“Hey Bramate!” Savannah says, rushing forward, arms open.


    I palm her chest, meaning to stop this nightmare from engulfing me. She’s always been too touchy feely and if she shrugged the flashtraining the first thing ole Savvy would do is find a pirate to plunder her booty. Even if that pirate had to be won in a game of poker and came with a free serving of space crabs.


    But this body isn’t mine, Hygieia made it to survive Syrak-9’s surface, in no way conforming to human limitations. My palm crushes the wind from her lungs, ragdolling the soldier back ten feet, her sudden flight ends on ambassadorial cushions, doing little for an already bruised ego. Tears roll down her cheeks, gasping for air as she curls into the fetal position.


    “Oops.” I say, feeling like I just kicked a puppy.


    Not an annoying yappy purse dog, but a baby golden retriever who is now cowering under the pillows thinking he did something wrong.


    “Uhm, don’t touch me-” I say, wincing as the words bring tears to Savannah’s eyes, weeping just as mom did when dad failed to come home. “No way… She’d be related to dad, not mom.” I whisper, reaching for suit sensors and only finding my dapper uniform buttons. Made from solid gold, malleable between my fingers, unlike 24 karat alloys. Savannah may have been a hoe who thought Whorely’s ‘vegan’ cookies tasted better than real chocolate chip cookies with actual sugar, but that only made her a foolish child. Not my enemy.


    I steer Hygieia’s clone into the hallway and warp it out, soon taking its place in my TriThenar suit as I exit Red’s laboratory with my one true self. Only to find Helen standing over Savannah, the blonde pinned under microtentacles as a spare symbiote wriggles free of armor.


    “WHAT THE FUCK!” I Shout, voice magnified by suit speakers.


    She jerks upright, saluting and falling into attention, symbiote slipping back into her armor. Savannah staring at the vanishing worm as if hell itself is real.


    “I leave for one second and you do pull this shit?! Helen, I’m going to put a bullet in your brain then throw you down a recycler if you pull this shit again. Am I understood?”


    “Yessir! My apologies sir.”


    I lower myself to her level, visor retracting until we see eye to eye.


    “This is your last warning. Do not fuck up again Helen. That goes for you symbiotes as well. No reincarnations for any of you.”


    “Sorry sir. It won’t happen again sir!” Helen answers.


    “Yeah… I don’t believe you.” I say, mentally tagging each symbiote and helen herself.


    They stiffen, understanding what the tag can do.


    “As of this point in time, all symbiotes and Helen are barred from reincarnation. Die and you will be- oh what’s the Collective term? Catalogued."


    “Sorry Sir.” repeats Helen.


    “Get out of my sight.”


    Worms retract, and Helen takes the order a bit too literally, cloaking as the parasites slither backwards into her. How those worms find escape routes out of power armor that is -supposedly- void rated and sealed for operation within vacuum is a horror I don’t wish to know.


    “Savannah…” I say, locking all sensors on her. Targeting reticles flash, planning a hundred new ways to kill her.


    Only for a blue reticle to conquer them one by one, marking Savannah as thirty five percent related to me, an odd figure, strongly implying she is the love child of my parent and another relative, an uncle- or aunt.


    “God fucking damnit dad. You fucked moms sister?” I growl, towering over Savannah.


    As step-sisters go, there are fifty other women I would rather share blood with. Fingers itching to activate my launcher and put a canister of mustard gas through her jaw. Tragically, mustard gas has nothing to do with condiments and will certainly harm her more than a jar of grey poupon. She deserves better…


    “Athena, thank you for not letting her- uhm, put that thing-” Tears break her voice, and she rolls over, sobbing into the svelte cushions. Hopefully we can find some cleaning bots, cause that’s gonna leave some boogey stains. So gross.


    I pop open my armor, soon curling up behind my first step-sibling, black fingernails running through her hair while she balls into my lap.


    “Hush now, step-sis. You’ve got time to sleep.” I whisper, singing a melody to blowdry her tears.


    “Look. I am not your roommate anymore, or a dude, and after Whorely rode Baz, trust is in short supply. No, scratch that, I’m out of trust. You had to know.” I growl, voice more dangerous than I intend. “I don’t want anything from you. If kicking you out was possible, you’d be out on the streets. But here on Syrak the streets glow with radiation, and killing you will bring me no joy.”


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I’m talking more to myself than her, working over the problem of what to do with her. Once upon a time we were friends, roommates close enough to share clothes. Part of my heart wishes to rekindle that, to protect Savannah and keep her in the lap of luxury, safe from all comers.


    If only she had told me about Bazzhole and Whorely.


    “You should have told me.” I whisper. “You didn’t, that’s not something we can ignore. So you have a choice, fight , or  go back into a cryotube until we reach Earth-”


    “-Not the tube! Please Athena! We should have told you, I should have told you, but-” She bites her lower lip, rolling her jaw as if contemplating her words. “They’re siblings. You wouldn’t believe us, hell I don’t believe it! It’s so, its so, they''re siblings! Like, what the fuck dude!”


    My chin tightens at her words, I’m not a dude… But this is Savannah. A girl drowning in an ocean of mud, war, and radiation. Just like I was. Within those azure orbs I picture myself, not in form, but as a lone Singularity trooper. Fury cools, replaced with annoyance at how right she is. The imaginary conversation plays out in my head, Savannah telling me how Baz was banging his sister behind my back.


    She’s right, no way would I believe my boyfriend was bumping uglies with Ash, even now after undeniable evidence I still can’t believe it. Riding an Ultralisk to my next college class is more believable.


    This is not a problem I can solve today.


    “Helen, I’m promoting you to lead recruiter. General Dick is sending us reinforcements like Savannah, sort through them, give them the option of a cryotube, infestation, or combat under their own willpower. Listen up, Do not, and I mean DO NOT, infest anyone without their consent.”


    “Uh, sir… Why give them the option at all?”


    “Ask your host why. How often is she screaming inside your skull?”


    “Oh, that stopped after the first three days, now she just does it about half the time.” Helen says.


    Visor snaps closed over my face, feet stomping all the way to Red’s laboratory.


    —


    The Lab is unrecognizable since my last visit, all tubes stand empty, drained of fluids and occupants alike. Nothing but sterile white exists in the first room, from freshly scrubbed walls to sanitized robots standing in a line.


    “Better.” I whisper, thankful Alaea and Hygieia took care of this.


    After Kerrigan, I’m not certain my psyche could handle removing her clones and sorting them. My mouth dries as the inner sanctum swishes open, Red’s personal laboratory and the last place I ever saw my friend.


    Heart expects terror, instead I find a kaleidoscope of green and purple hues, perpetuated by half activated lighting and what appears to be an enormous discoball with four children hanging from it, each pumping their legs like a swing to make the ball, or rather chrysalis, spin ever faster. Three Ereapers in full armor sing along to some inhuman cacophony of bells and drums, like fifty pigeons cooing into five plastic kazoos. Deeply unpleasant, and painfully catchy, like the song ‘Friday’ by Rebecca Black.


    “What in the he-”


    “-Boss! Just in time! Stay over there!” Quacks Emurine, head reaper.


    Helmet visor slides shut a second before he activates the reaper pack. Red contrails of flame ignite our disco party, blurring into glowing spheres as the other reapers join in, grabbing hold of tendrils and spinning them with the full force of three reapers.


    The four children scream in delight, clinging with all their might as the green disco ball begins to clench, tightening as the binding tendrils begin to unwind, green goop rains from the sky, splattering across my layers of shielding and rolling off like some rancid bird turd delivered express. I can only stand and gape at the nonsense in front of me. The lab, once sterile, has been stained green, somehow improving the aesthetics. Although, that might be a lack of tentacles.


    Until the disco ball pops. I can only describe it as playing in the rain, happily stomping away until you jump into an open manhole. Green blobs my entire shield, slumping away a few seconds later.


    Reapers and children go ballistic, launched to the far corners of the room where they safely splat into thick goo.


    “That’s how you stick a landing!” Shouts Emurine, caught upside down between two empty tubes.


    I barely hear him, too focused on the figure dropping from the chrysalis above. Nude, with huge muscles and an impressive jawline. With enough muscular definition I could swear it’s Barker. Until the purple glowing eyes inform me otherwise. This is someone new.


    “Oi! Duran! Find some pants to stuff that wanker!” Shouts Emurine, squelching his way across the room to activate cleaning bots.


    Duran. The name echoes in my mind. No way did birdbrain cook up that name on his own.


    >Terran Thena: Really? Duran? Which of you sold that idea to Birdbrain?


    >Matriarch Hygieia: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA


    >Executrix Alaea: It’s dumb. But I laughed when she said it. Cmon, if we’re cloning Kerrigan we can’t exactly give them normal names like bill and jerry. Besides, they’re twins. Duran is older and we named the other one Samir.


    An involuntary chuckle escapes my lips. I’m such an idiot sometimes.


    >Terran Thena: You chucklefucks. I’ll never be able to forget their names. Damn did those names stick.


    >Matriarch Hygieia: exactly


    >Matriarch Hygieia: so sticky


    >Matriarch Hygieia: perfect for twins which Alaea needed


    >Executrix Alaea: Sorta, having twins allowed me to identify the changes Red made, both mental and physical. Well, once I compared them to the scans of Richard, looks like I can put Kerrigan back to normal in a few days.


    My heart stops.


    >Terran Thena: A few days? Kerrigan will be healed in a few days?


    >Executrix Alaea: That is how long the process will take, assuming it is successful.


    >Matriarch Hygieia: Zazathur designed it


    >Matriarch Hygieia: it will work


    >Matriarch Hygieia: we just tested it on Duran