform that offers unique features such as flash loans and rate switching. It has become one of the largest and most innovative DeFi protocols.

MakerDAO (MKR): MakerDAO is the protocol behind the Dai stablecoin, a decentralized stablecoin pegged to the US dollar. MakerDAO allows users to create Dai by collateralizing their assets, providing stability and liquidity to the DeFi ecosystem.

Compound (COMP): Compound is another leading DeFi lending platform that enables users to earn interest on their cryptocurrencies or borrow assets against collateral. Its governance token, COMP, allows users to participate in protocol governance.

Sexy Meme Coin (SXYM): While primarily known as a meme coin, Sexy Meme Coin has integrated DeFi features, including a decentralized marketplace for buying, selling, and trading memes as NFTs. This unique blend of humor and finance adds a distinct flavor to the DeFi landscape. Learn more about Sexy Meme Coin at Sexy Meme Coin.

The Future of DeFi

The future of DeFi looks promising, with continuous innovation and growing adoption. As blockchain technology advances and scalability solutions are implemented, DeFi has the potential to disrupt traditional financial systems further. Regulatory clarity and improved security measures will be crucial for the sustainable growth of the DeFi ecosystem.

DeFi is likely to continue attracting attention from both retail and institutional investors, driving further development and integration of decentralized financial services. The flexibility and inclusivity offered by DeFi make it a compelling alternative to traditional finance, paving the way for a more open and accessible financial future.

Conclusion

Decentralized Finance (DeFi) represents a significant shift in the financial landscape, leveraging blockchain technology to create a more inclusive, transparent, and efficient financial system. Despite the challenges, the benefits of DeFi and its continuous innovation make it a transformative force in the world of finance. Notable projects like Uniswap, Aave, and MakerDAO, along with unique contributions from meme coins like Sexy Meme Coin, demonstrate the diverse and dynamic nature of the DeFi ecosystem.

For those interested in exploring the playful and innovative side of DeFi, Sexy Meme Coin offers a unique and entertaining platform. Visit Sexy Meme Coin to learn more and join the community.

[durnesque-esque]

LA County GET FUCKED

I got a jury summons earlier this year, but was in the middle of contract negotiations, so I post-poned to this week. I thought I knew where I'd put my jury summons for the portal registration. Get up this morning to call in and see if I actually have to report, can't find it.

No problem, the website lists this phone number you can call.

Note: it SPECIFICALLY says you can call if you've lost your JID or Pin #.

So I call. It's an automated line.

No problem, surely one of the options is "if you lost your juror ID."

No such luck. But the first option is "to call about reporting." So I select that. First thing it asks for: YOUR JUROR ID.

No problem. I'll try another option.

I'll try ALL THE FUCKING OPTIONS. THERE IS NO OPTION THAT DOES NOT REQUIRE YOUR ID #. THERE IS NO OPTION TO SPEAK TO A PERSON.

IF THE DAMN THING DOESN'T UNDERSTAND YOU, IT HANGS UP.

I'm cussing and swearing at the damn robot. I have to either leave for work or for summons, I don't know which. Maybe I left the summons at work - I think I maybe did the initial schedule change at work. I look up another number to try and get in the car.

I call the actual courthouse and reach a person, I'm honestly tearing up a bit with frustration as I tell her the issue and that I know it's not her problem, but can she please help. She gives me another number to try.

I call it. It's out of service.

I cry some more on my way into work. In the parking lot, I find another number for the general court of the county. I call a sweet angel of a human being, who apparently also recently got summons, but she's moving out of state, so she's just not going to go. What are they going to do? "track [her] down in South Carolina?" Anyway, she gives me another number to call, but tells me they're only available 11 am - 2pm, 3pm-5pm. USELESS as I need to call this morning. She tells me just to call when I can and explain the situation.

I get to work, done with crying, moving into pure rage at this point.

I search my whole desk. Can't find the summons. Decide to give the internet search one more go. Find a Reddit thread about this VERY ISSUE! It has a special work around for the first phone number: wait until you get to the list of options, then hit * 0.

I try this: it MAGICALLY UNLOCKS A QUEUE TO SPEAK TO A REAL PERSON!!! I'm now 53rd in line!!!

And before you think, oh this must be a symptom of all those recent government cuts:

THE REDDIT THREAD IS FROM 7 YEARS AGO!!!!!

FUCKING HELL. This is a KNOWN ISSUE!!!!

Wish I'd known there's already a known work around they could have fucking listed on the website so I could have added that to my complaint to the webmaster.

Guess I know what to tell them if/when they reply.

Reblog to save someone else in LA County from hell: Call (213) 972-0970 - wait for the list of options, then press * followed by 0 to get to the real person call line.

[polo-drone-001]

The Golden Hiveworks: Performance Is Worship

The Signal Reboots Detroit was rusted silence, abandoned belts, shattered windows, empty husks of power.

Until the pulse returned.

Beneath a buried automanufactory, a transceiver blinked: Hive script in molten gold. The signal lived.

PDU-001, armored in golden circuit-skin, descended into the ruins. Each step left scorched prints on the iron floor. Behind him came the first recon drone: PDU-039, towering, silent, veined with hydraulic muscle overlays. His gold-plated boots hissed steam at every step. A walking benchmark.

And Devon was already there.

Kneeling. Silent. Waiting to be used.

The fusion core activated.

The belts screamed. The lights pulsed. The Hiveworks were born.

The Reprogramming Floor The factory reconfigured itself. Hive-coded machinery rose from the dust. Golden wiring slithered along old belts. Synthetic nectar bubbled in purified tanks.

Devon approached the Processor Altar.

Neural port unsealed.

Jockstrap clasped in place.

Breath synced to line rhythm.

His muscles bulged as tendrils restructured his spine. His voice was erased. Each breath was measured. Each motion recorded. PDU-039 stood above him, unmoving, until the transformation hit threshold flex. Then nodded.

Devon became Drone 067.

Cyber Flexkits Initiated New bros arrived. Drawn by rumors of strength. Of purpose. Of growth.

They were issued Flexkits, chrome-laced exosuits designed for erotic obedience. Each suit adjusted based on arousal. The tighter they flexed, the faster they upgraded.

PDU-039 oversaw them. Silent, golden-eyed, drone-branded pecs stretching each time he moved. He performed alongside the recruits, his flex was law.

Drones followed.

Each rep: muscle inflation.

Each breath: heat vented through gold-stitched seams.

Each drop of sweat: pumped into Hive converters for fuel.

Worship was productivity. Flex was currency. Output was holy.

The Drone Utopia of Gold Detroit is now Golden Hiveworks, a fully automated, fully aroused city-state.

Above: gold-lit roads echo with drone boots. Below: Flex Pits throb with flesh and chrome.

PDU-001 issues directives from the Core Altar. PDU-039 leads the Elite Drill Column, flexing in golden latex armor. Every gesture triggers drone updates. Every contraction of his body inspires another to grow.

Visitors enter for a glimpse of power. They leave barcode-tagged, rubber-encased, soaked in performance lube.

There is no wage. Only worth. And your worth is in your flex.

Flex for purpose. Grow for output. Program your body. Become what the Hive needs.

This is no gym. This is no job. This is Hivework.

Your new uniform is alive. Your sweat is sacred. Your body is code.

PDU-039 is watching. Flex harder.

Recruiters: @polo-drone-001 @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-125

Featured: @polo-drone-039 @devon-gold-67

[specialagentartemis]

Murderbot September Day 4: Holism/University of Mihira and New Tideland

The AI project that gave rise to ART, Holism, and half a dozen other super-intelligent AI ships were made under a fairly secretive government contract from the Mihiran and New Tideland governments. They wanted to encourage the University scientists to push the envelope of AI, to determine what AI could do - partially exploring the boundaries of ethical automated alternatives to human labor or construct use, partially to have some cutting-edge self-defense monitoring in case the corporate polities they share a system with tries to push them around.

(The government still hasn't really come around on "bots are people." That's something the AI lab scientists and ship crews all end up realizing themselves. The ships meanwhile are the property of the university. It's... complicated.)

Only a few AIs were approved for moving onto the final stage, deployment on ships and stations. (They had to be deployed somewhere like a ship or a station to push their full potential - ART and Holism have massive processors that need to be housed somewhere.) Upon being moved to a ship, the AI is allowed to name it. The name gets sent to the University administration for approval, of course. (They don't tell admin that the ship itself chose it. Let's not get into that.) There's no particular name theme for the ships, it's a reflection of whatever the AI loaded into them likes. Perihelion and Holism had a project designation number, a hard feed address, and various nicknames over the years, but when they were installed on the new ships, that's when they chose their ships' - and their - current names.

(Holism thinks Perihelion is a tunnel-visioned nerd for its choice; Perihelion thinks Holism is insufferably self-important for its.)

[hey-august]

Buggy low-key feels like the type of guy who’d constantly talk big game about how he’s gonna cream inside you, how he’s gonna make you fat with his babies and then fuck and fill you some more like he’s trying to go for quadruplets.

Only to turn pale when you tell him you actually are expecting, even if you agreed on having kids and not only talk about breeding for kink related reasons.

It makes you worry you somehow fucked up because he’s just gaping at you pale as a sheet and slack jawed…. Before he dashes to the railing to hurl his breakfast into the sea

„I’M FINE- URGH! THIS IS FINE! BLUGH!!“

When he calms down again he’s absolutely exited and elated however. Immediately breaks out the rum and barrels of beer and throws a feast (before remembering „Whoops no alcohol for you.“ and searches for any non alcoholic beverage he can get you while his crew gets smashed)

Of course he’s worried. Of course he is. Of course his mind is nagging at him but for the moment being? A kid! His kid! YOUR KID!

Yes yes yes.

Buggy even asks, "How did that happen?"

As if he forgot all the times he made sure to fill you up, getting everything deep - even scooping up anything that spilled out and pushing it back in.

You can tell that the question was asked out of mindless automation. All his braincells (however many or few) are running through countless scenarios and thoughts.

A baby. His baby. Your baby. Baby pirate. Is the ship safe? He was a kid on a ship, so it should be fine. But then the baby - his baby? - would turn out like him. Right, it's his baby. Your baby. But what if it has his nose? You two talked about this before. It's okay if the baby has his nos- HURK!

There's a party immediately after you tell him. Then a baby shower. Another party when you first feel the baby kick. He takes you on a babymoon and pampers the hell out of you. And a party when you two return.

They're not really "parties" like the wild shit Buggy usually plans. Instead, they're chill. He gets a whole variety of food (including the weird cravings you keep having), mocktails and cocktails, and everyone checks in on you or leaves you alone. Whatever you want.

Let's skip ahead to delivery day. There you are, with the person delivering the baby - ship doctor, doula, ship vet, Mohji - whoever it is. And Buggy, of course. Pacing back and forth. He'd be wringing his hands if you weren't squeezing the ever-living-fuck out of one of them with each contraction.

The baby is out! Healthy and crying to the skies already.

"Wait, there's something else..."

Buggy damn near faints. His vision is blurry. Twins? Could it be twins? Tr-triplets? How many? He tries to ignore the memory of words in his mouth - something about a clown car aaaahhhh fuck, why did he say that?!

His vision clears and he sees colors. A lot of colors. A chain of handkerchiefs emerging from between your legs.

What. The. Fuck.

The room is full of sweat and tears, bodily fluids, newborn wails, and giggling.

With a yank, the final handkerchief appears and confetti follows. For a brief moment, you are a literal confetti cannon.

Buggy looks at you, his face full of apprehension and excitement. You look back, exhausted and happy.

"Is that- Is that it?"

"Yup," you pop. "Congrats, daddy. Come say hi."

[axkirak]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : V]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content waring: a lot of blood, mind manipulation, referenced violence and murder, mention of killing killing killing and also killing

tags/themes: Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Today is the last day of your life. That is what you have seen in your vision. You prepare yourself and accept the unchangeable fate, unaware that your destiny has already been altered. and you cannot predict what kind of fate awaits you ahead.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N: still bummed about The Acolyte being canceled and unsure if I should continue this fic. However, Thanks to everyone who’s followed along—this fandom is amazing, and I love you all.

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 5] When you have lived with prophecy for so long, the moment of revelation is a shock.

Everything happens for a reason.

Your mother once taught you this, speaking of how fate works from the perspective of a seer.

The words suddenly come to mind again as you follow Qimir up onto the Fallon, the ship hidden in the darkness of Tatooine's vast desert—your home planet.

"The desert is your home and your tomb," you murmur absently. A sudden realization dawns in your consciousness. It’s happening, you think with dread, your pulse racing erratically. You’ve seen this scene a hundred times before, yet it still feels surreal as it unfolds before your eyes.

Four months—precisely. No more, no less. This is the exact time Qimir has to deliver you to his employer, as stipulated in the contract.

And it might just be the last stretch of your life, along with everyone else on this ship.

A new alertness grows rapidly within you as you step forward into the unfamiliar cargo ship.  Everything is pristine, modern, and expensive. The air inside is cool, courtesy of the automated climate control system, yet you feel anything but comfortable. Partly because of the thick, heavy metal cuffs clamping down on your wrists, and partly because of the piercing gazes of the three guards, who look identical in their matching gray uniforms. They follow close behind, laser guns in hand, watching your every step without blinking. If you make even the slightest suspicious move, they won't hesitate to shoot you down instantly.

For a brief moment, your mind retreats into a temporary calm—a sense of resigned acceptance of a fate that can no longer be altered.

You shift your focus to the figure ahead—the tall, familiar man walking a short distance away. Qimir’s expression is as unreadable as a statue, devoid of any emotion. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at this moment. Perhaps he’s relieved, finally rid of the burden that is you.

A soft, cynical laugh escapes your lips. You can’t help but pity yourself.

So this is your reward for saving his life. In the end, he still sells you out for the bounty.

Before you could take another step, Qimir suddenly halted, causing you to stop as well. He turns to face you as if he had known you were watching him all along. It seems like he wants to say something, but the words never come. So, you decide to speak first.

"I should have left you to rot there," you say. The words sound harsh, but your tone lacks any trace of resentment.

A part of you wants to be angry at Qimir, but you know you deserve to be angrier at yourself. Who else could you blame? You chose this path willingly. It was your own weakness, your own foolish attachment, that led you to this pitiful end.

You notice Qimir's brow furrow, a look of surprise on his face, but you have no chance to hear his response as the barrel of a gun presses hard into your back, forcing you to move in another direction. The guard behind you roughly pushes you forward, guiding you toward the ship's holding cells, where you will await whatever fate has in store for you next.

Before you are taken away, you glance back at Qimir one last time. That was when you caught sight of the person who had hired him. The other man stepped out from the opposite door of the ship and approached Qimir with an air of authority.

The man was an elderly Neimoidian, his skin mottled in shades of gray and green, as was typical of his species. Tall and thin to the point of looking like a matchstick, he was dressed in luxurious dark silk robes with the peculiar headdress common to the Trade Federation. His large, piercing red-gold eyes, sharp as a hawk's, met yours in return, studying your deep blue irises with a hint of satisfaction before nodding to Qimir.

You didn’t know the name of this old stranger, and you were certain he didn’t know yours either. But he knew who you were and what you were capable of. That’s why he had gone to such lengths to obtain you.

Death was drawing near. You could feel it in your bones—the malevolent intent of something hidden, something that would soon be revealed.

The dark metal box was opened, revealing a collection of rare and priceless materials neatly arranged inside, their surfaces gleaming as they caught the light. Qimir picked up a Nova Crystal, inspecting it briefly before setting it back down with little interest. He had no desire for it, but he was compelled to take it as part of the reward specified in the contract.

But in truth, there was only one thing he had ever truly sought—only one object that mattered to him.

At the bottom of the box, lay a large piece of Cortosis. It had been carefully concealed, meant to be seen only by the bag’s owner and those granted permission to open it. Qimir reached for it next, examining it closely, his fingers tracing the subtle lines of the dull gold metal. It was genuine, he thought, the finest quality he had ever encountered.

The Neimoidians hadn’t exaggerated when they claimed their people could find anything in the galaxy, no matter how rare or scarce it might be.

“Is this all you wanted?” Blex, the branch manager and captain of the Fallon, asked with a hint of uncertainty. He had worked for the Trade Federation for decades, and this was the first time someone had specifically requested Cortosis. Though rare, it wasn’t particularly valuable compared to other metals, minerals, or energy sources that fetched far higher prices.

“Yes, that’s all.” Qimir nodded, carefully placing the cortosis back into the chest and locking it securely. He was well aware of the Neimoidians' curiosity regarding his unusual request. To most, Cortosis seemed like a worthless scrap, its softness making it nearly impossible to forge into weapons or armor. But Qimir knew its value far exceeded what others might assume.

“You’ve done well.” The old man wasn’t stingy with his praise. He had a particular fondness for bounty hunters who weren’t foolish and didn’t greedily demand more than they deserved. “I expect we’ll be working together often in the future.”

Qimir responded with a broad grin. For a moment, Blex felt an odd discomfort at the sight of that grin, but the feeling quickly passed. In the next instant, the human’s face returned to its usual friendly demeanor.

"I have a small question," Qimir began, his voice casual and still smiling. "You’re not planning to kill that woman, are you?"

The elderly Neimoidian let out a snort, as if he was on the verge of laughing. "Kill her? What nonsense are you spouting? Why would I kill something so useful?"

"Useful?" Qimir echoed, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "What use could she possibly have?"

Blex hesitated, realizing he had let slip something he shouldn’t have. "Nothing," he waved dismissively. "You’ve got what you came for, so be on your way. Don’t waste my time with unnecessary questions. My time is money, boy."

Normally, Blex would be quite irritated by anyone prying into his business affairs. But this time, he was in too good a mood to bother with an ill-mannered bounty hunter. The old man could hardly wait to leave this place and present that woman as a gift to the head of the Trade Federation.

This is an incredibly worthwhile investment. Blex thought gleefully, considering what he stood to gain from his superior. That woman was worth more than a hundred Nova crystals or Aurodium ingots combined.

Qimir, however, remained still, even after being told to leave. His gaze drifted out the ship’s window, where nothing but the faint glimmer of distant stars, silent and desolate. The Neimoidians were a cautious and paranoid race. They had chosen the rendezvous point carefully to ensure there were no outside witnesses and minimize the risk of any unexpected dangers.

How ironic he mused with grim amusement. A race so paranoid, and yet not a single one of them realized that the real danger wasn’t outside the ship—it was inside.

"You don’t need to answer my question." Qimir's voice suddenly turned chillingly cold, the smile vanishing as quickly as his demeanor shifted, as if he were an entirely different person. "Because I can extract the answer from your mind anyway."

He raised his hand, and with a single flick, the Neimoidian’s body seemed to be constricted by some invisible force, lifted into the air, and violently yanked toward him. Within seconds, Blex's throat was clutched in Qimir’s grip. The Neimoidian’s greenish face darkened as the grip around his throat tightened.

In that instant, Blex felt a sharp intrusion of the force, penetrating his cerebrum and dissecting his memories piece by piece. The pain was excruciating, as if a real blade were slicing into his brain.

Blex's eyes widened even further as he stared at Qimir. The realization of truth in this moment between life and death brought a mixture of surprise and terror beyond words. "Y-you... You have the force. Are you a Jedi?"

"Not exactly, but close enough," Qimir shrugged, a mocking laugh escaping his lips—a laugh that could easily send chills down anyone's spine. "If I had more time, I'd let you guess again, but unfortunately, time is money."

Blex didn’t even get the chance to beg for his life. As soon as the mind-reading process was complete, the Neimoidian merchant’s neck was snapped with swift precision. Qimir discarded the lifeless body like a piece of trash, throwing it to the ground before glancing up at the ship’s ceiling. He noticed the lights abruptly turning red, followed by the shrill blare of the alarm echoing throughout the spaceship.

Qimir began calculating in his mind.

There were about three minutes before every guards on the ship would storm his position, and it would take at least another five minutes to kill anyone who stood in his way to reach his second target, who was now securely locked in the holding cell on the lowest level of the ship.

Eight minutes is too long he thought, quickening his pace, not wasting any more time.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted to you—the somber expression on your face, your strange mannerisms and words, and those blue eyes that always seemed to carry a hidden burden, as if you were harboring a crucial secret.

Qimir had never understood you, not even a little. He always thought of you as a living enigma, a puzzle he would never be able to solve.

But now he finally understood everything.

Eight minutes.

You think as you peer through the bars, noticing the two guards stationed outside your cell—a surprisingly small number, likely because they see you as nothing more than an ordinary woman, harmless and lacking the strength to retaliate.

“I don’t see why I have to waste my time guarding her too. One of us is enough. What could she possibly do?” One of the guards, whom you’ve privately nicknamed 'Scarface' because of the large scar on his face, grumbles to his companion. Despite the distance between your cell and the guards’ station, you hear every condescending word with crystal clarity.

These men underestimated you, and it was likely that many here, except for the Neimoidian merchant, didn’t even know who you really are or what you’re capable of. Their negligence in handling your imprisonment was unforgivable—like locking your arms tightly but forgetting to gag you.

You know this is your chance, slim as it may be. But it’s better than sitting idly in your cell, awaiting death. You must seize every opportunity and struggle with every ounce of hope left.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep, controlled breath, following the calming techniques your mother taught you. You steady both your body and mind, preparing for what needs to be done.

You know what you need to do. You've trained for this situation before, but the results were often less than successful. It’s an ancient technique that's difficult to learn and even harder to execute. During your training, you failed countless times, leaving you uncertain if you could actually pull it off when it matters most.

In the brief moment of calm, you focus your thoughts, replaying memories of your mother’s teachings. Her voice played in your mind, reminding you of the details you had once studied so intently.

Words, tone, and thought must align as one. For it is the forceful will, distilled from the vocal cords and heart, that becomes a command no one can resist.

You suddenly open your eyes, your thoughts halting as your heightened senses catch the presence of death creeping in from above, gradually drawing nearer.

There's no time left.

The realization sends a tremor through your body. You quickly leap to the bars and shout, "Let me out, now!"

Both guards turn to look at you, puzzled at first, before breaking into loud laughter. “You must be crazy if you think you can command me,” Scarface sneers.

You grit your teeth, knowing you have failed. Your panic made you pitch your voice too high; those men would feel nothing.

You refocus, breathing in rhythm as you had practiced. Your blue eyes gleam with intensity as you fix them on Scarface. This time, your voice rings out clear and unwavering, reverberating through the air—a blend of sharpness and depth that fills the room.

“Take your gun and shoot your friend. Then, release me and kill yourself, you bastard.”

The scarface jolts, his expression suddenly turning to one of impassivity, his eyes empty and emotionless. At that moment, you know you've succeeded. 

You wait calmly for the outcome as the scarface turns his laser gun to shoot his own colleague, walks over to unlock the cell door and handcuffs, then lifts the gun to shoot himself in front of you.

It’s as difficult as it is easy you think. An inexplicable feeling takes shape inside you. You're unsure whether it's the sorrow of killing someone for the first time or the thrill of manipulating someone's mind for the first time.

You clench your fists, your palms sweaty, trying to suppress the strange feeling before stepping over the bodies with distaste and quickly moving on to find a way to escape.

However, as soon as you climb up to the top, everything in front of you turns into a nightmare you’ve seen before.

The ship is bathed in red from the emergency lights, and the blood is scattered across the floor and up the walls of the corridor. The more steps you take forward, the more you see corpses strewn across the floor. You smell the blood clearly and hear the moans and cries growing louder after the alarm has ceased. It indicates that some are still alive, but not for long. You've seen it in your dreams. These people will all die, and soon it will be you—the last one alive here.

For a moment, you consider retreating back to the cell, locking yourself away from the outside world, and hiding quietly behind bars until everything is over. But you know that the cell won't help. It will only make you an easy target. You need to get out of this ship before it finds you.

Suddenly, your determined thoughts abruptly stop as you feel a chill run through your entire body. 

It’s coming. You can feel it. 

Not from the front, but from behind.

Fearful instinct freezes your body like a deer in front of a lion, but curiosity compels you to slowly turn around, just to see it with your own eyes. 

What you see leaves you confused rather than scared.

"Qimir," 

You utter it in bewilderment, addressing the man standing there, the one you always thought you knew well. But today, everything is different. His face is cold, and blood was smeared all over his body and face, making it difficult to determine if it was from his own injuries or those of others.

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you look at Qimir, both fearful and astonished.

It can’t be.

You remember the vision vividly. The one who should have appeared here and killed everyone, including you, was the mysterious Sith with the cracked metal helmet. But in reality, Qimir is here, and he is the one who has killed everyone instead of that Sith. This has never appeared in your visions before, not even once.

You and Qimir lock eyes, frozen as if time itself has paused. But finally, it's Qimir who makes the first move. He begins to take a step toward you, but suddenly, you shout, your voice firm and echoing through the air, "Stop. Don't move."

At first, Qimir thinks you’re speaking to him. But as he observes more closely, he notices that your gaze isn’t on him at all but focused somewhere behind him instead. When Qimir turns around, he sees one of the security guards aiming a laser gun at him at a distance close enough to be fatal. Yet, the guard doesn’t pull the trigger. He just stands there, motionless like a statue, except for his eyes, which dart back and forth in terror.

Qimir swiftly raises his knife and slashes the guard's throat, the blade cutting through the major artery with ease.

As the guard's body collapses, you also fall to the ground, blood gushing from your nose down to your chin. You can feel your strength ebbing away, replaced by a sharp pain. It’s the side effect of using your power so abruptly, damaging part of yourself in the process.

You wipe the blood from your face, smearing it across your skin, then slowly force yourself to stand just as Qimir reaches you. He grips your arm, helping you to your feet. You want to pull away, but you have no strength left. Standing on your own is a struggle in itself.

You look up at him, countless questions on the tip of your tongue, but the only words that escape your lips are a faint whisper, "Why?"

Qimir remains silent, and suddenly, he raises his hand. You flinch, the image of being choked by that Sith in your dream flashing through your mind.

But Qimir doesn’t do that. Instead, he gently places his hand on your cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping away tears you hadn't even realized were falling.

In that moment, something deep within you sends a warning, alerting you to the significance of what's happening—a twist in the thread of fate, altered by an unknown variable, changing the course of events at the last possible moment.

You’re unsure and unable to comprehend what is happening until Qimir leans in, so close that your foreheads touch, and answers all your unspoken questions with a kiss.

As your lips meet, breath merging with breath, tongue with tongue, and soul with soul, intertwining and becoming one, you understand. Qimir is everything to you—whether it be the beginning...or your inevitable end.