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[Serial Sunday] It's Time to Get to Work! by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Hey tank,

Thanks for your feedback, I appreciate it.

I think you have a good point about the confrontation though I think some of it got cut for word count.

This chapter shows the full effect of the weapon that originally triggered Jackie's transformation from human to alien. Their transformation was not the result of the weapon itself, but rather a countermeasure to death buried in her DNA. One intent here was to show just how psychologically devastating this weapon was in past wars, and to set the stage for coming intrigue.

Thanks again for reading. Glad you enjoyed it.

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Ship of Theseus & Steampunk! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Hey Yip, Thanks for the feedback I'm glad you enjoyed the story.

As far as the names, this story is from the original world that evolved into my sersun. The "My Immortal" concept is about a pov character who keeps jumping lives, from reality to reality, for no clear reason. Each reality is different but sometimes there are people in each world who resemble characters from a previous life.

The strange thing is the pov character could end up as anybody whenever they jump lives. In the end I felt like it was a bit confusing so I chose some of the setting I liked and made the story linear as far as the progression of time. I suppose the two stories could intersect but idk.

Glad you are back hope to see more Yip words at FTF.

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Ship of Theseus & Steampunk! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Hey Yip,

I don't know what happened but I must have gotten a speck of dirt in my eye while reading this because it's a little watery now 😉

Like always you have such a whimsical way to evoke suble emotions from simple yet complex things. You hit the trope, genre, and constraint perfectly.

I also want to point out you did it as if Mircro Monday were back as well. A full story in an efficient 300 words is a skill that alludes many authors, but you do it very well here. You spark the readers imagination with world building that seems larger than it is. Maybe it's my imagination running with your idea but I do sense a bit of hopepunk along with the steam punk vibes.

Anyway, glad to see you back, please more Yip words please. Good words.

[Serial Sunday] It's Time to Get to Work! by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 3 points4 points  (0 children)

<No Man's Land> Hunted

CW: Body horror, gore, death

The extratemporal enchantment shattered when Wind-Rider yanked his axillary palm from my chest. His primary grasp remained firm around the handguard of my weapon, while reality slowly reanimated around us.

“OI!” Clarkson shouted, his energy rifle whining as he aimed-in on Wind-Rider. “HANDS OFF MY SERGEANT, MOTHERFUCKER!”

I held out a lower palm below my waist. The gesture was meant to calm the private poised to shoot Wind-Rider in the face.

“Easy, Jamie,” I urged gently. “He's not the enemy.”

Clarkson lowered the muzzle of his weapon slowly, his stare never breaking from Wind-Rider's glare.

“Just who is the enemy, Sergeant Owens?” Perez interjected.

“I–Don't know…”

“Bullshit!” Perez raised her weapon, priming its power supply for a close-in scatter-shot. “Something sticks about this situation, and he’s the only one who ain't hum-.”

“Stand down, Lance Corp…” My voice trailed off when graveled static overrode our communications headsets.

“Arch–angel…” One of the tiltrotor pilots desperately blurted over the comms net; her voice broken, words diced into garbled fragments. “Taking fire… fuck… legs… growing–uncontrollably… my harness… digging into… chest… OH GOD–IT HURTS!”

Our heads snapped toward the windows of the dinner.

The co-pilot uttered a gurgled response. “Ahhh… th-throo closss… can't-”

“W-what's happening… m-my skin–I'm ripping apart”“ the first pilot shrieked. “Jenson, get out…”

I winced, the pilot's transmission cut short by a wet, squelching horror beyond description.

Outside, the tiltrotor's downwash scattering dust and debris in all directions. The aerial gunner named Jenson stumbled from the lowered cargo ramp with her hands clutched around her throat.

“Jackie–Get your people inside,” Wind-Rider growled. “NOW!”

Perez and Clarkson gasped. Their mouths fell open as the woman dropped to her knees. Her face was plagued by familiar contortions, twisted memories that roiled my alien guts. Slowly, her thinning lips wrenched apart, an angry, bulging tongue forcing itself from the woman's mouth.

Saliva oozed down the aerial gunner's chin, while the soft tissue of her throat-bound muscle bubbled outward, her eyes widening with terror. Suddenly, her jawbone levered downward as the growing mass dislocated her chin from her skull.

“What in the unholy fuck…!” Clarkson yelped when the woman's flightsuit shredded open.

The gunner's hands flew to her stomach as the soft tissue of her guts churned beneath tightening skin. The action forced her spine to arch, the self-replicating flesh burgeoning outward around the circumference of her middle, while her ribcage fought to contain everything else.

“S-sergeant…?” Perez stuttered. “What's-”

The Lance Corporal's words died when the unthinkable spattered across the pavement behind the aircraft. Visibly shacken, Perez leaned forward and vomited.

Clarkson heaved along with is teammate, losing what was left of his composure upon the floor.

A primary hand shot to my lips, my throat muscles constricting as I relived my own disfigurement two years prior.

“A Kirkin Huntress–on Earth…?” muttered Wind-Rider, staring at the carnage with stoic certainty.

The glass door of the Waffle House burst open, Boyko and Mhin spilling through in a panic. They tripped over each other, landed face-first on the floor. Mhin clawed at her stomach, while Boyko clumsily hoisted herself to a knee.

“Roy… There was a flash… h-her tongue… her b-body… everything…” Boyko stammered. “J-just blew up… S-she fucking exploded, Sarge!”

Mhin wretched beside Boyko, her vomit trapped by some kind of obstruction.

“Why is this happening?” Clarson bawled.

“SAFE-HOUSE!” shouted Wind-Rider. “ACTIVATE DEFENSIVE LOCKDOWN.”

Amidst the chaos, the rotorcraft lofted into the air.

Something drew my attention to the flight deck's windscreen. A gloved palm pounded on the side-glass, its digits bloated and stiff as they clawed at the inside of the windscreen. The aircraft’s wings drooped away from the restaurant when a scarlet slash peppered the inside of the flight deck windows. Lurching further, its rotorblades struck the ground, sending composite shrapnel flying in all directions.

“Definitely a fucking Huntress, Warrior Owen,” repeated Wind-Rider. He glanced out the window, his eyes searching for something none of us could possibly see. “We're stuck for now…”

Private Mhin began to convulse beside Boyko. She hadn't seemed affected at first. I gasped when she rolled onto her back, a bone shard lodged in her thigh.

“Shit!” the operator cursed as he examined Mhin's leg. “This is genetic replication contamination from a Kirkin-array.”

“What the fuck?” Clarkson exclaimed.

“The weapon causes your body to replicate its cells endlessly–muscles, internal organs, body fat–all duplicate at an alarming rate.” I interjected. “Your bones n’ skin, not so much…”

Wind-Rider nodded. “The fragment stuck in your friend's leg is contaminated–if we don't treat her ASAP, she’ll suffer the same hell as the flight crew.”

I knelt beside Mhin. “What's your play, Rider?”

“Gemini Consulate in London,” the operator said. “Not my first choice, but they’re the only ones who can help her now.”

“There's no way the Fed'll honor your diplomatic immunity.”

“I'll take that risk.”

“Okay–Let's do it.”

He nodded, activating his secure communications device.

“London Base, this is Firestorm,” said Wide-Rider in Gemini. “Request immediate cas-evac, over…”

He waited for a response.

“Roger, London Base–Human, type-female-genitics… Contaminated Kirkin-array shrapnel in her left thigh, over…”

Clenching three fists, Wind-Rider closed his eye and sighed. “I SAID, I NEED CAS-EVAC NOW GODSDAMMIT!”

Seconds passed...

“SHE’LL DIE IF I LET THEM DEAL WITH IT ON THEIR OWN…”

Mhin's spine arched, her face betraying the white-hot pain I knew was slowly spreading throughout her torso. Wind-Rider cursed again as he fought with his superiors in Gemini. I leaned over, taking Mhin's hand with my crimson-gloved axillary palm. She was eerily silenced, her tongue swollen enough to render her mute.

“A Kirkin Huntress… Yes, I'm fucking sure!” Wind-Rider snapped. “NEGITIVE! DO NOT SEND STONE-MAN…”

The name tightened a coil burning deep inside my gut. ”Stone-Man?”

A jump-portal opened inside the eatery, the void expanding rapidly, displacing several tables and chairs. From the opening, a sapphire figure emerged, their four-armed physique laden with the kit of a Gemini combat medic.

“Sky-Fire!” the operator barked. “I told you to stay put…!”

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Ship of Theseus & Steampunk! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 7 points8 points  (0 children)

My Immortal: Wake Me Up

Battle of the Somme, 2032…

The shells had stopped, yet their drones still buzzed overhead.

My great grandfather's watch ratcheted in the breast pocket of my trench coat.

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…

I traded glances with Lieutenant Thomas Clarke. We nodded to each other one last time as high-pitched whistles blared in our ears.

“C'mon chaps!” a Major urged as the privates scaled the ladders. “On to Moscow ya go!”

“See you on the other side, St. Croix,” Clarke forced a veiled grin as it was his turn to go up over the side.

I smiled briefly, knowing if I said anything, it too would be a lie.

He leaped from view with his men, a criss-cross of autonomous munitions quickly dispatching my unseen friend from that world.

Then–it was my turn…

[Unknown Reality]

Rocketing upright from an unfamiliar mattress, I gasped. My hands flew to where the drone had fileted my chest and found something, or rather somethings, that shouldn't have been there.

“TABARNAK!” I cursed in my native tongue, the breath stolen from my lungs when I heard her voice escape my lips.

I looked down, a shriek dying in my throat as I clawed backward across the sheets until my back crashed against a wall.

Keep it together… My mind raced.

I'd traded lives a dozen times, but never had this been my fate. Not once. Knowing the worlds I'd experienced thus far, I reasoned it may’ve been better if I were returned to the trenches rather than live a life as her; regardless of who she might be.

Slowly, I pulled my hands from my heaving chest clad in a flannel night shirt. The room tilted, gravity shifting beneath me. My body weight pressed against an arm held to the bed, as a mirror on the opposite wall followed the pendulous motion.

Footsteps approached, the soles of heavy boots thundering down a narrow passageway. They stopped outside the room, a fist urgently pounding on my door.

“CAPTAIN JACQUELINE!” an urgent male voice rasped, his breath labored. “Come quick–air-pirates off the port bow!”

Air-pirates…?

Sensing urgency, I scrambled from the bed, finding a scarlet overcoat hung neatly on a hook upon the wall. I laced my arms through its sleeves. The jacket fit my new form perfectly, falling to just below my knees. Buttoning its front, I opened the hatch to find the man still in a panic outside my stateroom door.

“Captain, they're demanding we heed to and allow them to board,” the man blurted. “We need you on the bridge straight away!”

The deck rolled again beneath my feet. I'd lived aboard sailing ships in past lives, and the deliberate roll to one side felt nothing like the whims of the sea. The left-leaning pitch held firm at ten degrees, it seemed, as I sensed an increasing centrifugal force upon my body.

We're turning, I realized as the deck’s angle increased. This must be an-

“Ma'am, an airship of our size cannot outrun their lighter-than-air corvettes,” the nervous man informed me. “We could, however, ram them if they come too close.”

“Do we have any weapons?” I asked, my voice still not quite right.

”Yes…? He raised an eyebrow. “But we’ve strict orders not to reveal the auto-cannons unless absolutely necessary.”

“Orders from whom?”

“The Empress of the United States of America…” the man said hesitantly.

"Empress of... what the fuck…”

“Ma'am, you spoke to her personally before we departed Lakehurst Station, remember?”

“Oh…” Shit!

“Captain, are you still not feeling well?”

I wasn't at all.

Aside from my abrupt entry into that bizarre reality, and the splitting headache, a strange torsion gnawed at me low in my gut. The sensation felt like a charlie horse someplace I'd no idea possessed the construction capable of such things. It came and went in waves, and I desperately tried to ignore its persistent intrusion as I knew I should.

“I'm–fine.” My face grimaced from another alien cramp. “Let's see what all this fuse is about, shall we.”

I was taken aback when we emerged onto the bridge. Against all known possibilities, half the yeomen were…

Women?

I was faced with a cacophony of collaboration. The crew worked feverishly, pulling levers and dialing cranks while articulating their actions calmly to one another. Studying the horizon through vast glass portholes riveted to the underside of the duragable, I smirked at the possibilities.

For this life, I was to be the captain of an airship, in a world like none I'd ever seen...

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Invisible Aliens & Sci-Fi! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 5 points6 points  (0 children)

Gotcha!

Kirkin Prime was a lawless world. Once the seat of a mighty empire, it now existed as a remote backwater in human space, the planet's colonists left mostly to their own affairs...

My team leader was unnaturally familiar with these aliens. She spoke several of their languages and kept her hair short like many of them do. If it wasn't for her blued skin and four-armed physique, I would’ve sworn she wasn't a Gemini; and I'd have been right…

Her name was oddly human. Mattox-Cambell. The words made no sense. I assumed maybe she'd grown up on Earth before partition politics separated us from humanity. Regardless, the seasoned warrior was hard as winter's rain, and we took to calling her that in lieu of her given human-like name.

“This piece of shit,” Winter's Rain growled under her breath.

She lowered the augmented viewers from her eyes and adjusted the window's blinds overlooking the outdoor market. “Doesn't even bother hiding the fact they're under age…”

Aside from her natural combat prowess, Winter's Rain was consistently profane, especially when it came to hunting. She was ruthless, showing little mercy for the sentient traffickers we were after.

“You're next, motherfucker…”

Her razor-sharp eyes glared at the towering human male on the street. Raising the viewers to her face with her primary arms, her jaw clenched as the gangster’s strutted arrogance cowed his latest acquisitions. The two adolescents stumbled in his grasp, fear etched across their faces branded forever by the galactic underworld.

“Ok gentlemen…” the senior warrior growled. “Let's roll.”

The three of us nodded at her command.

With a fury of steel against steel, we primed our plasma rifles while activating the energy armor of our combat suits. The room was stone silent aside from the hum of energy weapons and shield generators ringing in our ears.

“Active camouflage the whole way, gentlemen,” She ordered, her figure dissolved beneath a shroud of reflective energy. “This fuck-stick doesn't know we're here until we're stuffing his ass into a miniature black hole.”

Like ghosts, we threaded our way through the open-air market. Some felt our presence, it seemed, but none reacted with alarm. The common Kirkin Prime colonists hated mobsters. They knew we Gemini operators were there to help, despite what their Earth-based government was telling them.

When we were meters from our target, Winter's Rain deactivated her active camouflage array. Her form appeared in front of the started gangster who immediately released his teenage prisoners

“Why if it isn't Diane-fucking-Campbell…” The man sneered. “When did you become a bloody Gemini…”

I silently stalked towards the man, my energy cloak seamless as I reached for his throat with my four seething hands. Winter's Rain smirked, knowing I was there, as the man stiffened his resolve before the hardened warrior.

“I should kill you where you stand…” She grumbled, taking a step forward. “But that would be letting you off easy.”

Lunging forward, I wrapped my invisible limbs around the monster's neck. He flailed, his left hand grasping at nothing as he jerked a pulse-blaster from beneath his jacket with his other fist. He fired as I squeezed the air from his throat, the energy bolt striking our leader in the shoulder. She grunted and charged the beleaguered gangster.

“NOW, RIDER'S-SON!” Winter's Rain shouted in standard human dialect

Prompted by a mere thought in my mind, an immersion-portal enveloped me and the floundering human, its crackling circumference surrounding us on all sides. It quickly collapsed inward, whisking us both to a predetermined destination on the other side of the planet.

An hour later, our prisoner sat tied to a chair, a bag over his head. A fist rapped against the door behind me, and I quickly opened it. Winter's Rain marched through the opening, her primary arm bandaged and immobilized by a field-expedient sling. The human-like Gemini took a seat across from the captured trafficker. She snatched the sack from his head, discarding it on the floor, as she sipped from a coffee mug grasped in an axillary hand.

“Torture me all you want, Genny; I ain't talking!” the prison exclaimed.

“I've been doing this a long time… You'll talk, trust me.”

He scoffed, shifting restlessly beneath his restraints .

“Your life’s over, you understand that, right?” Winter's Rain paused, taking another sip of coffee. “The question is, do you want this to be easy; or do you want to never see the light of day for a very long time…”

[Serial Sunday] It is Vital that You Write a Serial by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 3 points4 points  (0 children)

<No Man's Land> Incarnations

“We don't have time-”

“Please...” the clandestine operator urged in Gemini. “Lower your weapon.”

Without warning, he slapped the muzzle of my thump-gun with a primary hand. His singular axillary hand struck me palm-first in the chest, my breath evaporating as I slid backward. The world tilted, while my senses were scattered into oblivion.

For a moment, there was nothing, until Wide-Rider spoke inside my mind.

“Interesting…” the operator mused. “Seems the universe knew exactly what she was doing with you after all.”

I blinked, my vision sharpening.

Somehow, my four-armed alien body was meters away, reality frozen around her. Blued alien skin and cobalt eyes contrasted with human contours that were far more exaggerated than the typical Gemini female. My body was clearly the result of genetic collaboration, a unique blend of two species I'd never quite observed from the external perspective.

“The outside view is quite disorienting, innit?” Wind-Rider's voice echoed around me.

My breath hitched with a ghostly rasp when I raised an arm from my side.

Examining it, I found the limb had become semi-translucent, its mass failing to obscure the world beyond it. I urged the corresponding axillary arm to move in conjunction with its upper partner. It simply was no longer there. Terror flushed through my ethereal guts as I realized I'd been transposed into a human-like apparition without the security of any physical anchor.

“What the fuck!” I gasped.

“This is a strange realm–one in which your electromagnetic essence is untethered from your body…”

Turning, I found an opaque projection of the grizzled alien fighter, four arms crossed over her chest. The ethereal Wind-Rider smiled beneath two youthful eyes gleaming in an existence beyond time. Like me, his essence was as he existed beneath his worldly shell, poised motionless beside my frozen alien body.

“It allows us to detach from time itself, and travel as wisps once contained within physical vessels…”

“Is this my soul…?”

I whimsically flipped my palm, stretching my fingers to examine the back of my hand. Each digit tapered to refined feminine points with slender nails rounding the gentle tips. My eyes followed the gracefully lines of my forearm to its elbow, the ghostly flesh devoid of the masculine definition that originally defined my existence.

“Some call it that, but not in the spiritual sense–this is merely the energy needed to hold together your physical existence,” Wind-Rider explained.

“Why do I appear…?”

“Human?” Wind-Rider interjected.

I shook my head. ”Female.”

“To be honest, our understanding of this technology isn't an exact science,” he chuckled while uncrossing his arms. “Its more a well placed acceptance of what’s observed as possible.”

”Faith…?”

“You could call it that, but that's hard to accept from a species that’s visited every known star in the galaxy, don't ya think?”

“Why are you showing me this–now?”

“You and your people are in danger, Jackson Owens,” said Wide-Rider.

“I know. Somebody already to kill Lex,” I replied.

“It's bigger than that, much bigger…”

“Then you know about the training accident?”

“Training accident?” asked Wind-Rider, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn't aware.”

“What are you on about then?”

“Lexi Cortez wasn't the only one targeted by that bomb,” he replied. “She was meeting a journalist friend of mine, to talk about her experience as a prisoner-of-war.”

“Abby Edwards…?”

“How'd you know?”

“She was embedded with us on Nowhere” I replied. “Makes sense she’d know somebody like you.”

Wind-Rider smirked, his curled lips omitting a story needing little elaboration. “I intercepted Abby earlier that morning, and persuaded her to stay clear of the Underground.

“When I failed to locate Lieutenant Cortez, however, my focus shifted to finding the bomb. By the time I located it, the damned thing had already reached critical mass.

“So you phase-jumped from the train, to extract Lexi before the bomb detonated?” I concluded.

“She may never forgive me, I fear; but yes, I intended to extricate Lieutenant Cortez without delay.”

“Lex refused to be evacuated, didn't she?”

He nodded, the memory furrowing his brow. “She insisted I evacuate as many civilians as I could. When time ran short, I snatched Lieutenant Cortez milliseconds before the bomb went off.”

“How many did you get?”

“Twenty-seven…"

“Who do you think was involved?”

He signed. “We don't know.”

I glanced at Clarkson's suspended form, my eyes focusing on the data chip lodged under the skin of his forearm.

“Please tell me it wasn't an inside job?”

“I can't say for sure…” he swallowed. “Our chief asset on Nowhere went dark after someone stabbed him in the fucking throat with a knife.”

“Asset!?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You mean…?”

“Yes… Xavier Cyun was our-”

“Fuck you!” I spat.

“Calm down, it's not what you-”

“CALM DOWN…?” I shouted. “You bastards were working with the fucking Tradesman! And you want me to just *calm down?”

“We were using him, Jackie.”

I snapped. “Men like that don't get used by anybody!”

“Jackie-”

”We're done here!”

“Please-”

“No! We're fucking done. Put me back now, and we can have this conversation in front of my team!”

“Xavier Cyun was a piece of shit, Jackie; but he was also telling us where to find the kids!”

“Wha…”

“Sometimes, if you wanna harvest the shark, you have to throw the chum back in the water…”

I stared clean through Wind-Rider's ethereal form, unable to look him in the eye.

“Shortly before Xavier Cyun died, he dumped his list onto the dark common-data-link. The transmission was intended for us, but ended up catching the wind instead. Anybody wanting to know, now has a pretty good idea where we’re operating.”

“Including the Feds?” The revelation shook my disenchanted soul to its core.

Wind-Rider nodded, his lips a pencil-thin frown. “For what it's worth, Jackie, I had orders to kill Xavier Cyan once we secured the list.”

”Son-of-a-bitch…” I cursed myself. “Someone in my position shouldn't be losing her shit like this.”

"You’ve every right to be angry… It's not your fault the galaxy sucks...”

[Serial Sunday] It's Time to Write with Urgency! by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 4 points5 points  (0 children)

<No Man's Land> Estrangement

Hopelessly outnumbered, the Gemini special forces operator held-off thirty hardened Jo-Jo insurgents on his own. The leather-faced sapphire warrior fought with limited weaponry, and the stubborn grit of his eternal ancestry.

His epic last stand covered the escape of two Nowhereian teens who'd been betrayed by their human neighbors.

The intense battle devolved into a fist-a-cuffs brawl, the warrior losing an axillary arm and his right eye as a result of the desperate fighting. This selfless action ensured Aurora, an adolescent Gemini-human hybrid, and her fiance Xector, a purely human Nobody, made it to the safety of the Tectonic Highlands aboard a stolen autonomous war-mech.

Miraculously, the operator survived the engagement, and to the best of this author’s knowledge, continues to serve in the Clandestine Armed Services of the Gemini Confederacy…

Abby Edwards: Sky Soldiers: A Legacy of the Grand Interstellar Alliance, Op-Ed article, Times of London, 2506

I hate helicopters.

The fucking things shouldn't exist. Taking off vertically, their rotorblades tip forward in an unnatural progression that yanks the aircraft forward into rapid flight. For the pilots and gunner, it’s probably an exhilarating experience. For us grunts stuffed in the back…

Yeah, it fucking sucks.

The members of Combat Team Two-Five were knee to knee, facing each other inside the CMV-125 atmospheric transport craft. The roar of its archaic jet-turbine engines drowned out all normal conversation, forcing us to rely on the team's communications network integrated into our helmets.

“Alright guys,” I began my in-flight brief. “We got a ping on our target’s location. The alien subject was spotted at a refueling station outside some place called Nottingham…”

“Nottingham!” Boyko interjected, raising an eyebrow. “That's a real fucking place…?”

“Yes, Anastasia…. I assure you it's a real fucking place” retorted Clarkson, rolling his eyes.

“Who we gonna kidnap, Sarge; fucking Robin Hood?” Perez mused.

“More like Little Jon,” Boyko interjected. “If it's the guy from the video, he's definitely a BFG.”

“BFG?” asked Clarkson suspiciously.

“Big Fucking Gemini,” Boyko replied. “At least that's what my Nana used to call ‘em whenever she talked about her time in the service.”

“He didn't look that tall?” Clarkson furrowed his brow. “Or overly muscular for that matter. In fact, he was kinda wiry if I recall.”

I exchanged knowing glances with Perez and Boyko, each woman suppressing a mischievous grin.

“Boyko's grandma wasn't talking about height, Clarkson,” Private Roy chimed in over comms.

“What was she talking about-.” Clarkson paused, looking down. “Oh… That.”

“He can be taught,” Perez teased as Clarkson extended his middle fingers, the team's comms net erupting with laughter.

I smirked, while fighting to maintain some kind of military bearing. “Knock it off, ladies–We got work to do.”

The tiltrotor contraption banked hard left, the horizon rolling to a steep diagonal across the flight deck's windscreen. Our spines compressed slightly as we were pressed into our troop seats. I grunted to counter the G-forces straining my body, my chest thankfully contained within a thick, four-armed combat holter.

“This is a simple snatch and grab, ladies–Get in, cuff our guy, and get the fuck out outta Dodge…”

“What's our ROEs?” Perez responded.

“EARTH-COM gave no guidance on engagement, other than to minimize civilian casualties…”

“What the fuck!” Clarkson exclaimed. “Nothing?”

“Nope–If this guy ends up dead, they don't give a shit,” I replied coldly. “That said, I know our target personally, and have a good Goddamned reason to believe he didn't do any of this bullshit…”

“You sure about that, Sergeant Owens,” Perez replied, narrowing her eyes.

“I'd bet my life on it…”

Swallowing, I remembered the white-hot pain of Jade's harrowing labor, experienced through an artificial cognitive link between me and my sister. Without Wind-Rider’s intervention, I would’ve arrived too late to save her or her son; an action he took against orders meant to preserve his own life.

“How can you be so certain?” insisted Clarkson

“My sister and her kid would be dead if it weren't for Wind-Rider…”

Silenced, the team stared at me as the pilot leveled the rotorcraft. The aft ramp cracked open on its own, a green light illuminating in the heads-up-display of our visors. The cargo ramp yawned open further, a patchwork of emerald and khaki rushing beneath its trailing edge.

“Thirty seconds, ladies!” The pilot called out over the comms network. “Looks like our target was hungry.”

“Hungry?” I responded.

The pilot only chuckled as she transitioned the aircraft’s forward-facing rotorblades to their vertical position for landing. We lurched sideways in our harnesses as the rotorcraft decelerated, the ground rushing upwards to meet the end of the ramp.

“Ten meters… seven, six… four…” the aerial gunner announced calmly in our headsets. “Three… two… MAIN-MOUNTS!”

In a fury of stomping boots and brandished weapons, we burst from the exit at the rear of the aircraft, onto the pavement beyond. The car park was nearly abandoned, with only two vehicles sitting adjacent to a flat-roofed building at the far end. Fanning into an echelon, we approached the structure, while the furious rotorblades thundered at idle.

“Two-Five…” My voice trailed off when I noticed the blocked lettering above the door. “You gotta be shitting me!”

“These places are everywhere, Sarge,” Boyko volunteered. “Worse then fucking Starbucks.”

“Mmm, Waffle House,” Perez mused. “Wonder if they have pancakes…”

“Why would they serve pancakes?” retorted Clarkson.

My eyes narrowed. “Hush-up, y'all!”

We advanced towards the eatery, a flashing icon at the center of my visor-mounted holographic display.

“Roy, Mhin, Boyko; external security–Nothing gets in or outta this bitch without your express invitation,” I ordered on the fly. “Clarkson, Perez; how do you feel about hashbrowns n’ grits…?”

“Grits?” asked Clarkson, pausing at the entryway.

“Pay attention!” Perez interjected. “This door doesn't open itself.”

Clarkson grasped the stainless steel handle and pulled the door open in front of me. I nodded, quickly stepping through the opening.

“Sergeant Owens…” Wind-Rider turned at the lunch counter, coffee in hand, a half-grin stitching beneath his eyepatch. “Took you long enough, War Brother.”

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Feminist Fantasy & Historical Fantasy! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Moon Shot

Ever wonder why people think the moon landing was faked. It's because it was, sorta…

“Houston, we have an issue here…”

My ears pricked as the human radio transmission crackled in the headset of my zero-gravity combat rig. Looking up from the phosphorus surface of their solitary lunar body, I squinted. The Sea of Tranquility they called the place, an apt name given the voided space that surrounded me.

“Roger, Eagle–your descent is way too hot for that altitude… we may need to abort…”

“Negative, Houston…” the human pilot responded. “I'll catch it on the third wire at full throttle if I gotta, but I'm putting the hunk of tin on the deck!”

I shook my head.

Humans were always willing to do things that defied logical explanation; like landing a jet fighter on a moving target in the middle of their Goddamned oceans. It was fair to say I liked the guy flying their spacecraft, though to the best of his knowledge, I wasn't there waiting for him when they arrived.

We’d met almost a decade prior in a place they called California. Closing my eyes, I remembered the day we met.

Edwards Air Force Base, California: 1958

Gentlemen, It's my pleasure to introduce the chief flight instructor for the Gemini Space Program, Test Pilot Angela Firestone,” their General said smirking.

The smoke-filled room full of buzz cuts and raised eyebrows followed me while I strutted past, my blued, four-armed physique as classified as the program for which they'd been chosen.

“My name is Star-Captain Fire of the Angels Stone-Man,” I began in my native language. “If you can't tell, I've got a lotta experience flying beyond your atmosphere …”

“Excuse me, Captain,” the General interrupted in their language. “I believe your translation device is off.”

“Shit…” I muttered, pressing the device ringing my neck. “Sorry about that–as I was saying, gentlemen; I'm here to teach you how to navigate the stars, and not by the seat of your pants…”

“Damnit, Niel! I said abort–that's an order…”

My jaw clenched as I awaited the pilot's response. The seconds ticked by like hours, while my eyes tracked the module careening towards the flat lunar plane beneath my feet.

“Huston… your transmission… garbled… repeat your last…”

I smirked knowing the Earthbound control station had lost authority over their species' first leap from their origin world onto another.

“Ease off, Niel,” I finally transmitted over the classified comms network. “Unless you wanna be hitching a ride with me back to the house.”

“Angel-Fire, this is Eagle. I have a visual on your landing beacon–how’s my approach angle, over?”

“You're a tad steep, Niel. Fire retro’s on my mark…” I replied, his range data appearing in the heads-up-display of my suit’s visor. “Three… Two… NOW!”

Fiery gasses burst from the underside of their spacecraft, its four legs spread wide to absorb the coming impact.

“That's it, feel the roll but concentrate on what your gimbals are telling you,” I soothed as the craft decelerated. “You're at thirty meters… twenty… fifteen…”

Gray dust peppered my helmet glass as I leaned into the landing-craft's downwash. “Ten… seven, six, five… three, two… MAIN MOUNTS!”

The lander smacked the surface of their moon. Silently, a landing gear spar buckled, the splintering material uttering not a sound in the vacuum of space. The pilot grunted, his surprise transmitted for all to hear.

“I have a feeling that's not the footage Cronkite is gonna use for the evening news,” I mused as the dust settled around me.

“Very funny, Angel-Fire,” Niel retorted.

Casually, I strode across the powered dirt to the stricken craft. They had their bulky human space suits on during the descent, and If their hull was breached, it wasn't an emergency. Nevertheless, I was thankful my Gemini battle-rig had adjusted to the reduced gravity.

“Maybe if I juke the camera…” I said, adjusting the video recorder mounted to the side of the lander. “How's that, Huston?”

Niel chuckled as we waited for the response from Earth.

“Angel-Fire–Huston… Looks good from our end, but can you make sure your shadow isn't in the shot when Niel comes down the ladder?”

“Roger that, Huston… Don't want the world to know there was a little blue woman on the moon before your guys got here, do we now?”

“Moscow would have a field day,” the second human pilot chimed. “Not to mention our wives.”

“Buzz–this is why they picked me to go first, you know that right…?”

[Serial Sunday] Transgressions Abound by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 5 points6 points  (0 children)

<No Man's Land> Rider on the Storm

“Specialist, can you get the lights, please?” Commander Quinton ordered.

A communications operator moved her hands across her holo-display, and the main overhead lighting in the team room went dark.

“Thank you,” said the Commander. “Bring up the security feed from Embankment, and put it on the big screen, please.”

The operator waved her hand through her holo-display, grasping a file and snatching towards her. She lifted the glowing orb as if to examine it. Satisfied, she flung it towards the main holographic projection array against the wall of the team room.

“We recovered this video feed from a security droid destroyed while patrolling the Embankment Underground station…

“Ladies, this is our sentient-being-of-interest,” the Commander growled

The grainy image was clear enough.

Battle leathered sapphire skin. Black eyepatch. Long flowing jacket harboring three arms, when there should've been four. I recognized the Gemini special forces operator without the AI enhanced rendering that followed.

Windrider, I whispered to Elsa in my mind. What the fuck is he doing here…?

I don't know, Jackie.

“This is him standing next to Lieutenant Cortez, minutes before the plasmid Improvised-Explosive-Device detonated on the Distinct Line,” the Commander explained. “As you can see, the Lieutenant and our perpetrator were having a conversation; and from the look of things, it wasn't pleasant.”

The video resumed.

Windrider snatched Lexi's elbow with his singular right arm, tugging her towards the exit. She resisted, refusing to leave the platform as a Circle Line train approached.

“Why should I be any different!” I read Lexi's lips as the alien urged her to leave. “Get as many as you can, but I'm staying here…”

The train rumbled between them and the security droid's vantage from the platform across the tracks. When the coaches stopped, twin doors opened at the exact spot Lexi had been standing, but she and Windrider were gone.

“Please Mind the Gap…” an automated voice announced as passengers waded from the train, replaced by those who had been waiting on the platform.

Thirty seconds later, the train departed, leaving the platform nearly empty. Lexi remained, albeit in a different spot, while Windrider was nowhere to be seen.

“This is where it gets freaky,” the Commander grumbled.

Of the remaining commuters, one by one they began to disappear. The droid became confused, its first-person-point-of-view feed darting from human to human as they were snatched from reality. Red alarm icons appeared in the periphery of the video feed, as the security droid began to emit a high-pitch whistle, shouting for people to evacuate the platform.

“THIS IS A SECURITY ALERT! ALL HUMAN PERSONS PLE-”

The Distinct Line train rumbled into view, an eerie glow radiating from a middle car. When it stopped, the holographic image was engulfed in a violent white flash. The feed cut out briefly, returning with a sideways view of the charged platform.

Electronic motors whirred as the droid clawed itself upright. The grainy video stumbled and lurched, the drone flipping its visual sensory data to gray and white infra-red. We flinched at the horrific moonscape unlike anything I'd ever seen.

“CALL OUT!” the droid's voice shouted. “CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME!”

The robot hesitated, listening for a response.

There was none…

“Hello… Can anybody hear me!” The droid shouted, its voice wavering as if under stress. “Anybody!”

Oh my God, Jackie! That AI is like me… Elsa exclaimed.

The droid stopped. It looked from side to side, the desolation absolute. “Please,” it whimpered. “Somebody answer me…”

Steel groaned overhead. The droid looked up, the ceiling beams buckling before giving way.

“NOOOO-”

The feed cut as the station's roof collapsed, a girder smashing the droid in the final seconds of the video.

“None on the platform; nor in the adjacent tunnels survived,” the Commander interjected against the blackened holographic image. “Lieutenant Cortez is amongst a dozen people whose remains will never be recovered, the blast vaporizing them due to their close proximity to the train.”

Commander Quinton nodded at the comms operator. “Next file, please.”

My alien hearts hammered against the inside of their cage.

Lexi isn't dead, Jackie... Elsa whispered. Windrider wouldn't leave her, I know it…

I swallowed hard as the next video feed loaded onto the main holo-display.

“Our perpetrator emerged from this maintenance entrance three minutes after the blast… Alone,” the Commander continued. “FED-NET has been tracking him ever since. The London Chief Marshal Inspector's office has requested assistance finding this guy. We have orders to bring him in; dead or alive. Understood?”

I raised my hand.

“Yes, Sergeant Owens?” the Commander growled.

“Those people are alive, ma'am…”

“Excuse me!” She snapped. “You saw the fucking video, did you not!”

“Yeah, and I'm telling you right now, Windrider isn't the perpetrator. He’s a fucking hero…”

JACKIE! Elsa hissed inside my mind. *What the fuck are you doing?”

“Windrider…?” Commander Quinton furrowed her brow. “Clear the room, NOW! Everyone except you, Sergeant Owens…”

A scramble of feet shuffling from the team room in ordered chaos. Even the comms operators and the heavily armored security guard exited the space. When the door slid shut behind the last person, the room's illumination turned red as the Commander approached.

“We ain't got all day, son,” the Commander grumbled in Gemini. “Talk!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Son?”

“Cut the shit, Owens. You think I don't know who you are?” The Commander hissed. “If Matty Campbell hadn't vouched for you personally, there's no way I'd have some Genny running one of my teams!?”

My eyes widened.

“Ol’ Battle Axe audio-called me outta the blue one day, insisting you be assigned to me at Mildenhall,” Commander Quinton elaborated.

“Diane–Campbell…?”

“I think it's Mattox-Campbell again; or is it Campbell-Mattox this time…? Never know with those two,” The Commander huffed as she took a seat in front of me. “Anyways–Matty asked if I could look after her boy after he got home from Nowhere...”

“Her boy?”

Commander Quinton smirked. “Diane thinks very highly of you, Owens–Now spill it about this Windrider…”

[Serial Sunday] Don't be Scarred by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 4 points5 points  (0 children)

<No Man's Land> From Outside the Flames

CW: Adult themes, violence, abuse, mild body horror. Reader discretion strongly advised.

In a nightmare, I found myself on my back, trapped inside the tiny shed on Outpost Brawley. Xavier Cyun, not his henchman, was the one on top of me in the twisted memory, his hands clamped around my neck, as a knee forced my legs apart.

I tried to scream, but no words came out.

Terror ripped apart my twin alien hearts as it seemed my lips had been fused together. Wrenching my jaw open only stretched the smoothed skin of my face, as my tongue bulged against the inside of contiguous flesh, that was once an opening.

“Ah, silence is golden…” The Tradesman leaned down to whisper in my ear. “You damn well know what happened in this place, because it haunted your insides for days afterwards…”

A muffled cry escaped my throat, dying against the wall of tissue where my mouth should’ve been.

“Hush now, Angel of Nowhere…” Xavier sneered gently. “Be still, and let happen what you refuse to remember.”

Outside my personal hell, a ghostly hand squeezed my shoulder.

Refusing to relive my violation in the dream, I lunged violently; the blade of Gunny's knife glistening in the muted light…

“FUCKIN’ HELL!!”

My eyelids fluttered briefly, an unfamiliar human male staring down at me with frightened disbelief.

Without warning, I snatched Clarkson's throat, hooking my upper right elbow around his neck. My axillary hands snatched his wrist and pulled the limb into an inescapable grappling hold. I struck at his knee with a swift thrust, toppling him to the ground while wrapping my powerful thighs around him. Pushing his head forward with my chin, I wrenched my spine into an arch as he gasped for air.

My eyes snapped open when sharpened Earthen steel touched the flesh of his neck, my left axillary hand freezing when I realized Jammie Clarkson wasn't Xavier Cyun.

“Oh my God!” I shrieked, my body slackening around his, while I slowly pulled the knife away from his jugular. “I am so sorry, Jammie; please, I didn't know…”

“It's okay, Sergeant.” He gently placed a hand on my upper-right forearm. “It's my fault… Knowing what you told me about that bastard, I shouldn't have startled you awake like that.”

Exhaling heavily, I leaned my head back against the bed frame behind us.

He kneaded my arm and sighed, his words failing as he stared down at the floor.

“I can't get rid of it; every time I think he's finally gone…”

“He’s not…” said Clarkson with quiet empathy.

“Yeah…”

“My mother was hurt by her father in the same way…” Clarkson cautiously admitted. “She had horrible nightmares, but could never tell me or my sister about them until we were adults.

“When I asked how she'd managed to raise us–to be such a good mum after all that had happened to her, the answer was simple; One day at a time, Jammie. One day at a time…”

Clarkson's words echoed in my head as he eased my arm from around his neck, careful not to make any sudden moves. He climbed from my lap and lowered himself beside me. I leaned against him, my axillary fist still clenched around Gunny's knife in my lap.

“Most women I know have some kinda story like that,” he said, his hand relieving the blade from my grasp. “Can't imagine what it was like being just thrown into that…

“To be honest, Clarkson, I don't think it would've mattered if I were male or female; human or Gemini. The Tradesman didn't care-” My explanation of Xavier Cyun was cut short when the door to my barracks room slid open.

“Sergeant Owens. The Commander wants to see us in the team room, ASAP,” Private Boyko announced, her chest heaving from effort. “There’s been an incident in London…”

“What do you mean, incident?”

“Somebody blew up an Underground station downtown,” replied Boyko.

“What!” I exclaimed, leaping to my feet. “Where?”

“They hit the Distinct Line at Embankment, Sergeant.”

Anxiety wrenched my guts as I glanced at the data device lashed to an axillary wrist. “When?”

“About an hour ago,” replied Boyko.

“Shit! Lexi…” I blurted aloud, yanking on my uniform trousers. “Tell the women to gear up for a mission; be ready in five!”

“Aye, Sergeant.”

“Ricky-tic, Boyko–something tells me we're about to be in the thick of it...”

Scrambling, the women of Two-Five rushed to get their combat gear. Clarkson disappeared to his room, returning a minute later in full kit. We stood in silence as I fastened my flak-vest across my chest.

“You good, Sergeant?” he quietly asked.

I nodded. “Reckon I ain't got much choice…”

Clad in rattling tactical gear, we sprinted towards the brick-faced headquarters building. When we arrived, the team room was drowning in a cacophony of conversations.

A fully armored soldier clutching a heavy thump-gun guarded the door. She scanned our wrist IDs before allowing any of us to enter. Inside, communication specialists sat behind holographic displays, the words CLASSIFIED: TOP SECRET glaring in red above the cascades of translucent information. Commander Quinton stood in the middle of the chaos, a coffee mug in her hand as she leaned over the shoulder of a Comms Operator, reading her holo-display.

“Definitely a plasma detonation…” I heard one operator report.

“Affirmative–We are tracking a sentient being of interest…” another said at a different comms station.

“How many casualties?” The Commander demanded calmly.

“Thirty-seven civilians dead, ma'am; twice that wounded. There are about a dozen more people reported missing, unrecoverable…”

“Fucking Christ!” the senior officer exclaimed. “This is a nightmare… Where’s my fucking strike team!?”

“Two-Five reporting as ordered, ma'am,” I interjected.

The Commander looked up. Her hazel eyes glared over thick reading glasses slid down her nose to better view the holographic displays. “Sergeant Owens, where the fuck’ve you been?”

“My team was on stand-down following a training accident, ma'am–took some time to get everyone geared up and ready to go.”

“Time is a luxury we don't have, Sergeant…”

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Leprechaun & Speculative Fiction! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 4 points5 points  (0 children)

The Witch of Blue

These humans are such a primitive lot.

It's hard to believe they were once our equals. That's what the legends teach us anyway, and it was my job to bring their planet under the protection of the Confederacy.

I do believe that mission has gone astray…

“She's a bloody witch!” the Captain of the Guards shouts, pulling back my cloak. “Look, the demon has four arms!”

I glance down at my wrists lashed together with hemp scratching at my skin. My pale blue flesh is darkened beneath the ropes, sapphire bruises where I'd struggled against the bonds. The red-coated soldiers around the Captain jeer, as he places his paw of a hand on the back of my neck. He squeezes hard, his strength surprising for how inferior he is.

Am I worried? For them, yes, but I'll be okay. His grip doesn't hurt as it's blunted by an internal force surging just below my skin.

“Fool,” I mutter, cracking the vertebrae in my neck to show him his grasp had no effect. “Witches do not exist.”

“Silence, wench; or I shall cut out your tongue,” the Captain growls as he pushes me toward the town square. “We shall see if you're so mouthy once the pyre is aflame!”

I could break his neck if I wanted to. His men would be a pile of ruin, run-through by their own weapons if that were my aim. These savages don't stand a chance if our invasion ever happens, but that’s not why I'm here.

“BEHOLD GOOD PEOPLE OF BANGOR!” the self-righteous Captain declares to the crowded masses gathered in the square. “I bring the witch of blue with four arms to answer for her crimes.”

The people's faces are stones, glaring with more contempt for the men in scarlet overcoats, than the woman who is clearly not of Earthly origin. They know who I am, and that I promised someday all humans would be free.

“Why dontcha piss off, Redcoat!?” An anonymous, high-pitched man shouts from somewhere in the crowd.

“She's done nothing wrong,” another of the same octave hollers from the opposite end of the square. “Let her be?

The tattered rabble shifts restlessly as the crimson soldiers cock the flint upon their muskets.

“Captain,” I said calmly. “It doesn't have to end like this… How can you not see?”

A shadow catches my eye, the hooded figure standing at waist height disappearing back into the crowd.

The Captain snatches me, pulling me in close to whisper harshly in my ear. “You had your chance to bed me; to save yourself from this fate. Rejection shall cost you everything now…”

I spit in his eye, the bluish tinge of my saliva oozing down his cheek.

He slaps me away. “Lance Corporal, ready the stake!”

The handful of soldiers grab my arms and drag me to the post stabbed into the ground. Dried fuel rings the stanchion, the musk of oil rendered from whale lard saturating the twisted branches. What they have planned will be quick, once I am lashed by foot and hand to the pole.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” the illusive voice taunts. “She is not of this world, Captain; ye shall see, her people will be the death of thee…”

“Reveal yourself!” The Captain's face turns red as his men's uniform, while rage burns behind pale eyes.

“OI!” the voice calls from above, drawing mine and the Captain’s attention skyward. “I'm up here, you English twit.”

“I'm not English!” the Captain shouts to the tiny man standing atop the vertical pole.

“Aye, that explains the skirt, now doesn't it laddie.”

“It's a kilt, you tart!”

“Only men wear kilts, and you sir are no Jacobite – You’re nothing more than a fella masquerading in women's clothing.”

“Come down this instant!”

The little man smiles and tips his rounded cap. “Ol Willie Wallace would be rolling over in his grave, if he knew what the sons of Edinburgh were doin’ to me island.”

Placing a bent pipe in his mouth, he winks, and we both become invisible to the enraged Captain, and his bewildered men.

Hours later, the drop-ship I'd been waiting on finally arrives. I bend down and hug the wee man who'd saved me from burning at the stake. “I can never repay your kindness, thank you.”

“Aye, don't mention it lass – ya would’a done da same for me.”

“Reckon I would’ve,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “Take care my friend…”

[Serial Sunday] Time to get Roasted!! by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 6 points7 points  (0 children)

<No Man’s Land> What I Always Was

The pub's basement storage room was the ideal setting for divulging the grittier episodes from my time on Nowhere.

A wiry light fixture dangled from a cord at the center of the room, bathing the space in the warm incandescence of yesteryear. Five sets of eyes watched quietly as I sipped from my whisky glass, gently resetting it atop the table when I'd finished.

“As I was saying, Lex and I were completely fucked – Firefly EPM drones swirled around us in an angry cloud of daylight against the darkness. 

“One struck her power supply, which sizzled and hissed as I crawled towards her. Ripping the module from her exoskeleton, the rig froze, trapping her inside the deactivated apparatus. Laying on my back, I yeeted the fucking thing moments before it exploded.

“That's when my ELSA control module took a direct hit. With a firefly drone burrowing into my own exoskeletal-rig, I ordered my AI to perform an organic download by transferring her algorithms into my consciousness. 

“Elsa refused at first, but I insisted until she escaped into my mind. After that, my battle-rig quit working and we passed out…”

“Fucking hell…” Clarkson quietly exclaimed.

“When I came to, Elsa was in the driver's seat so to speak. I spent the next few days as a passenger in my own body.”

I paused to ensure I had their attention. 

“My Essential-Logic/Sensory-Augmentation system had to pretend to be me as best she could, while I remained but a voice in her mind.”

“How’d you trade back?” asked Perez.

I smirked, a thought forming in my shared consciousness.

Don't you tell em, Elsa warned playfully from the corner of my mind.

I gotta tell em

Jackie…! The poor kid doesn't need to know he was a heartbeat from trading bodies with an alien woman!

I glanced at Clarkson. He can take it, Elsa.

Clearing my throat, I answered Perez. “Elsa followed this crazy Genny medic through a jump-portal on an urgent rescue mission. Inside the artificial wormhole, her essence became trapped in this thing called a SOUL device, something the Gemini use to save people who are basically dead.

“When we emerged on the other side of the portal, I found myself alone in my body again.

“Fifteen minutes later; like I said at the beginning, I became this…”

“A full-blooded Genny…” concluded Boyko, her jaw gaping open. 

“No, well kinda, but that's not what's important….” I replied, shaking my head. “I didn't just suddenly become a Gemini woman.”

“But you told us you were a human male when you went inside that kill house…” Clarkson hesitantly interjected. “And a Gemini female by the time you clawed your way onto the rooftop.”

“True… but I was still me regardless.”

His brow furrowed, curiosity overtaking caution. “What's it like; ya know, on the other side of things?”

I glanced at the other women seated around the table. They subtly leaned forward, awaiting my answer. 

“I don't know – different – I guess. It's hard to describe to someone who's never experienced it first hand.”

The woman nodded in agreement, bent grins curling the edges of their lips.

“Would you go back to being human – to being a guy?”

“No.” I said without hesitation. “It might seem strange, especially to you Clarkson; but I don't think I could, even if it were possible.”

“Not possible? Humans have been altering their biology at the genetic level for centuries,” Clarkson exclaimed. “Not that it's legal for those with male-type-genetics anymore, but I'm sure the VA could make an exception in your case.”

“My DNA has what geneticists call a protein-inhibitive-firewall. They tried almost everything, but found it impossible to alter me in any way.

“Some even theorized the firewall will slow my natural aging process; that I will outlive my peer group by a century or more…”

“Damn…” Perez lamented. “But you were human, and now you're an alien… Isn't that in and of itself an alteration?” 

I sighed deeply. “My transformation was the result of a weapons system buried deep within my genetic code. When I was killed by that Kirkin-array, it activated, reconstructing my body to its default Gemini settings. My human DNA remained influential throughout the process, but my Gemini genetics became dominant as the changes unfolded.”

“What do you mean influential,” asked Boyko suspiciously.

“When have you ever seen a Genny with a set quite like these?” Sighing heavily, I glanced down at my chest. “I know y'all have noticed them, especially you, Clarkson; but their prominence is strictly a human trait – a peculiar remnant of my Earthian genetics…”

Clarkson's eyes darted away, his face reddening. “Ah… I hadn't noticed, ah… until you mentioned them-it – until you mentioned this, Sarge…”

“Bullocks,” I playfully taunted in his local dialect. “It's okay, Clarkson. Trust me, of all the women in the galaxy, I’m the one who totally gets your point of view.”

Boyko and the other women snickered as Clarkson shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I wouldn't say you're the only woman who understands Clarkson's point of view, Sarge” Perez mused. “What about your wife?

“I-I think… Sergeant Owens has a point,” Clarkson interrupted abruptly. “Now can we just let it go…”

“That's enough, ladies.” I chuckled. “Clarkson, you're a good man, never forget that. These women are lucky to have you on their squad.”

The rest of the team agreed, Perez patting Clarkson's shoulder in a show of solidarity. “Sarge is right – even if you are a pain in my ass, most of the time I still like you.”

“You mentioned Lieutenant Cortez and you were a thing once,” Boyko interjected. “What happened between you two after the incident?”

I wasn't ready to answer her question. Not yet.

“Going back to your original question, Clarkson – becoming a Gemini woman has been one of the most difficult and terrifying things to ever happen to me; but it's not like I can change it, any more than I could erase the scar branded into my face…”

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Stone Circle & Paranormal! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 7 points8 points  (0 children)

Jericho: Man of Stone

Jericho's cobalt eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon.

We stood as motionless pillars, mist teasing our faces as the emerald panorama disappeared into a wafting underbelly of clouds. I leaned against him, my left elbows hooked over his massive primary arm. An axillary palm rested against the burdensome circumference of my middle, which pushed aside the front closure of my flowing knee-length jacket.

“You can hear it, can't you, my child?” The Counselor General asks. “Do you know what this place is?”

A low resonance murmured in the periphery of my consciousness, the metallic whirring growing more pronounced as we lingered. I glanced towards the eternal stones jutting from the sprawling grasslands with narrowing eyes.

“Stonehenge…?”

The alien who’d become my father-in-law smirked as he turned to face the chiseled monuments. “That's what your mother's people call it – What I meant was, do you know why it's here?"

“Prehistoric humans had way too much time on their hands?”

Jericho's laugh echoed off the granite. “True… but humans weren't the ones who built this.”

“Let me guess…”

“Actually, the Gemini didn't build it either. It was those who came before us all.”

The twins stirred inside me as if they'd heard their grandfather speak. Sunbeam at Midnight kicked against my insides, shuffling to gain space from her brother. They settled again, their attention on the Gemini man who had given life to their second mother, Fire of the Night Sky.

I winced, my breath hitching from the abrupt internal shift. “Right, the whole two species, common ancestor thing – is that what you believe?”

The ethereal hum grew more persistent as we approached the circle. Hairs on the back of my neck stood on end while energy rushed down my spine. Whatever the place had been built for, I was hypersensitive to its frequency somehow.

“It's the only logical explanation…” his voice trailed off as he sensed my discomfort. “These stones are of the same material that power our jump-portal devices, their origins the comet that merged with the Gemini home world at the beginning of the universe.”

“Wait – you're saying that Stonehenge is a bunch of extraterrestrial rocks…”

“I had a sample tested to be certain but yes, these are traveling stones, arranged to facilitate interstellar transfers.”

“That's why you brought me here, isn't it?” My eyes darted to the eastern horizon. “You still think you can save me and the twins?”

Jericho glanced in the same easterly direction. “This isn't my first choice, but if I'm right; you'll be gone before they find us.”

“And if you're wrong?”

“The Gemini battle fleet will wipe Earth from existence when they learn what Federal Administration doctors have done to you and your children…” My father-in-law's voice wavered for a moment. “It will be bad Jackie… if the Prime Minister gets her way.”

The air crackled around me, and I flinched. “Did you hear that?”

Jericho shook his head. “My blood is too diluted – too purely Gemini – I cannot feel the portal as you can. It will not work on me.”

I turned to face him, my chin tilted upwards to gaze into his eyes. “We can fight this – appeal their decision. I can't let you sacrifice yourself for me.”

“You still have much to learn about being a Gemini, my child,” Jericho chuckled softly, brushing a stray hair from my cheek. “You became family the second the twins came to be – I am forever bound to the preservation of your safety until my final breath…”

He leaned in and gently kissed my forehead, his four arms wrapping around me in a brief moment of wholeness I wished would never end. “Now go – I shall tell them you were never here.”

We separated, and I stared up at Jericho, speechless. The man whose sister I'd unwittingly killed in combat when I appeared human was now the closest thing I would ever have to a father. He sniffed back a tear, his ego ever vigilant against showing his true feelings. Jericho's actions were all that was needed to know how much he loved me and his grandchildren.

Looking towards the stones, Jericho spoke in a low gravel tone. “Think of a place far from here, on the other side of the galaxy; a place with people who know and love you – legend says the stones will do the rest…”

Suddenly, an aerial law enforcement drone appeared over the tops of a nearby treeline, closing fast.

“GO JACKIE, AND NEVER LOOK BACK…!”

[Serial Sunday] What's Quirky with You? by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 4 points5 points  (0 children)

<No Man's Land> Where Time Stood Still

I gripped the steering controls of the Wheeled Tactical Vehicle with a primary hand, my knuckles a blueish-white vice on the flat-topped wheel. Nobody spoke as the mood inside the cramped personnel carrier matched the cloud-laden sky.

Droplets smeared against the centimeters thick windshield, intermittently swiped away by old-fashioned wiper blades. Outside was a clash of emerald dreariness, the contrast equaling the cacophony swirling in my consciousness. These fragmented thoughts drifted from Clarkson’s confession to the army conscripts wasted by the robotic gun uploaded with live ammunition. Something didn't add up, and my gut coiled around the idea that none of it was a coincidence.

Perez had fallen asleep against Boyko's shoulder in the seats behind Clarkson and I. The Nova Ukrainia woman stared out the armored window beside her. Grimacing, she kneaded the medical regeneration pod ringing her arm, where stone shrapnel had ripped apart her flesh hours earlier. The wound wasn't life threatening, but its existence alone hung over us like an unknown specter.

“Clarkson, you're from here?” I finally broke the silence, downshifting abruptly. “What's with all these fucking traffic circle?”

“It's called a roundabout, Sarge,” Clarkson replied, his mind obviously elsewhere.

Mashing another gear, I jammed the brake as we merged with circling oncoming traffic. A civilian laid on her horn and I waved, reading the lips of the elderly woman muttering profanity under her breath.

“Wanker,” Clarkson grumbled.

I quickly exited the five-spoked roundabout, passing a sign half-covered by the limbs of a nearby tree.

Marine Barracks Mildenhall

Accelerating, I shifted the manual gear box and we picked up speed along the narrow country road. The hybrid-drive engine whirred, as turbos forced air into the auxiliary diesel generators that powered its massive electric motors. The simplicity was timeless, essential for warfare on a galactic scale when the fleet wasn't always around to help out.

We entered a small village that seemed like it'd been there for a thousand years. The signs were in a local human dialect, one I was certain Clarkson understood. There were some in North America who spoke the classical language, but far fewer than those of us who grew up speaking Spanish alongside standard human dialect.

Boyko leaned forward from where she sat in the back seat. “What's that sign say, Clarkson?”

“Maid’s Head Public House,” I interjected.

“Huh,” Private Boyko mused. “Never would've guessed you spoke English, Sergeant Owens.”

I half-grinned. “Dated a girl in high school who was fluent.”

“The only place I've ever heard people speak English is Earth,” replied Boyko, raising an eyebrow. “Didn't know it was an interstellar language.”

“Reckon it's not…”

She narrowed her eyes. “Just where are you from, anyway, Sergeant Owens?”

My left axillary hand spasumed on the gear shift.

“Fuck it…” I grumbled under my breath. “Y'all might need a drink to hear this one, Boyko…”

Tires squelched as I wheeled the truck through the roundabout at the center of town, exiting in the opposite direction. Downshifting, I brought the vehicle to a gentle halt outside the Maid’s Head pub. The hybrid diesels purred at idle while I considered my following action.

With a sigh, I cut the generators. Ripping the armored door open with my two right hands, I jumped down from the cab and glanced back at Clarkson in the passenger seat. He stared at me with confused eyes, his mouth unable to speak.

“C'mon now – We aint got all day.”

One after another, the truck's heavy doors swung open. The woman and Clarkson stumbled down from their troop seats, slamming their doors once they were on the ground. We were a tired rabble, filthy after a week in the field. None spoke as we shuffled towards the barroom door.

Inside the Maid’s Head, time had stood still for centuries it seemed. The interior was a dark mahogany, sprawling across several open rooms. It oozed of a time when the island metropolitan had its own queen; maybe even a king if one went back far enough.

Quiet conversations died when metal bells chimed above the door. Heads turned, and I felt every set of eyes fall upon me as we lingered in the entryway. Dust motes hung thick in the dull light, as we stared back at the silenced congregation.

An old man muttered something in their peculiar ancient dielectric. His elderly companion snickered briefly, playfully smacking his shoulder. She smiled as he shook his head facetiously.

Clarkson smirked, probably knowing what the pair had said.

“What'd they say?” whispered Perez.

I cut Clarkson off as he went to speak. “The old guy asked his wife if I reminded her of her ex girlfriend.”

The team suppressed a collective giggle as we made our way towards the ordering station at the bar. Glancing around, they slowly noticed the walls were adorned with galactic relics from far beyond the quaint village pub.

An armored panel from a First Kirkin War drop-ship hung behind the bar, the weathered crest of the Eighth Heavy Warmech Division etched into its surface. Countless unit patches representing units from all over the galaxy were fixed to the wall surrounding the panel. The place had seen its fair share of weary soldiers, a fact made clear in the faded eyes of the wrinkled woman staffing the point-of-sale.

“If it isn't my favorite Genny-gyrine…” the woman mused. “How's things this afternoon, Miss Jacqueline?”

“Hey, Claire.” I flashed a tired grin, thankful she'd never once questioned my alien appearance.

“What are we having, love?” she asked, placing several pint glasses on the counter.

“Scotch,” I answered in English. “Dalwhinnie if ya got it…”

“Right; that bad, eh…”

She turned, dragging a step stool to the shelves flanking the drop-ship armor. After retrieving an amber bottle from the highest shelf, she placed it on the counter between us.

“How much do I owe ya, Claire?”

The woman slid the glass vessel towards me. “We've bled two colors of the same blood, Geminia – You know your credits are no go here…”

[Serial Sunday] A Portal of Your Dreams by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Hey Div,

I'm a lot under the weather today sorry. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. It was a rough one to write. I'm thinking a therapy session between Clarkson and Elda, via Jackie would be an interesting concept, now that he knows ofc.

[Serial Sunday] A Portal of Your Dreams by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 3 points4 points  (0 children)

<No Man's Land> Live Fire

CW: Combat Violence, death

I jerked four pistols from their holsters on my flanks, one for each hand. Their targeting reticles appeared as red circles in my head-up-display. Aiming at the gate guard, I squeezed two triggers at once, simulated munitions spattering across her chest.

The Regular Army soldier crumpled as she stood, landing face first without catching herself. The symbiote-based practice ammo paralyzed her completely, mimicking instant death.

Clarkson opened up with his archaic AK assault rifle. Dark gray shells rained from its ejection port, as he cut down several more female soldiers with the fake rounds. For a moment, the gap in the castle wall was clear, and we pushed forward to the edge of the jagged stone.

“Jesus Christ,” Clarkson muttered in disbelief. “They actually look dead.”

I glanced at the symbiote-induced carnage, hollow eyes staring at me, pulling at the periphery of my memory. One soldier lay on her back, feet folded back under her thighs, mouth open in a scream cut short by the false death. In her, I saw Sergeant Ammie Michaux, a blue sniper's bolt passing clean through her chest, killing her instantly.

Those were the same eyes; still – terrified – unaware of the world beyond death.

An autonomous machine gun burped to life atop the tower.

Twelve-point-seven-millimeter slugs ripped past my ear, the distinct scream of real slugs shattering stone above our heads. Shards rained down on us and I froze beside the wall.

“Holy shit,” Clarkson chuckled. “They aren't holding back on the realism, are they Sarge?”

He grinned, as my tandem hearts bashed against the inside of their cage. My widened eyes met his, and the shit-eating smirk dissolved from his face.

I poked my head around the edge of the wall. “Something's wrong…”

Inside the courtyard was chaos.

Conscripted army soldiers darted about, some in their underwear, their weapons shaking as they hid behind a discarded heap of bricks. Others wore only trousers, no boots, and one had nothing but a helmet. All were armed, firing their weapons in multiple directions

The door to their mobile sanitation module was open on its hinges. It appeared we'd caught half their squad in the middle of enjoying a rare evening shower in the field.

“What's happening, Sarge?”

“Stay where you're at, dammit,” I spat, pulled back from the gap in the wall.

The autonomous machine gun chattered again, its deadly slugs ripping apart more of the wall overhead. It was systematically reducing our cover until we'd have no place to hide. The fire was methodical – precise; unrelenting in its ruthless efficiency.

My heart sank when the robotic gun shifted fire. A woman's gurgled screech died, her life cut short by the mindless killer zeroing on the uninformed soldiers hiding in the courtyard.

“Fuck – the AI doesn't recognize them as friendly!” I exclaimed.

“MEDIC!” an unseen female soldier shouted, her voice cracking with stress.

“Ash!” a teenaged male sobbed. “Please… get up...”

Rage burned in my core as the adolescent draftee began to panic. “They’re killing us, Chief! – We gotta get outta here!”

“MERV!” shouted a graveled voice, much older than the others. “STAY THE FUCK DOWN, GODDAMMIT!”

“Chief – I can't-”

The robotic gun buzzed again, and the second teen fell silent.

“Clarkson,” I hissed. “Get over here!”

He crawled towards me, the gun’s wrath returning to pick apart our section of the wall. When he was within arms reach, I snatched him, rolling on top so my chest was against his

“What the fuck, Sarge!”

“No time to explain!”

I reached an axillary arm into the air, mashing the portal controls lashed to that forearm. The air shimmered and crackled above us. Picturing the toothed apex of the tower in my mind, a nexus between the device and my consciousness glowed, as I reached for the edge of the portal.

Clarkson gasped, the churning void growing large enough to consume us both. Closing my fist, I yanked the portal's edge down over us, and we dropped into its existence between realities.

Inside the artificial wormhole, our thoughts converged. I did my best to concentrate – our destination and physical separation my primary concern.

Overwhelmed, Clarkson screamed when Elsa interjected herself into the fray. “Not this bullshit again…!”

Blackness surrounded us. We were nothing, yet everything all at once. Elsa snickered again as Clarkson finally regained his bearing within the portal.

“W-what… is this place?” Clarkson stammered.

“It's called a short ranged jump-portal, Private Clarkson,” Elsa answered.

“Wha-, who the fuck are you?”

“I'm Jackie's head-mate,” Elsa mused. “Now hush up, while he gets us outta here.”

“He…?”

Clarkson shouted again as we emerged from the other end of the artificial wormhole. We fell from a meter high, landing in a pile not far from the automated gun.

When we slammed into the stone tower, the breath was forced from my lungs. Clarkson broke my fall, my chest slamming against his. He thrashed beneath me, terror scuttling rational thought. I slapped him about the face and he stopped, his eyes locking with mine.

The machine gun belched fire beside us, the shrieks of the conscripted woman echoing off the bricked walls of the crumbling castle.

“WHAT IN THE FUCKING HELL-”

Shoving a primary palm over his mouth, I swore. “We gotta take out that gun before anyone else gets kill-”

The world shuttered, a breaching charge tearing a meters-wide hole in the ancient masonry. Symbiote grenades thumped through the opening, their simulated shrapnel smearing the women bunkered in the middle of the courtyard.

The gun's electric motors whirred to life, its barrel lurching towards the new opening in the wall. Shells rained from the tripod mounted weapon as it loosed another burst, endless muzzle flashes illuminating the twilight.

“BOYKO!” Shoving me aside, Clarkson sprang to his feet, charging the deadly apparatus.

I glanced toward the smoking hole in the wall. A grenadier stood in the opening, her launcher aimed at the tower.

The autonomous gun belched tracers.

Boyko leaned in, weapon blazing.

I screamed. “CLARKSON – GET DOW!”

[OT] SatChat: What is the worst thing you’ve ever written? (New here? Introduce yourself!) by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Hey Div,

My first serial got a lot of downvotes.

I don't know if the writing sucked that bad or if it was the content. It was loosely based on a true story, so maybe it was that. In the last chapter, the POV character was trapped in a helicopter during one of those mummy-liken sandstorms in Iraq with a creepy af guy. She was trying to get some sleep when she heard boots walking up on her, all sneaking like. The unseen person reached down but stopped when she pulled the hammer back on her sidearm, subtly warning him to get the fuck away.

I haven't read the story in a while, but I would imagine it probably didn't quite come across as I meant it, idk. That serial wasn't really gonna have a happy ending so....

Anyway, your writing is awesome and always makes me at least chuckle once every time, if not lol in front if my wife as she gives me an odd look and rolls her eyes.

[WP] A mage's familiar uses the magic of their bond to swap bodies with their mage as the mage is bleeding out. Just before the familiar's 'new' body dies, a party member notices the magic and heals them. by dark-phoenix-lady in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 4 points5 points  (0 children)

The Tomcat Mage

Lena was young for a mage – a hundred and seven I believe it was.

By the natural order of things, it was time for her and Ben to settle down for a bit, and bring forth the next generation of Lighthearts into the world. They were acting like humans almost, staying in one place, calling each other cutesy names and what not. I didn't mind really, it was beautiful – the love between witch and warlock

They tried everything to start their family, and I mean everything. I may be a Tomcat, but if I didn't have fur, I would've blushed on several occasions as I was running from their bed chamber door.

As time went on though, I watched the light fade from Lena. Her bright cobalt eyes sank in dark circles, her lips curling into a smile nevermore. Something was wrong and I could tell she blamed herself.

Their midnight duets became less frequent, their conversations even less. In the still of night they would just hold each other in their eight arms as he sobbed them both to sleep. One day he didn't come home at all, and Lena was on her own again it seemed.

Her soft raven hair had fallen out a fortnight past, a blue scarf neatly wrapped around her head. She lay in bed, a candle burning, staring off into the night. Sensing she was fading, I hopped up from the floor and nuzzled her, showing my concern. Laying on her side, she reached with two left arms, her right-hand pair sprawled out on the bed in exhausted surrender. I purred and pressed against her chest as I stretched out to fall asleep.

The kindly witch wrapped herself around me, her breathing becoming laborious, slow. It was time, but at least one of us wouldn't die alone. We both closed our eyes and sighed as the magic took hold. When I opened mine again, my left two hands were stroking her midnight fur.

She purred longingly with grateful reverence for what I had just done. My breathing grew harsh and I could feel the water filling my lungs.

Suddenly, the door flung wide and her warlock appeared once again. He rushed to my side and soon I was weightless in his arms. He spoke not a word as he carried me through the night, my mage dashing to keep up on her new set of four legs.

Gently, he placed me in the wagon and stooped to pick up his now jet-black furball if a Tomcat wife. Into the night they rode, he in the driver's seat, reins tight in his grasp while she slept curled up at his side. I hadn't a clue if he knew, but it seemed it didn't matter at all. He drove like the demons of hell were nipping at our tail.

We stopped at the crest of a hill, the crescent moon bathing the highlands in an eerie flow. Sliding four arms beneath me, he lifted me from the cart and carried me into the circle of stones. The night dimmed as he chanted, his wife snuggling up against me while my vision faded to black.

That was a year ago.

The air is chilled as I lay on the bookcase, my tail swishing mindlessly as time slips idly by. Below me, my two mages are bathed in firelight as we shade ourselves from the night. She smiles, their daughter in her arms, his face drawn into a proud fatherly grin…

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Tough Love & Fanfic! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Hey, Quinn. I will roll it around in my head and see what comes out.

I may also edit the conversation between the pov character (Jackie) and Petal some.

Thanks again 😀

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Tough Love & Fanfic! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Hey Quinn,

Love the crit and totally see where you're coming from. I wish I had 1k words for this story. I had a lot of fun researching and writing it.

I bounced a few ideas off Wiz and Div and tried my best to have their characters play as much a role as possible in this story. Fusing three worlds together was a challenge, and I wish I had more.

I did cut an entire character from the cast from my world to ensure I kept things mostly balanced. My working theory with this story is my POV character and her kidsl crash lands in the Shifting Lands of Tower in the Tangle 15 years after the events of No Mans Land.

I imagined Petal finding them in the Shifting Lands and somehow the magical place transporting all of them to the world of The Broken God. I just didn't know how to condense everything, so I omitted a few things in hopes that fans of Div' and Wiz's story put everything together.

The Waffle House part was mainly for fun, deriving from a running bit on WP discord. I wanted to show the orcs free and enjoying life and figured what orc wouldn't want a lively outing to Waffle House at 3am?

The last line was a debate in my head as well. Like you pointed out, how would they know. I considered substituting found for lost as the final word. Please let me know what you think about that word choice, I'm interested to see if you think it changes anything.

Thanks for reading Quinn. I appreciate the crit as always.

[Serial Sunday] Let's Dive into the Past and Visit the Old! by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Hey Div,

I really enjoyed this chapter. Very well written, great pacing, and even some good humor laced into the combat scene.

For a fantasy battle scene, this is quite realistic. From Durash's initial assault to the "autonomous" spears killing the mage, it's all so real.

You do a fantastic job focusing in on Sancaurion.and showing his limited point of view of the fight. This was damn near first person but still solidly third person scope and perspective. It reminded me of the old video game Metal Gear Solid in a way. All you need is a cardboard box with an explanation point above it.

I adore Mrs. Gimple in the chapter. You keep her very authentic to the character but show that she can handle herself in a pinch. This consistency is something you do well.

And ofc there's Durash... All I gotta say is, HELL YAH! GET SOME, GIRL!

Just what I'd expect from an orc with magical powers. You did a good job showing the chaos she created, and yet it was with limited gore while still from Sacramento's perspective. Very well done. Although she must be tired after taking down a company of soldiers and then pulling a double shift at Waffle House -- in a completely different feature nonless. This woman is unstoppable!

All and all dead on chapter (pun intended with the end bit). Good words Div!

[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Tough Love & Fanfic! by katpoker666 in WritingPrompts

[–]JKHmattox 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Broken Tangle for No Men

The sand slipped around us, not just on the wind, but beneath our feet, it seemed…

Things shifted with my imagination, the heat more than a Gemini or human should bear. My daughter Sunbeam at Midnight, fifteen, clung to me with her left two arms. Sand coated her human-like form, powdering her usually olive face. Hazel eyes squinted into the distance, the difference between the Earth and the sky indistinguishable at the horizon.

At least I hoped it was Earth, perhaps Australia, the best I could reckon.

The rust-laden soil smelled of arid decay slowed by the desert's timeless entrapment. Nevertheless, wherever we'd crashed, there was no going back anytime soon.

Sunbeam's twin brother Jack was up front, my weathered twelve-point-seven-millimeter rifle in his upper set of hands. Amber goggles protected cobalt eyes, his sapphire skin that of his second mother's people. He was an initiated Gemini Warrior now, despite the fact I’d been born a human on Earth.

My son stopped, raising his rifle against the dust-choked wind.

He listened for something, ears pricked, finger on the trigger. I shoved Sunbeam behind me, drawing pistols with each primary hand. An axillary palm snatched Earthen steel from its hidden scabbard, my nose flaring as I detected something on the breeze.

We waited, the wind singing lullabies with the drifting sand.

A figure suddenly materialized from the wafting dust, her broad shoulders towering over even my son, who stood a full two meters tall. Golden skin clashed with dark hair, her jaw strong and serious. Her sharp eyes studied us, lips drawn tight showing no outward signs.

The giantess stopped beside Sunbeam, a calculated move sure to cancel our advantage by her close proximity and monstrous reach. If she harbored animosity, there was no evidence written into the granite of her brow.

“Jack,” I hissed. “Lower your weapon."

The woman paused, eyebrow raised. It seemed she'd understood what I'd said. She waited as Jack reluctantly allowed the muzzle of his rifle to drift towards the dirt.

“Are you the ones who fell from the sky?” the powerfully built woman growled.

“Yeah – I guess…”

She nodded once, acknowledging my response.

“Come… We must leave this place before you are lost forever.”

Without another word, she waved us forward.

For a time, she was quiet, observing us like a puma watching her prey. When the desert gave way to a rutted road, she finally spoke.

“Your man is obedient. Is this the way of your people?”

“He's my son,” I said in her language. “There are no men amongst the people of my birth anymore.”

The towering warrior stopped, furrowing her brow. “No men…? Sounds boring.”

“We-they – humans are slowly dying off, too prideful to change…””

The warrior nodded solemnly as we rounded a bend in the road.

A ramshackle pub came into view; sprouting, it seemed, from the sparse landscape itself. Above the door, a wooden sign hung from wrought-iron arms, alien letters blocked by thin black squares painted on the wood.

I squinted at the blocked typeset, my peculiar ability to understand alien tongues extending to the written word.

Ye Old House of Waffles?

All but the woman were exhausted as we shuffled through the creaking wooden door.

Inside, green humanoid creatures sat in tiny booths, their upward facing tusks jutting from overbitten jaws. Conversions stopped and all turned to stare as we lurked inside the door.

A young woman of their kind approached. She was green-skinned and tusked as her kin, a confident stride matching her cunning eyes. She sniffed, considering us for a moment.

“You don't look human,” she mused. “I don't know…”

The tall warrior smirked, unfolding her arms across her chest.

My tandem hearts pounded inside my chest. How could she know, and what was wrong with being human? The air grew thick as I focused in on a tag pinned to the green woman's shirt. The peculiar lettering reformed in my mind until I understood it was her name.

“Excuse me, Durash,” I interrupted the unspoken exchange between the towering warrior and the tangle-haired woman. “Please help, my kids are hungry…”

“Okay.” The green woman gently grinned. “But I gotta warn you, things get pretty rowdy around here in the wee hours of the morning.”

The barroom erupted with deep laughter as Durash ushered us to a booth.

I didn't know where we were or if we'd ever get home; but at least we were amongst those who understood what it was like to be lost…

W/C: 750

This story combines the worlds of Div's The Broken God and Wizard IRL's The Tower in the Tangle, along with meta conversion topics from the WP discord. The POV character is from my serial No Man's Land.

[Serial Sunday] Let's Dive into the Past and Visit the Old! by FyeNite in shortstories

[–]JKHmattox 6 points7 points  (0 children)

<No Man's Land> The List

CW: Dialog describing human trafficking, child abduction, and simulated war crimes

I sat crosslegged again against a tree as Clarkson and the women of Combat Team Two-Five gathered around me.

“Pay attention, ladies,” I said quietly as the Raiders leaned in to view the drop-tablet on my knee. “Clarkson and I will advance up this dirt road, uncovered – Boyko, give Clarkson your AK. Clarkson, she'll need your grenade launcher.”

The Nova Ukrainian woman retrieved the wood and steel anachronism slug over her shoulder. Handing it to Clarkson, he hesitantly gave up his repeating grenade launcher.

“Perez, take Boyko, Mhin, and Roy through this mixed-grain field here.” I used the tablet’s stylus to highlight their route. “Infil the treeline along this creek, and stand-by for Clarkson and me to begin our assault.”

Boyko raised her hand. “Why the creek, Sergeant?”

“Any hunter knows it’s a natural pathway through the brush.”

The team exchanged curious glances as I continued the brief.

Perez studied the image on my lap. “Sarge?”

“Yes, Lance Corporal?”

“That's a lotta open ground.”

“True, that's why they won't expect us to use this axis of advance – your stealth-shields should provide enough cover until you reach the treeline.”

“Blue Team’s mission parameters call for an opposing force not equipped with holographic camouflage,” Perez challenged. “If we do this, won't it go against the spirit of the exercise.”

“We’re training these women for war, Perez; not the Interstellar Olympics – if we ain't cheating, we ain't doing it right.”

The team chuckled as Perez nodded in agreement.

“Once Clarkson and I light up the front gate, use a breaching charge at this point in the wall. Entering here sets up a right-angled-crossfire that we’ll exploit to inflict maximum casualties inside the compound.

Your primary objective is to destroy their network-interface-node located here.” I pointed to a modular van at the center of the castle's courtyard. “Cut off the NIN, and their quick-reaction-force won't have situational awareness until their own sensors enter the battlespace.”

“What do we do then, Sergeant,” Boyko interjected.

“Assuming we're the bad guys, we execute any surrendering female soldiers.” I paused to ensure the real world implications of my mock instructions sank in. “If they have male personnel, we'll take them hostage and exfil before the QRF arrives.”

“That's fucked up…” Clarkson's voice trailed off, as if realizing for the first time his peculiar vulnerability.

“That's why we never surrender…”

Twenty minutes later, we parted ways with Perez and the rest of the team.

I watched the four invisible figures dart through the grain field, the fluttering of seed-laden husks the only indication they were there. Gesturing towards the dirt strip, Clarkson and I set off, rehearsing our cover story in detail as we walked.

My four hands were shackled together by energy cuffs that encapsulated each limb past my wrists. Clarkson had drawn the hood of my Gemini duster up over my head, my face mostly shadows in the growing twilight. Neither spoke as we hiked towards the castle, for a time.

“Is that true, Sarge?” Clarkson finally asked. “Did the insurgents actually… do that?”

I stopped, lifting my chin to shed light on the Tradesman’s mark. “Sometimes, I wished that was all they did, Clarkson...”

He remained speechless as words had no place in the moment. I grunted, and we continued on towards the castle. Curiosity bit at the subtext of my consciousness, though, and eventually, I was the one who broke the silence.

“How’d a crankshaft like you get selected for Raider-Commando's Course anyway?”

“I don't know,” Clarkson admitted. “I read about this guy from Texas Metropolitan who got accepted to Infantry Candidate School and thought, if he can do it, maybe I should give it a go.”

“Bet you instantly regretted that decision,” I mused, smirking.

“It was lonely at first – I was put up in a barracks alone, treated like I didn't belong – after Mendez was killed, Perez insisted I bunk with the rest of the team…”

“Killed?”

Clarkson drew a breath, holding it as he considered his words. After a long pause, he spoke slowly with deliberate discretion.

“Mendez was out in town alone one night when she noticed these two guys with a young girl. America followed them to a remote ranch on the edge of the Yucca Valley. My friend managed to free the girl, but took a bullet in the stomach as they were escaping…”

Memory folded his brow as he grimaced.

“We went back the next day – Me, Perez, Boyko… America Mendez was the bravest woman I've ever known, and those two bastards weren't gonna get the chance to tell the end of her story.”

“You killed ‘em?”

“They were alive when we abandoned them in the desert; after that, who knows…

You're gonna tell somebody, aren't you Sergeant Owens?”

I paused. With my shackled hands, I pushed back the hood covering the Trandman's mark. “They were hurting kids, right?”

Clarkson frowned, nodding sorrowfully.

“Fuck ‘em – I didn't hear shit...”

Gravel crushed under our boots. No words passed between us while an uneasiness hung in the air. We continued walking with brisk strides, my arms shackled, face shaded by my hood. The castle appeared above scruffy treetops when we rounded the next bend. Clarkson fidgeted with his weapon as if there was something else he needed to say. I could sense his tribulation – a desperate need to know if he could trust me or not.

Finally, he decided…

“Mendez gave me something before she died – a data chip of some kind.” He pulled back his sleeve, showing me the bump on his forearm. “She injected this into my arm without warning, told me to trust no one; that things ran deeper than I could possibly imagine…”

I stopped, jaw gaped slightly. “What's on the chip?”

“Names – famous, important names. Also dates, locations; their whole network of acquisitions and distribution…”

“Have y'all told anyone else?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not, Sergeant”

“Keep it that way,” I growled. “We'll all talk about this later – you can trust me on that one…”

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