ã€ŠCyberworldã€‹


 (Edom R.) Wake

    Edom R. awoke, feeling like death.

    The company physician glanced up from her digital clipboard when he groaned, then shook her head in mild surprise and made a notation. "Made it back again, R? I''m telling you, Imptuus just doesn''t make ''em like you anymore."

    "How long was I dead?" Edom asked faintly, his voice scratching through the technological magic that had replaced most of his throat. His left eye hadn''t rebooted yet; he blinked, trying to clear the haze in the right, but he still had trouble seeing the physician as she came over to check his vitals.

    "A week. Your return order was just about to get reviewed for approval, but I''ve been stalling on sending it in. I keep telling ''em, there''s something special about the Ocearius units. You aren''t gonna die properly until the world ends."

    She flipped a switch, and immediately Edom began to feel better. A good half of his body had been turned into metal and wires, and he never quite felt himself without electricity buzzing through his brain. Or, what was left of it.

    Half metal, half dead. There really wasn''t much left to keep his old brain going.

    The world cleared as his artificial eye came back online and he sat up, blinking several times to clear out the last glitches. He was in a very familiar tent filled with beds and medical apparatus - a cybers'' mobile-camp infirmary. There were only a few other cybers in the tent, all as dead as a corpse could be. A couple of C-Techs were working on one, carefully replacing a broken fleshy limb with the metal replacement the unit would need to continue fighting.

    All three dead units, from the red identification codes flashing on their arms, were from Ariers Core. Statistically speaking, one of them would never come back from this death.

    "Alright, looks like you''re all good to go," said his physician brightly, making another note on her board. "Everything seems to be working at a hundred again, but stay in camp for a day in case of delayed shutdown. I''ve sent a note to the commander saying you should be back on the roster tomorrow, so just hang around camp in the meantime and do whatever it is you things do."

    Edom nodded, standing up. His legs were still a little wobbly, but that would sort itself out soon enough. The physician turned off the equipment that had been monitoring him, then moved on to check on her next patient.

    He knew where his uniform was without even looking: lower shelf of the cart unit, cleaned and repaired. These places were run the same everywhere. He suited up, the magni-fiber armor completing, in his own mind, the return from death to life. The Ocearius black-and-teal battle uniform was as much a part of his existence now as...

    Edom''s attempted analogy fizzled as something cut the thought short. He sighed, pulling on a boot. Sorry, boss. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    He always felt guilty when he accidentally got close to an "old life" thought. He wasn''t even supposed to acknowledge such a thing had ever existed - it made the Human-First Movement nervous, and that made the bosses nervous.

    He walked to the tent flap, a little slowly since everything was still stiff from being dead, and stepped out into the camp.

    A familiar trill was his only warning before a knee-high Excireraptor charged him from beneath a parked jeep. The tiny dinosaur pounced onto his chest, razor claws gripping the edges of his armor, then began rubbing its angular little head against his chin as it trilled and chirped in a non-stop flurry.

    "Hey, German," Edom replied happily, gathering the raptor up in his arms before giving it a little scratch under the chin. "Did I scare you?"

    German trilled again, almost a purr, and butted Edom''s hand with his nose. What this meant, Edom had no idea, but he gave his companion one more pat before setting him back down. German prowled around Edom''s ankles protectively the entire way back to his Core barracks.

    There weren''t many of the original Ocearius Core left, and replacements weren''t coming. Their temp-camp barracks, therefore, were quieter then most. The only other one Edom saw outside was Gile S., whittling on the steps.

    Oh, good. She''s still alive. He grinned, waving at her when she raised her head and noticed him.

    "Edom R.," she said sternly, rising from her seat. "We all thought you were dead for good this time. What do you have to say for yourself?"

    Edom just gave her a puppy-dog look, holding out his arms hopefully. She crossed her arms, her electronic purple eyes narrowing.

    "No hug. I''ve been sitting here alone for a week while you were recovering. You owe me a drink - at least a drink - before you get any hugs out of me."

    "But I''ve been wounded and dead," Edom insisted. "That''s not my fault, is it?"

    "Nonetheless, take me to get a drink when we hit home-base again," Gile said stubbornly. "Until then, let''s keep things professional. I''m assuming you''re off duty tonight?"

    "The physician was worried about something shutting down again, so I''m out for twenty-four hours. You?"

    "We''re joining forces with Ariers Core - Dagger Unit to raid Witherling Fort at dawn. The commander wants to take it before the rebels realize how dead they are and sell it back out to the Alliance for favors. Do you mind if I borrow German for the raid, since you won''t be coming?"

    Edom rubbed his familiar''s head, ruffling the fake dinosaur''s blue-green crest feathers. "I suppose, though I''ll worry. But you like fighting alongside Gile, don''t you, German?"

    The raptor hissed, distracted, then streaked off after a bird he had spotted.

    "It should be an easy assignment," Gile said, sitting back down and picking up her whittling again. "The fort hasn''t been theirs'' for long, and the garrison hasn''t received any reinforcements."

    "Don''t jinx it." Edom tapped his foot three times on the ground to ward off evil luck, and Gile rolled her eyes at him.

    "Luck doesn''t pay any attention to us, remember?"

    "So say the dragons, but have they ever been undead?" asked Edom pointedly.

    "It''s superstition, E. Nothing more then silly superstition. How can tapping your foot a certain number of times effect anything at all?"

    "Magic."

    Gile sighed in frustration. "That''s your answer for everything you can''t explain," she grumbled, and Edom smiled broadly.

    "Yep."

    "Go jump in a lake."

    German returned, a dead bird in his mouth. He laid it at his master''s feet and began preening proudly.

 (Jin) Brotherly Tension: Part 1/2

    <hr>

    The street lights in this part of city were dim, a perpetual ¡°money saving¡± tactic that left almost the entire district in near-blackness from dusk until dawn. For humans, it was miserable ¨C a source of paranoia and fear ¨C but humans weren''t the only ones living in substrict PL-50913.

    Jin walked close to the buildings, almost hugging the walls. His dark jacket and pants gave him as much casual camouflage as could be expected on a budget, but he still needed every inch of darkness he could get. From across the empty street, with dim, flickering lights, it was definitely possible to escape notice... unless they were specifically looking for a victim.

    The group of young men on the other side of the road certainly weren''t trying to hide, which is how Jin had seen them from so far away. Light glinted off their silver chains and slick black jackets; not streetlight, either, but the green, blue, and purple neon of their own clothes glow-wire patterns.

    It looked downright embarrassing to Jin, but that was ¡°fashion¡± in the Heartlands now. Sparkles, glowing lights, and extravagant trinkets ¨C the look of the future.

    Just slip past and keep going.

    He was almost parallel with them, now, but there was one more streetlight he had to walk under. If they weren''t paying attention, if they weren''t watching for just--

    ¡°Hey, you! Hold up a second.¡±

    Jin winced, hunching slightly to brace for some unseen attack. There was no way he could have missed the obnoxiously loud call, but he didn''t react. I''ve got headphones or a clip or something. Leave me alone.

    Footsteps, splashing against the damp road. Jin bolted.

    He made it five streetlights before a hand caught the back of his jacket, the sudden change in pace making his worn shoes slip. He let himself fall, lunged into it, and the guy behind him oofed in surprise as he was yanked to the ground, too. Jin yanked himself out of the weakened grasp with a roll, got his feet back under him, and--

    Too late. The rest of the guys had caught up, loosely blocking his way, and though at first they all just looked annoyed, Jin could see the progression of shock, then anger, in each of their faces as they finally got a look at his face.

    ¡°Vamp.¡±

    Jin grimaced, instinctively cleaning the fangs hidden behind tightly-closed lips with his tongue. It didn''t matter if they were visible or not, if they were bloody or not ¨C his red eyes were all the evidence humans needed to draw their conclusions.

    ¡°Looking pretty healthy for a filthy blood-sucker,¡± one of the young men spat, more to his buddies then to Jin. ¡°Who have you been chewing on today? I want to take them your fangs as a present.¡±

    Jin resisted the urge to punch the human in the teeth and instead shrugged his jacket off his right shoulder. The shirt sleeve beneath had been partially cut out, revealing the glowing lines inserted between the layers of his pale skin.

    "I''m sponsored, moron," he snapped, turning slightly to make sure the identifying code was clearly visible. "So back off unless you want trouble with Imptuus."

    Two of the five humans seemed taken aback, but the others weren''t impressed.

    "You''re suppose to have those displayed at all times," sneered one of these. "Who''d make trouble over a vampire stupid enough not to display his ownership code when walking around suspiciously at night?"This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    Then, to Jin''s surprise, one of the younger men spoke up in what could have been interpreted as his defense. "Guys, my dad owns a share in Imptuus. They do use vampires in the necromancy department."

    "They should keep their vampires under control, then!" snapped the big leader. "It''s only to be expected blood-suckers are going to get hurt if they wander around where they shouldn''t be."

    "I''m making a delivery," Jin said, a truthful statement in the right context. Three, if not four, of the gang still looked ready to attack despite his sponsorship.

    "Let''s just leave him and get a drink somewhere cleaner," the semi-reasonable one suggested, shooting Jin a glare. "I don''t want to get in deep for ruining some Imptuus project. They''re big enough they might make trouble over a vampire just for the public attention.¡±

    Jin saw a chance and took it. The humans were debating, and the harder it would be to catch him and leave him for dead, the better the chances that they would take their buddy''s advice. He ducked between two of them and dashed into the nearest alley, his shoes slapping loudly on the wet concrete.

    He didn''t stop running for two blocks, then ducked into a dark corner and listened. The same drizzle that had made his footsteps so easy to track also made it easy to hear pursuers, and it seemed laziness had won out over blind hatred. Or, Jin hoped so. If these guys were sneaking around the streets trying to find him again, they were way past being bullies and were heading straight toward actual psycho.

    The run-in had put him a little off track, but he knew these streets like the inside of his eyelids. His destination wasn''t far.

    ~~

    Wright Alley was as miserable and industrious as ever when Jin finally came back. Abandoned dumpsters that hadn''t been used in decades were lined up on their sides, their lids now doors to cramped compartments. The vampires who couldn''t get dumpsters had built cardboard fortresses, or lean-tos made out of discarded metal sheets, and there was even an old dysfunctional van at the very end of the derelict, dead-end alley, home to the Marcel vampire clan. Jin could see the three little kids now, or at least their fingers, as they drew sparingly on one of the dirty windows.

    The makeshift homes were mostly empty, for despite the number of vampires who lived here in shifts, most were away at this hour, seeking work or food. They weren''t blood-suckers, whatever the humans said. The Wright Alley vampires had a stubborn code of no-victims, and everyone in the alley either found work and legitimately earned food, or starved. Members who went feral were kicked out by the rest of the alley, no excuses and no second-chances. It was an unspoken deal with the local law for letting them to stay in peace.

    Jin wasn''t looking for the Marcel kids, though, or the few day-workers passed out in abandoned sleeping spots. His contact never left the alley.

    K''won sat beneath his little lean-to of cardboard boxes and an old sheet, carving patterns into broken pieces of concrete. The paralytic vampire hadn''t been able to find work for a decade, but he watched the youngest vampires when their parents were gone trying to scrap up a meal and he had a great imagination for story-telling, so no one in Wright Alley begrudged him his few feet of land.

    "Hey, K''won," called Jin as he approached, and the other vampire cracked a crooked but genuine smile.

    "Hi, Jin. It''s been a while since your last visit... is everything going fine at the big company? You and your brother really busy?"

    "Sorta, but the main problem was that Aven has been breathing down my neck and wouldn''t let me get away," Jin replied with a hint of irritation, plopping down on the cold pavement next to the cripple. He dug a plastic water bottle, full of cycled blood, out of his pocket. "Still, today I did get away, so here''s dinner."

    If their noble ancestors had been alive today, they would have been horrified at the notion of a vampire drinking blood drained from dead people destined to become zombies. As it was, K''won handled the bottle like it was made out of gold.

    "This is a lot," he breathed, then gave Jin a shrewd look. "Have you been shorting yourself to fill this for me and the kids?"

    "Nope, though I may have been shorting Aven," joked Jin, but then his smile faded and his tone turned bitter. "He doesn''t drink his blood anyway, he''s been taking the injection stuff Alternanites is promoting. Apparently the bosses want to see if it''s a viable alternative for actual blood, and he''s always so very eager to please the big bosses."

    "I don''t blame him," K''won said a little sadly, setting the bottle aside for now. "If I had a sponsor, I''d do anything I could to please them. too."

    Jin snorted. "I wish you did. I wish you could have one of his sponsors; he''s certain got enough of them. Imptuus alone could pull the entire alley out of the dark, as easy as they like."

    "You were very lucky," K''won admitted. "Just don''t take it for granted. I really do appreciate you coming down here to visit us so often, but doesn''t Imptuus have work for you to do? You said you worked under the dragon mage - isn''t that an important job? None of us here would want you to risk being disowned when you''ve finally escaped vampire fate."

    "But I haven''t," Jin retorted, and his already dark-red eyes brightened into angry scarlet. "Aven has, but I haven''t. He can live in this nice little fantasy where everything is peachy and everyone likes him and there''s no thirst, but he never comes out. He''s let himself forget what it was like for everyone else." He picked up a pebble and flicked it across the broken concrete ground. "I kinda hate him for that, K''won. You and everyone else, barely scrapping by out here... and he''s back there concerned about his interview with yet another stinking sponsor, and where they can find room on his arms to put the code."

    K''won leaned back against the wall, troubled. ¡°Have you talked to him about it?"

    "Of course I have!" Jin exclaimed. "All the time. But he says that if someone wanted to sponsor you guys, then they would, and he doesn''t have the right to ask them to if they don''t, or even suggest it, or..." He huffed, frustrated. "He won''t lift a finger, because what happens to you guys doesn''t matter to him! He''s an obsequious traitor, and doesn''t care what happens to his own people."

 (Aven) Brotherly Tension: Part 2/2

    The coffee-maker gurgled, the last drips of dark brew falling one by one into a heavy metal decanter. Aven, personal assistant to the head of the necromancy-division, glanced at his watch before sliding the decanter off the heater and onto the metal tray waiting to receive it.

    5:20 AM, and still no sign of Jin.

    If he''s late again...

    Miss Avanay, even with her mind on everything at the same time, had already noticed his brother''s repeated tardiness. She didn''t seem to weigh it very heavily considering what else she dealt with daily, but the fact that their boss had noticed at all made Aven anxious.

    One negative report from Miss Avanay to the companymen upstairs, and Jin could lose sponsorship. And that could be worse, in the long run, then having never had a sponsor at all.

    The possibilities, the thought of what they might be driven to, made Aven''s chest constrict, but his hands remained steady as he backed through the swinging doors into the necro-lab.

    Miss Avanay was already there; indeed, her disheveled appearance suggested she had never left the previous evening. Her dragonic eyes were dark from sleep-deprivation, her black hair stuck out in odd directions, and her tufted tail twitched erratically like it always did when she got agitated. In this state, she circled the same three cyborg corpses from yesterday, examining them with an intensity bordering on mania.

    "Good morning, Miss Avanay. I''ve brought you some coffee," he said, startling the dragon-woman out of her trance-like pacing.

    "Oh, Aven. Good morning? Is it working hours already?"

    "Yes, ma''am." Aven put his little tray on a side table and began to work. First the coffee, poured into her favourite morning mug - the one with a little cartoon true-dragon curled around the circumference, himself holding a cup - then in went the sweet cream and a sprinkle of spice. He turned, handing the finished project to Miss Avanay quickly enough that she could still see the cream swirling amid the coffee before they finished mixing.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Aven was rewarded with her little smile as Miss Avanay watched the swirling clouds, then her sigh of contentment after that first sip.

    She had never told him how to make her coffee; he had figured it out on his own. She had never even mentioned that she liked watching the clouds in her coffee, but one incidental glance had been all he needed. That one extra smile made it worth the effort.

    Even her tail-twitching slowed slightly after a few sips of coffee. Finally, with a heavier, less happy sigh, she looked back at the work tables.

    "I''m just not quite sure,¡± Miss Avanay admitted. "This one," she motioned at one of the cybernetically-repaired corpses, "just feels wrong to me, after all. What do you think?"

    Aven looked at the dead human critically. His family didn''t have an ounce of magic in their tree, nor did he know anything professionally about cyber enhancements, but for some reason Miss Avanay seemed to be interested in his opinion on these things.

    Or, more honestly, his instinct.

    "I don''t know, ma''am," he said honestly. "It seems like any other cyborg we get through here to me. Except I don''t like his facial hair."

    Miss Avanay nodded, as if the dead person''s grooming habits in life meant everything. "No, no, you''re right. This is no good, no good at all. I shall have to send that one back, tell Tech to scrap it. Thank you, Aven. Would you send your brother to let them know to expect it?"

    ¡°O-of course, ma''am. Do you need me for anything else right away?¡±

    ¡°No, no, go get breakfast. Thank you, my lad.¡±

    ~~

    Aven leaned against the elevator wall as it rose to the Tech Center, letting the shudder of mechanical movement sink to his bones.

    Jin.

    Criminally-irresponsible. That was the only way to describe his younger brother''s behavior. They were legally bound to do everything Miss Avanay - as the official and signed representative of Imptuus, their corporate sponsor - said. That made it Aven''s personal law as well. Jin, on the other hand, had never held his signature on that contract as seriously as it deserved. In fact... he treated the whole affair with contempt.

    Even Miss Avanay, who had always treated them so kindly, he looked at with a total lack of respect. That, more then anything, made Aven''s heart sink into his stomach.

    If it had just been Imptuus in general Jin hated, Aven could understand that. They hadn''t been kind to Jin in the brothers'' early years with the company. But Miss Avanay had gotten them out of their former arrangement, granted them more freedom then they had ever had. She, at least, deserved to be obeyed.

    He just hates the whole world. Aven let his shoulders sag. Teenagers. He had no idea how to handle them.

 (Jade) The Isle of Deaths Wind

    On one of the hundreds of uncharted islands, nearly invisible at the edge of the Archipelago of the Dragons, there stood an ancient ruin of a city. Tiny, by the standards of the Alliance Heartlands; only a few hundred buildings lining the roads that twisted back and forth up the rocky slope. At the top, perched upon the sheer cliffs where the sea had dragged half the land into the depths, there stood the burned and ruined remains of a royal''s castle.

    There was little life left on the island. Trees grew twisted and small, only surviving where the rock gave way to soil deep enough for roots to take hold. Grey seabirds humankind had never seen cried at the cliffs, but the city lay quiet. The animals which skulked within were as silent as the grave.

    And speaking of graves...

    Near the peak of the island, the town abruptly turned into a cemetery, one which spread on either side of the castle to the very edges of the cliffs. History told of a plague, one which had ravaged the island and left every dragonman-and-woman upon it dead. It was only years later when travelers from another island came and found the skeletons, the last remaining stricken who had not even had the strength left to bury one another. After half the explorers died soon after of what must have been that self-same illness, one no dragonfolk could cure, the island was barred and left to decay.

    And yet, it was not empty.

    A figure stood upon the castle wall, her black robes fluttering about her in the harsh ocean breeze.

    ¡°I love this island for its history, my dear. It is a place of defeat, of failure. Where dragonkind lost to death.¡±

    Proud antlers formed a natural crown upon her head, and her dark dragonic skin gleamed like polished gemstones. She stood alone, save for the wind.

    ¡°It is bathed in tragedy, drunk on blood. There are tales here darker even then what we always suspected, aren''t there?¡±

    The wind laughed for her.

    ¡°Darker, deeper, blacker with blood,¡± he said, his breath hissing too fast through his bared teeth. ¡°Years and years I have waited, watched; they had a thousand terrible tales. Tales for you.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    The dragonwoman smiled, her bright teal eyes hard and cold with wicked anticipation. ¡°Tales for me... tales to inspire. Tell me another, my dear. One of the tales you crafted for me.¡±

    ~~

    Years before the plague came which killed them all, the dragon Royal of the island was ruled by twins. Their father had named neither his heir, dying in his delusions and denouncing all his family as traitors and spies. The twins, sister and brother, ruled side by side for a time, but they could not take the titles of the Royal that might have been expected. Brother and Sister could not be King and Queen.

    So it was that there a divide began to grow in the land. A faction arose eager to see the sister on the throne, and a faction like it determined to have the brother sit in the place of his father. They were quiet at first, merely keeping their opinions as the princelords and ladies debated, but then the people began to discuss amongst themselves. Discussion became argument, and arguments turned into fights.

    Seeing that the entire Royal would soon be riled to a state of civil war, the sister and brother took themselves aside. They had their nobles lock them within a room, with the stipulation that they were only to be allowed out again once both sister and brother agreed on who should be named ruler of the Royal.

    The nobles went to the people and spread the word; the heirs of the last King were deciding amongst themselves who would step aside, and who would sit upon the throne. The people, hearing this, were calmed for a moment, but the wind of the island was thick with strife, and contention. It stirred in their hearts and riled their passions, and though the nobles commanded peaceable conduct, there was no order against the use of the voice.

    Those who supported the sister stood upon one side of the castle, all along the edge of the cliff, and called to her within. ¡°The Royal speaks! We would have you be our Queen!¡± they called. ¡°Do not give up the throne, our Queen!¡±

    Those who supported the brother stood upon the other side of the castle, all along the edge of the cliff, and called to him within. ¡°You are our King!¡± ¡°''Tis a King the Royal needs, not a Queen!¡±

    And the twins, who had entered that closed off room with the best of intentions, to talk and listen with open minds for the sake of the people, had not thought to lock the windows. The sound of the crowds, and the wind of strife, flitted through the chamber of discussion, and pride was stirred in both hearts. Their discussions became argument, and their arguments became fighting.

    The nobles obeyed the command of the twins, but after three days one young Prince stole the key and unlocked the chamber, sensing death. He saw within they who would have been King and Queen, each dead by the other''s hand, and over them loomed a shadowy figure. The specter of death, the Windward Scythe, in whose hand rested the reaping blade of air that could stir any heart towards madness.

    The Prince locked the chamber once more, went down to the other nobles, and conquered the Royal for his own.

 An Essay on Necromancy: The History and Practical Use of Taming Death

    An Essay on Necromancy: The History and Practical Use of Taming Death as an Art Form (Not an art form.)

    Written by Grey M. (Corrections and editing-advice by Aly)

    Rough Draft V 1.0 1.2 1.3

    <hr>

    Necromancy. The practice of reattaching the souls of the recently-deceased to their own rotting corpses, their souls enslaved to the will of the necromancer. Though a nightmarish concept, necromancy has been an established part of the world (loose use of words- be more specific) for far longer then we humans might think.

    The practice of necromancy was first revealed in 56 AR, when, upon the decisive defeat of the Vampire Illuminati, which controlled the governments of every major and almost every minor country in the civilized world (you can keep the word "Illuminati", but skip the conspiracy theory) the dragonfolk of the Dragon Isles reached out and established modern relations with mankind. Though their existence had long been expected, no one knew the full truth behind the mysterious islands of the Devil''s Sea - the Sea of the Dragons. It is said that even now, the magic storms that keep the islands hidden from satellite or plane hide secrets we cannot imagine, a civilization fully alien to humans, dragonic powers so outlandish our minds would break from witnessing the effects of them. (Unnecessary tangent. Replace with a paragraph about when necromancy actually hit the mainstream, or the First Zombie War - something relevant to the topic.)

    Though the dragonfolk are far from the monstrous beasts of lore, their magical powers are straight out of legend. A dragonfolk necromancer possesses the innate ability to see into the realm of death, a parallel reality to ours. What it looks like, no man knows, but the necromancers somehow use their connection to this reality to talk to ghosts and convince them to get back into their bodies, where they are trapped until the necromancer chooses to release them. (Fact Check: Zombies can be destroyed.)The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    These zombies were historically used for cheap labor by the ancient dragonfolk, mostly to build monuments that would have taken years to build without undead hordes, but after they entered the modern age, some dragonfolk began lending out their services for other purposes, like solving crimes, clarifying final wishes, and, most recently, to fight in wars. (Watch your run-on sentences.) Today, with the Humans First Movement, the testimony of the undead in courts of law is under scrutiny (awkward statement - tighten it up) as they are, by nature, controlled by dragonfolk, but as combatants zombies are unquestionably an asset to Alliance security. (Fact Check: HFM does in fact question this. Look up "Human Purity Movement".)

    There is no doubt that necromancy has only just begun to be utilized outside the Dragon Isles, and there may be far more potential in necromancy then we''ve learned about so far. (Read that sentence out loud, then clean it up.) Dragonfolk are notoriously tightlipped about their ancient magic, but they can''t keep their secrets forever. Not only are we learning more about the processes behind raising the undead then ever before, but the day may come when man learns to see into the realm of death. When that day comes, the world will be changed forever.

    (This is not one of your short stories; it''s an essay. End with a conclusion, not a dramatic declaration. 173 words short without the padding. You''ll get it this time. ~A)

 (Diem) Society of the Hive

    Meae awoke from her birth-trance to find a hatch-mother standing nearby, washing her hands in a basin. When the hatch-mother saw she was awake, she smiled reassuringly and reached with a left arm for the large towel hanging by the wall.

    "Congratulations, young-mother. Two eggs, though one did turn out runt. Still, for your first time, two could have been difficult. You handled it very well."

    Meae smiled in response, leaning back on her pillow with exhausted relief. "Thank you, elder-mother," she said weakly. However well her elder claimed she was, Meae felt more tired then she had ever felt before. Being a mother seemed a lot more tiring then tending the orchards.

    The hatch-mother gestured with one of her four hands at where Meae''s two eggs lay in their special padded tray. Indeed, one did look smaller and rather wrinkled compared to its twin, and Meae felt a little stab of shame for producing it.

    "What happens now?" she asked, looking back at the hatch-mother.

    "We can, of course, take your egg to the hatch nursery, and take care of it for you until maturity. However, this is your first, and you may always choose to take the egg home and tend it yourself. Young-mothers always seem to enjoy raising their first daughter on their own, before the process becomes tedious. But you are under no obligation to do so - it is simply an option."

    Meae immediately knew she wanted to take her little daughter-to-be home. Hatchlets were so adorable, and she hardly ever had reason to be near them. Then she hesitated, looking again at the shameful runty egg.

    "And this one, it''s truly a dead-egg?"

    The hatch-mother shrugged. "No, not dead, just runt. It may and probably would hatch, but the little daughter would be weak and feeble, and the hive cannot support weak daughters."

    "But... it could be a daughter," Meae protested. "It might live."

    "Even if you did nurse the egg to maturity," the hatch-mother said patiently, "it would then be thrust into our world weaker then others, unable to work and provide, and a mother cannot provide for a daughter after she reaches the age of maturity. And First Mother knows the runt would be no use in child-bearing. It is more merciful to simply burn the egg now, trust me."

    A cold feeling settled into Meae''s chest. She looked at the eggs for a long, long moment.

    "Elder-mother, I want to take home the runt egg."

    "No, young-mother, that isn''t a wise decision. You will only have to watch the child die later in life when she can no longer keep up with the hive."

    "I want to call upon my Mother''s Right to keep one of the eggs of my clutch to raise myself, and I choose the runt egg," Meae said firmly. "That is my decision to make, and I have made it."

    The hatch-mother sighed deeply, but nodded her head. "It is your right, but I fear you have made a poor decision, young one. The runt egg you shall have. We will let you know when the healthy egg hatches, but you have given up that child for this one." She gestured at the small, wrinkled egg. "I pray to the First Mother you don''t end up regretting this, young-mother."

    ~

    Meae returned to her chamber with the runt egg carefully held against her chest. She had longed for this moment ever since her maturity rite, and it hardly mattered to her that it was a small, deformed little thing. She had born two eggs, and she wasn''t prepared to let the hatchery tenders throw one of them into the fires.

    It was hardly alive yet, but it would be. And that, Meae thought, was more then enough reason.

    Her chamber, a simple hole in the walls of a hive grand chamber, had always seemed a little large for herself alone, but now she saw why all living-chambers were made this size. Common mothers only ever had one daughter living with them at a time, and the chamber was just the right size for two to sleep and interact. She laid the egg down on the second bench bed, then dug under the bed for the storage containers she hadn''t looked in since she got the chamber years ago.

    All the things she would need to raise her egg, save food. Blankets and a pillow, a wash basin, the guide for egg tending and hatchlet raising... all manner of miscellaneous items that would, she knew, be vital to the caring for her little one.

    "This will be just perfect," she whispered to the egg, tucking it into the smallest of the blankets and picking up the guide. "Just you wait, little one. I am going to do my very best to raise you up strong and as capable as anyone.

    "You''ll survive, I know you will."

    ~ ~

    The great orchards lay outside the hive, and stretched for as far as the eye could see. Meae worked alongside her hive-sisters, as she had since she was half-raised, but now every few minutes saw her looking up to eye the distant hive, and worry.

    Her little Deim would be at lessons still, under the watchful eye of a teaching-mother, but... the teaching-mothers were not particularly understanding of her little daughter''s weaknesses. Nor were the other hatchlet children. And so Meae looked to the hive frequently and thought of her daughter, and her hive-sisters shook their heads at one another in knowing ruefulness.

    It''s only a matter of time, they whispered. If Meae does have a runt for a daughter... she will learn a mother''s sorrow sooner then is good for her.

    Not that they knew, or understood. Even those who raised their own daughters in the same cycle as Meae had normal daughters. They thought she should have taken the healthy egg, let the hatch-mothers do what they would with the runt.

    Deim, however, had more then proven her worth to Meae, whatever the others whispered. Nothing had given Meae more pleasure then sitting with her daughter on her knee, teaching her letters and numbers, telling her stories. And nothing gave her more pride then when Deim came back from a lesson with her black eyes bright, explaining happily how she had done this activity well, or answered that question for the teaching-mother.

    Her little-daughter was waiting for her when she got back home from the orchards, scratching away at a slate with chalk. When she heard Meae she jumped up, ran to grab one of her legs, and dangled on it all the way to their table.

    "Mother-mine, today we were learning about hive politics, and the Queen-Mother. Are you going to be a Queen-Mother some day?"

    Meae put the rations she had earned from the day''s work on the table, then bent to pick Deim up for a hug. She tickled her fingers along Deim''s ridged back, making her giggle. "No progress with wings yet, little-daughter? Ah, but you are so curious and bold for a daughter with no wings. No, I have no intention of being a Queen-Mother. They are the mothers of the Hive-Father, and leader to us all. That is not what I want from life."

    Deim wiggled excitedly. "Teaching-Mother Iile mentioned the Hive-Father, but she said that was going to be in a later lesson. Who is the Hive-Father, Mother? Is she like the Queen-Mother? A great leader?"This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Meae hmmed, putting her daughter down. She sat down on her bed and thought for a moment. "That''s complicated, my dear little daughter. How to explain... the Hive-Father is not a she, firstly. It is... something almost like us, but it cannot move or speak or think like we do. It is very useless, except to help mothers have children like you. It is no leader, but we could not exist without it."

    Deim cocked her head. "How do we get a Hive-Father, then? Do we grow it, like we do the orchard trees for food?"

    "No, no, an elder-mother can give birth to a Hive-Father like they give birth to us, except that the Hive-Father is born stupid and useless. The hatch-mothers have to be very careful raising it, or it would die because it is incapable of looking after itself."

    Deim''s eyes flicked to the floor. "Oh. Like me, then?"

    "You are not stupid," Meae corrected firmly, picking Deim up again. "Nor are you useless. You are more curious and eager to learn then any other little-daughter I know of, and you have a wonderful imagination."

    "But I can''t take care of myself," Deim protested. "That''s what the others say; that I was born a runt and I won''t be big and strong enough by my maturity rite to help the hive."

    "That is nonsense. You will help the hive greatly, my dearest. In your own way."

    And yet, as Deim brightened and hurried to the table for dinner, Meae''s smile faded a little. Whatever she told her little-daughter... Deim was small, she was scrawny, and she was unusual. She didn''t fit in with the others, and Meae''s hive-sisters and the elder-mothers knew it. They would not be forgiving when Deim was supposed to take her oath as a mature worker and mother-potential of the hive, and was found lacking.

    Meae''s eyes fell over the scratches of chalk on the slate tablet, a rough picture of the teaching chamber Deim went to. Her determination returned.

    Whatever happened, she would not let her precious little-daughter be killed for being weak. Whatever it took, she was determined that Deim should live out a full life... somehow.

    ~ ~ ~

    Meae returned from the birthing-rooms tired and drained, and empty-handed. Another egg, a single one this time but a perfectly healthy one. She had given it over to the hatch-mothers without complaint.

    Deim still needed her. She was almost half-raised, and soon she would begin learning to work the orchards. Meae wasn''t ready to give her up yet for another egg, not when that healthy egg would live a perfectly normal childhood in the hands of the hatch-mothers.

    She reached her chambers and immediately lay down to rest. Someone had brought a bottle of nectar and fruit for dinner, and Meae would be allowed another week of Mother''s privileges before she had to go back to the orchards. For now, though, she was too weary to eat or drink anything. She just had to sleep.

    She woke up to find Deim at the doorway of their chambers, tears streaming down her angular face. Meae sat up slowly, still a little achy, and motioned her daughter to come give her a hug.

    "What is it, my precious little-daughter?" she asked gently, wrapping all four arms around her. "Did someone at lessons say something cruel?"

    Deim sniffled, hiccuped. "You c-can''t feel anything back there, can you, Mother? My wings still aren''t coming it. I''m near halfway to my maturity rite, and my wings still... still haven''t started coming in. And Eeja from Group Four is already learning to hover. The others s-say... they say I''m never getting my wings, that I''ll be a h-hatchlet forever." She buried her head in Meae''s shoulders. "They make fun of me, say I still smell of the hatchery and babies, and that''s where I b-belong. Teaching-Mother w-wouldn''t stop them! She kept looking at me like... like I was something n-nasty and... and... and useless!" The last words were nearly a wail, and Meae had no response at first. She just hugged Deim closer and tickled her back, like when she was just a hatchlet.

    Finally, Deim got her hiccuping under control, and managed, "I... I don''t smell like the hatchery, do I, Mother?"

    Meae smiled, and took a deep breath.

    And smelled the hatchery.

    "No, dearest," she said, then gestured at the wash basin under the table. "Wash up, we''ll eat, and we''ll talk. And I will hug you green and tell you what I saw in the orchard today."

    Deim sniffed and nodded, turning to head for the table. Meae eyed her back as she went, looking in vain for the starting signs of young wings.

    Nothing.

    She took another breath, quietly sniffing the air again. It wasn''t her - the smell of a Mother was very different from that of hatchlets and egglets. And yet... as Meae analyzed her daughter''s smell, she realized it wasn''t quite that of a young one, either. It did remind one of the hatchery, but...

    Different.

    Not different enough to confuse the other young in her lessons, but different enough that an adult could catch it. Not the Teaching-Mother, surrounded as Deim was by other young. It was truly frustrating, not knowing. She knew this smell, it was practically on the tip of her to--

    Realization struck her like a collapsed tunnel.

    She looked at Deim with new eyes, terrified eyes.

    "By the First Mother''s hidden name..." she whispered. "You''re not my daughter at all. You''re a little Hive-Father."

    <hr>

    In the office of Branen Saxone - Interstellar Intermediary

    "We hardly ever see any of your kind here at the embassy," Bran said smoothly, putting down a bowl of the native fruit in front of the alien at his desk. "Whatever can we do for you, ma''am?"

    The Ysetto bug-woman nervously took one of the fruit, keeping her other three hands clasped tightly in front of her. "I wouldn''t be here," she said slowly, her strong accent making his familiar language strange. "Except I know... I don''t know where else to turn."

    "What exactly is wrong? What are you running from?"

    "My sisters, my mothers. The hive. I fear my hive."

    "Why?"

    The young woman fiddled with her fruit for a long moment before replying. "My daughter... no, no. That''s not right. My... my..." She trailed off, obviously distressed, fumbling with her words. "M-my... not-daughter. She-- it is a Hive-Father, but not stupid. And I don''t know what to do. If it was a normal Hive-Father, the elder-mothers would want me to fight the queen for control of the hive, but I don''t want to be queen. And my daugh-- my..."

    The poor woman was nearly in tears by now, visibly shaking from pent-up anguish. Bran reached out, concerned, to take one of her twitching grey-blue hands in his own.

    "Ma''am, please, calm down. Do you mean your son?"

    "S-son?" she asked, taking a long, hiccuping breath. "What is a son?"

    "A male offspring," Bran said. "Your society doesn''t even have a word for it, I think, but in my language we call our male children ''sons''. They''re ''he'', not ''it'', and there''s a whole range of words used to refer to them."

    That, alone, seemed to calm her somewhat. To come so far from her hive, to turn to offworlders and aliens for aid, must have been terrifying for her, but now Bran saw something in her expression that suggested she was seeing hope again.

    "Sons... son. My... my son."

    "That''s right. Now, ma''am, I want to help you, but you need to tell me how. Are you wanting to flee this planet with your son?"

    "No!" she exclaimed. "Well, not me. Deim. She... I''m sorry, what was that word?"

    "He."

    "He. He can''t stay among the sisters. I was the first to notice, but others will as... as he matures. And he is not like those brainless Hive-Fathers, either. Deim deserves a fate different then locked away forever. It is something I''ve never seen, or heard of, and it... terrifies me. And I''m its mother!"

    "His mother. So you fear the other mothers will kill him if they find out?"

    "... I am afraid I do. I distrust my hive-sisters."

    Bran squeezed her hand comfortingly. "Don''t be afraid, ma''am. I can get your son offworld, and through the embassy you should be able to keep in contact with both of us. Are you sure you wouldn''t want to come as well? Any child would be scared of leaving their parent, and I know it''s true the other way around as well."

    "No, I can''t. I promised an oath to the Hive, I cannot break it." She took another deep breath. "When can you take my Deim?"

    Bran smiled. "Whenever you want, ma''am."

    "I would say farewell, first."

    "Right now, you mean?" asked Bran, surprised. This young alien had to be a stronger-willed mother then he suspected.

    "Now. I need to return, and if Deim comes with me, the others may discover and turn on..."

    "Him?"

    "Your language baffles me. They might kill him, if... he returns to the hive." She rose from her chair, putting her unbitten fruit back onto his desk. "Deim is just in the other room. I didn''t want he hearing this."

    "Take as much time as you need. I have a departure in three days, and until then I can keep him well out of the reach of your hive, even if they become suspicious. Don''t worry, he will be well looked after."

    She pressed her hands together, four clasped above her heart. "How can I ever repay you?"

    Bran shook his head with a smile. "Ma''am, I don''t need any payment. You have no one else to turn to on this planet, and I have traveled with stranger folk before. Believe me, I will be just as happy to have your son as a travel mate as you will be to have him off-planet."

    "You are most kind. Now... I must go say farewell to my son. And tell he what he really is..."

 Greys Interview

    The intercom crackled, the voice of the cashier barely coming through amid the static and electronic wheezing.

    "There''s a kid up front, says he has an interview scheduled. Should I send him back?"

    Jaxon Harrison set a box of dried meat-sticks (Kan-Farm''s Beef Best! 90% fewer calories! No added mutagens!) on the shelf and straightened with a grimace. Interviews. The little all-in-one store didn''t require much special attention from him as location manager - with Vicente backing him up on the night-shifts and the day-crews happy to handle their own affairs, he managed to get away barely giving any orders - but dealing with interviews was the one thing he couldn''t weasel out of. And now, with the roof racers coming into town for the season, it was time to bring on another night-shifter.

    Which meant...

    "Jax? Helloooo? Is the intercom broken again?"

    He reached for the box with a sigh. "I hear you, Vis. Go ahead."

    He only had a few moments now, but there wasn''t much to do ahead of time. There was no office in the store - he shoved a couple un-stacked crates away from the wall and took his clipboard off the nail on the wall, and that was that. Professionalism.

    The kid walked into the storage room, hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his lips, as if this was everyday-ordinary for him. His blue-grey eyes scanned over the metal shelves and crates of convenience store food with interest, but then landed and stayed fixed on Jaxon.

    Great. A confident teenager. Love it.

    "Hi there. Are you the manager?"

    Jaxon tried not to roll his eyes and instead sat down on one of the crates, gesturing at the other in case the kid needed a hint. "Yep. Jaxon Harrison. And you are?"The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "Grey. Didn''t you get my application?"

    Jaxon shrugged. "The assistant manager handled all those. She just said there would be an applicant stopping by tonight. So, Grey, what made you apply here?"

    Grey grinned. "I live about five minutes away, so I walk by often. Saw the help-wanted sign, needed a job, saw it was for the night shift, and I''m a natural night-owl, so... it just seemed perfect."

    There was something instantly likable about the kid''s tone. Eager but not naive, and confident but not arrogant. Jaxon felt his internal scowl loosening and quickly directed his gaze at the clipboard in his hands.

    "Perhaps it is. Just so you know, you''ll be expected to do just about anything that needs doing on this job. Sometimes you''ll be manning the counter, sure, but there is also cleaning, restocking, scheduling, taking calls... can you be flexible?"

    "As long as it''s trainable, I can learn it," Grey replied immediately. Jaxon nodded.

    "Good. Hours, 6:00 PM to 2:00 AM, Monday through Friday. Wage, $9.00 an hour to start, so a full circle a week. Though, if you can be flexible on hours, too, there are usually opportunities to get some extra time in on the weekend."

    "My weekends are usually busy, but I can work things out if you need someone urgently."

    "Right, those''re the basics. Any questions?"

    Grey nodded, his expression shifting to something slightly more serious. "Yes. I''ve heard this is an off-grid business, but is that true?"

    "Yep, fully off-grid. The chain is owned by a private business and we don''t accept any government-assigned employees."

    "What all does off-grid mean in a business sense? I mean, how would that effect me?"

    Jaxon thought for a minute. "Well, it means we don''t offer any government benefits, you can be fired at any moment, you can''t file job related complaints to the Employee Protection Office, you can quit at any moment, and no one is spying on you on the job. We don''t even have to send a record of your employment outside the chain."

    The serious look faded back into that easy, friendly smile. "In that case, when can I start?"

    Jaxon caught himself. Somehow, the kid''s confident assumption had almost gotten him, too.

    Ah, who am I kidding?

    "Get up and pick up that crate, kid. Welcome to the team."

 (Edom R.) End of a Mission: Part 1/3

    Fog twisted in the darkness, dulling what little moonlight made it past the clouds. The damp air clung to stone-cold skin, traced little rivers in the grooves of metal armor.

    The Disunionites crouched behind their stolen walls, clutching weapons taken from the dead on the battlefield, wearing the gear of Alliance soldiery. Rebels fought well when hitting from behind; they defended well when hiding in their broken "free" wilderness. What they weren''t so good at was standing ground against the Cores.

    The fort was as good as taken the moment glowing lines of cybersoldiers appeared out of the fog.

    A hundred Ariers units formed the vanguard, ballistic weapons in hand and Ex-raptors prowling at their knees. The electric glow of cybernetics betrayed them, but Ariers weren''t meant for stealth. Their red lines and black uniforms, the sheer number of them compared to the older, smaller Cores, all contributed to their one defining characteristic - spreading fear.

    The Disunion soldier held up his empty hands, an outdated accent coloring his desperate surrender. Edom R. considered the man, his programming preventing any sense of pity for the terrified rebel, but there was enough pale curiosity to allow him to hold back the killing blow.

    It nagged him, the knowledge that he had no more idea what would happen to the rebel after surrender then the rebel himself did. Was it even worth accepting surrenders? It wasn''t a mandate; he didn''t have to. Their ancestors had all signed their death warrants when they joined the Disunity Pact.

    A Forbidden thought attempted to surface and was blocked from higher up the chain. Edom gestured for the rebel to rise and sent a thought-command to German, ordering his Excire to herd the prisoner back to the prisoner drop off. His teal-streaked companion hissed a confirmation and nipped at the rebel''s heel to get him moving.

    A couple hundred disorganized men, armed with stolen weaponry, against the cyber-soldiers of the Alliance. Edom watched as what prisoners the rest of the Cores had taken were escorted back to base, almost awed by their...

    He didn''t even have a word for it. What emotion, forbidden or otherwise, could drive individuals to fight impossible odds? Was it just broken programming inside their living heads, making them act erratic? What drove those who did not live beneath the driving mind of a dragon?

    His thoughts wandered, but no answers came.

    With no immediate orders to follow, Edom joined the rest of Ocearius Core as they gathered at their deployment point. The fifty-unit Core had been reduced to ten over the last two years, and German one of only seven Ex-raptors left to serve them. It might look pitiful to an outsider, looking from the hundreds-strong Ariers Core in their circle of red to the ten teal Ocearius units in a tiny line, but to Edom this was home. It made a little spark of warmth - probably just some quirk of the electronics that ran through his body - glow in the middle of his cold chest.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    "Good to see you survived," whispered Gile S. as she slipped into line beside him. "Oh, and Edom, too."

    Edom grinned as she bent to scratch German beneath the chin. The raptor tilted up into her hand and thrilled deep in his throat, and Edom didn''t need their combat-link to be active to feel the undead-dinosaur''s pleasure.

    "Back at you, Gile."

    Then, from further down the line, "Tsst!"

    Gile S. straightened sharply and Edom called German to heel, and in a heartbeat the line was back to perfect. The debriefing officer was still a fair distance away, but it wouldn''t do to be caught behaving lax.

    Debriefing Ocearius was easy. The Ariers officers would be gathering reports for hours, but the one balding lieutenant sent to Edom''s core only had ten to gather. And cyber-soldiers knew how to keep it quick.

    "Eleven enemy mortalities, six raptor-assisted," Edom listed off at his turn. "One prisoner taken, sent for interrogation. No injuries to report. Awaiting further orders."

    "Report to the CSC tent after dismissal," commanded the officer, marking down the numbers on his clipboard. "Gile S., report."

    Edom blinked, somewhat surprised. That was different.

    And it was just him. Everyone else got the same orders - "Return to your barracks after dismissal." Cyber-Soldier Command was... out of the ordinary.

    "Ocearius Core, dismissed."

    Edom caught Gile S.''s wrist. "Take German with you?" he asked quietly, and she nodded wordlessly. German wasn''t nearly as eager, but he obediently followed behind as she walked away, though not without a glance back at Edom accusingly.

    Sorry, buddy. Excires aren''t welcome in Command.

    He felt unusually alone, walking to the edge of cyber-camp. He passed the medical tents, passed the critically-damaged Ariers units waiting for repair or recalled. CSC stood alone, past all the commonly-used cyber facilities, between cyber-camp and the temporary quarters for their living counterparts. Walking to CSC felt almost like trespassing, and it didn''t help Edom''s peace of mind that no one felt the need to censor that thought as it entered his head.

    Unmodified living humans moved back and forth between the half-dozen temporary structures that made up Cyber-Soldier Command. Monitoring stations, communications, the strategy room... Edom had never been to any of them, but he knew them from rumor. The CSC tent, though, the only one that would be any of his business, was the commander''s, marked by a narrow banner. Edom let his mind go blank and presented himself to the guards outside with a salute.

    "Edom R., Ocearius, reporting as requested."

    One guarded tapped his clip, the external communication device half the Alliance had tucked around their ears, and announced Edom''s arrival. A moment later, Edom was nodded into the tent.

    CS Commander inspired a lot of things - awe, fear, respect - but it was all just safe-guarding. Edom saw a fairly ordinary-looking middle-aged man in uniform, and everything inside his head screamed "Superior. Obey!" at him.

    The commander glanced at Edom as he entered, then at the flat computer on his desk, then back up at Edom. No small-talk, no formalities. Just the sentence.

    "You''re being recalled."

 (Edom R.) End of a Mission: Part 2/3

    The Alliance Heartlands stretched from horizon to horizon, a seemingly never-ending line of cityscapes pushing for room on the continent. Somewhere to the south, the city-states became farming-states; massive climate-controlled domes each with their own closed culture, and each of which shipped mind-boggling amounts of food out to the rest of the Alliance to keep the megasociety going. They were, apparently, covered in multi-level fields, as dense in vegetation as the cities were in metal, but Edom R. had a hard time imagining it.

    There was a lot of metal in the city.

    He stepped off the military helicopter that had brought him to the Heartlands and tried, in vain, to take in the sheer amount of activity going on around him. The heliport was literally buzzing, dozens of different kinds of helicopters constantly taking off and landing in the grid of loading pads. Cargo-copters, government, passenger, emergency... near the back, a massive carrier-copter roared as it rose ponderously into the air, sending waves of air crashing against the safety-shields raised to keep it from interfering with the smaller aircraft. And the people.

    Edom had once thought that differentiating people was easy. The undead were pale and bloodless, their identification codes, circles and lines, visibly glowing beneath the skin of their upper arms. The living were similar, but without ID codes and with blood-pink skin.

    Not so in the Heartlands.

    He could barely process the color and light surrounding him. Law forbid non-medical cybernetic modification on living humans, but it did not forbid modification itself. A woman walked past Edom with shimmering, translucent wings hanging from her bare back like a cape, but they twitched and fluttered as if they were somehow alive. A man boarding nearby had gemstones set into his skin, glittering brilliantly whenever he moved or turned. Even those without dramatic physical-mods wore wildly different kinds of clothing all shining with glowwire, or had haircuts that made male peacocks look plain. Paradoxically, the efforts of every single person to look exotic made them all blend together in one mad vortex of sameness.

    Edom closed his eyes, blocked out the astonished curiosity that drew him to examine these Heartlanders in detail, and concentrated on the mission.

    Recall to Imptuus Headquarters. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    A grim mission, but it was a mission nonetheless. It ran through his decaying brain, hummed in his digital memory. Distractions might threaten to delay it on the surface level, but there was no disobeying the mission. Even when it ended in... the end.

    The living didn''t seem to realize this fact. Command had sent two soldiers to escort him to his final destination, though they were far from necessary. Edom knew exactly where IHQ was, because that''s where she was. Not even the mysterious controllers monitoring his thoughts and reactions could block an undead''s sense of the necromancer who had raised him.

    They didn''t like that thought. Edom almost smiled, but they could block his smug satisfaction at finding their one weakness. He merely acknowledged the fact and walked to the car the living soldiers had summoned for their use.

    The city was reduced to mere lines of bright-and-darkness as the car sped along a computer-controlled lightway. Hours of travel through state-wide raised highways and crowded streets became minutes, a blurring passage that left the living disoriented at best. Edom was enthralled by the process. They didn''t have lightways across the sea, in the Farlands - at least not inland - and he felt oddly soothed by the sheer speed of the vehicle.

    Blocked thought.

    He would never know what had just run through his mind. Something about computers... or vehicles? Ah well, such was unlife.

    The driver retook control on the cooldown strip and steered them out onto the highway. A different state, but similar landscapes. Towering skyscrapers and endless buildings, as far as the eye could see. Up ahead, Edom saw the Imptuus building... or, at least, one of them. Are there more then one?

    The soldiers didn''t say a word throughout the entire car ride. When the driver flashed an entry permit at the back entrance, explained their purpose to the guard at the gate, his voice almost startled Edom.

    "Delivering a recalled Ocearius unit. We have an appointment."

    That''s me. The thought was devoid of any feeling - they''d scrubbed it. Edom felt himself slipping. With every surge of energy through his bloodless body, they were censoring more and more. Why?

    In moments after hearing those words, Edom became blank. There were no appropriate reactions to the concepts he was being presented with, so he did not react. He got out of the car, saluted his escort after the tradition of undead-soldier to living-soldier, and walked toward the door the gate-guard had indicated.

    She was near. The end was near.

    The only thing left to him was surrender.

 (Edom R.) End of a Mission: Part 3/3

    A young man wearing the Imptuus silver-and-grey met Edom at the door. The cybersoldier automatically sized up this new individual for threat assessment; all other, more complex thoughts still denied him from higher up because-- blocked.

    Dark hair, pale skin, midnight-blue eyes, narrow and pointed ears... and a half-dozen faintly glowing identification codes visibly gleaming beneath his skin. Vampire. And yet his smile seemed sincere. A friendly.

    That thought, at least, They allowed him.

    "Hello, sir," said the vampire greeter when Edom reached the door, nodding his head politely. "My name is Aven, one of Miss Avanay''s assistants. May I ask for your designation, Unit, and Core?"

    Edom rattled off the information again, the exact same way he had a thousand times before. It was only after he finished that he thought to ask himself if it was still all accurate. Lance Unit was very far away, and he wasn''t going back...

    They will tell me when something changes, he told himself, and realized as he did that the restrictions were loosening. Whatever They hadn''t wanted him feeling must be receding. Pay attention.

    "Alright, this all matches up," said Aven brightly after checking his clipboard (the old-school kind, Edom noticed curiously). "Right this way then, sir."

    A notion, a question, occurred to Edom, and he eagerly took the non-offensive conversation topic as distraction from the --blocked-- holes in his brain. "You don''t have to call me sir," he offered as they walked into the white-walled hallway. "I''m not an officer, so everyone just calls me by my CS designation."

    "It doesn''t matter to me if you''re officer or not, or living or dead, sir," replied Aven immediately and seriously. "You''re human, so it''s only proper to be respectful."

    That triggered a Protocol Two concern - Alliance Living must always take priority over Alliance Undead - but Edom didn''t actually see any need to correct the misconception and They weren''t concerned, so he let it slide.

    The back hallways of the Imptuus building were barebones and utilitarian, clean more due to their relatively recent construction and disuse then from an actual need to make it presentable to the public. Edom tried to keep his curiosity in check, but he did inevitably notice the Necromancy Department sign over the stairs before they descended. After that, there was no helping it, not without intervention.

    This building, and this specific department, was as close to a home as Edom had. He had been brought back to a shadow of life here, and yet he barely remembered anything about it. Memories faded quickly in an unliving mind.

    Loading bays, off to the right. Cold Storage, directly opposite; that door was heavy, metal, and clearly locked tight. Aven took a turn further down towards Necromancer Labs, leaving Edom no choice but to turn with him away from halls marked "Cyber Storage" and "Armory".

    "Those end up back above ground," Aven commented when he noticed Edom''s lingering looks back the way they had come. "Miss Avanay is supposed to have access to all stages at all hours, but she rarely leaves our floor."Stolen novel; please report.

    Avanay...

    Edom knew they were getting close. The dragonwoman''s presence was almost like a vibration in his bones, or a sound inside his head. Not distracting, not a summons or a pointed thought, but just... there. And he had to consciously stop himself from quickening his step.

    Then Aven pushed open a pair of swinging doors, and as they opened, Edom spotted her.

    There was no mistaking the necromancer who held his life in her hands. The dragonfolk woman was examining some list on her digital Clip-board, pacing back and forth while her heavy, black-tufted tail flicked in time behind her. The only other visible remnant of her draconic nature were the pale antlers that rose from her jet-black hair, branching into seven points between the two of them.

    Edom straightened immediately, coming to attention on sheer instinct. There were no rules for this - according to the Alliance, she was just a temp-civ of little importance - but some things went beyond even Them.

    Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to the door opening, or the tiny ahem that Aven the assistant gave, but the moment the thought crossed Edom''s mind the dragonwoman whirled around, fixing large, black eyes on Edom''s mismatched ones without even hesitation.

    "I remember you!" she said at once, enthusiastically. "Edom R., the nineteenth Ocearius. You look the same as the day I raised you... well, barring a few replacement parts, but aside from that, you''ve held up well. My Impares, I miss working on the Ocearius..."

    "I await your command, sir." Edom fell back on habit to save him from the confusion of how to respond, though the fading of the Necromancer''s smile did make him feel a twinge bad.

    "Ah, yes, straight to business," she replied, bringing her enthusiasm back down to normal levels. "That is how they wanted you made. Alright, Aven, go ahead and give our friend the reassignment briefing, if you would?"

    That one word shot artificial adrenaline through Edom''s slow veins. "Reassignment?" he interrupted before the vampire could say anything. "But I was recalled. For decommissioning?"

    "You most certainly were not," snapped Avanay, and her tail tuft poofed slightly in agitation. "Ocearius does not need to be decommissioned. These new cheap Cores may only last a year or two, but you..."

    Her assistant cleared his throat politely, and took the conversation over from what looked to be the beginning of an indignant rant. "A new agreement has been proposed, between Alliance leadership and Imptuus, that would permit Alliance Military Cybersoldiers to be retired back to Imptuus if they pass their estimated decay-by date on the battlefield without becoming mentally or physically unfit for continued existence. The idea is to prolong the usefulness of extraordinarily endurant cybers by giving them new, less demanding jobs in the Alliance private sector while gradually replacing out-dated military models for newer Cores in the military."

    "Civilians pay the Alliance, the Alliance pays us, we make new cybers for the Alliance, civilians walk around with cybernetic soldiers." Miss Avanay''s tail twitched again, but her face and tone betrayed nothing.

    Edom couldn''t process the new information. His approved, military-oriented thought-set stalled somewhere along the line, so he just... stood by. He listened as the vampire and the dragonfolk explained, in detail, concepts he had no reference for, and quietly waited for someone to let him understand it all.

    Until that happened...

    I''m not about to die.

    The end of one mission... and the start of another. That, at least, he understood perfectly.

 (Jin) The Urge to Leap

    He stood at the edge of the building, staring down past dozens of twisting highways at the street far below. It was as clear as if he was standing on the ground, each crack in the pavement distinct and detailed, but he knew it was far, far away.

    He raised his eyes and fixed them on the roof opposite him.

    "I can make that," he said, or maybe he just thought it. He wanted to, he was about to, when something grabbed his shoulder from behind.

    "You can''t," said the something, and Jin turned...

    ... and woke up, annoyed.

    The room was still dark; he could hear his brother breathing on the other side of the room. He glanced at their alarm clock and groaned to himself. 12:47 pm. I should go back to sleep.

    He rolled over and closed his eyes... turned his pillow over... laid on his back with his hands under his head... then finally gave up. He changed quick, laced up his boots, grabbed his jacket, and slipped out of the room. Aven never stirred.

    Their boss was probably still awake, obsessing over her corpses, but she wouldn''t notice anything. He could probably walk out right through her lab without her ever even looking up. Thankfully, there was no reason to put that suspicion to the test. Jin followed the back halls to the loading bay and pushed open the inner door, then slipped a thin wedge of plastic between the door and the frame to keep it from locking shut again behind him. The outer door didn''t need any such precaution - he had the key to open that again on his arm.

    And then, fresh air.

    PennCity was always alive at night, sometimes more alive then during the day. Jin climbed over the back fence and wandered down the street, no real destination in mind. He didn''t have anything for the folks at Wright Alley, so going there would only serve to upset him. The red code beneath his sleeve could hypothetically open a lot of doors in the night-life streets, but he didn''t usually bother exploring those options, either. Humans didn''t really want vampires in their stores, clubs, and retro arcades, and there was no lasting satisfaction in forcing everyone involved (including himself) to be around people they hated just because he legally could.

    No, people and walls weren''t what he considered a good time, but the train of thought did spark an idea. His pace quickened, his memorization of the districts around Imptuus HQ leading him unerringly to the nearest Quick Help station.

    A half-dozen booths, just large enough for one person and a screen each, lined the sidewalk under the bright blue of the neon QH sign and roofs. Jin pulled down the neck of his shirt past his shoulder to let the nearest scanner see his code, and a moment later the corresponding door clicked open.

    Quick Help for all... Jin recited sarcastically to himself as he stepped inside. ... as long as you''re tagged.

    It was handy, though. The screen brought up his authorization number automatically, then unlocked and listed all the functions available to him through his corporate sponsorship.

    "QH, are there any roof races in the district tonight?"

    --There are no official roof races in your district until ***** 27th, but the Saintshood District Second Heat League is running within common-train distance of your current location from 9pm to 4am for the next three nights. Would you like to review the routes?--

    Jackpot.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ~

    Jin climbed up over the edge of the fire escape awkwardly, one hand unavailable due to supporting the weight of a four-pack of plasmlites - a horrible name for a bitter beverage, but it was the closest thing to an affordable alternative vampires could get to real blood on the market. Of course, it was even more affordable when no one was looking.

    The hospital rooftop was a fair distance from the race routes, but that meant it was almost deserted. Edik - basically the only sponsored vampire Jin could stand hanging out with (mostly because of their shared love of dangerous bike races) - was already sitting on the far edge of the roof, binoculars in hand and a yellow code gleaming in the dark through his sleeve.

    Edik, as well as being a race-chaser, had fairly remarkable hearing. Jin considered himself pretty light on his feet, but he hadn''t crept halfway across the roof before the other vampire turned, grinning, and raised his hand in a wave.

    "Took you long enough!" he exclaimed, then spotted the bottles. "A present from Imptuus?"

    "From Daris'' 24 and Deli," Jin corrected, sitting next to his friend before swinging his legs out over the edge. He offered a bottle and gestured for the binoculars in exchange. "Anything exciting happen yet? Do we have wildcards on the track?"

    "Just one so far; some out-of-towner I''ve never heard of. Cool bike, though. Look for a Vade open-seat with blue slashes."

    Jin squinted, looking for movement in the distance, then raised the binoculars. The line of rushing lights solidified into two dozen race bikes, scattered across combined miles of specially-designed rooftops. This track had three routes weaving and jumping across hundreds of roofs, often crisscrossing to give the riders the chance to switch up their route, but all that freedom resulted in a lot of track to search if you were looking for one particular bike.

    "Did your sponsor decide to renew after all, then?" Jin commented as he scanned the track. It had been more then a month since they''d met up for a race. Edik snorted, popping the lid off his plasmlite.

    "Nope. The new couple didn''t want me in the first place, but their old lady had already put in the money and it was a hands-off sponsorship, so they were just letting it run its course. Ran out last week. I am officially unsponed again." He paused to drink and Jin frowned in confusion as he kept looking for the wildcard.

    "So the fact that it''s still glowing means...?"

    "I got someone to reactivate it for me. Doesn''t mean much to anyone without being attached to the Grid system, but it keeps the vampire hunters from touching me and gets me into low-security publics, so at least there''s that."

    There! A streak of deep, midnight blue leading the pack on Route 2. Of course.

    "That''s definitely illegal," Jin muttered.

    "Dude, since when have you cared?" protested Edik defensively. "We are drinking stolen plasma. And it''s not like I took a code from the Clan - this one was mine to begin with. I''m just not letting it go to waste."

    Jin lowered the binoculars and offered them back to Edik. "I was talking about the blue bike''s rear jump mods," he said mildly, but one word had caught his attention. "You went to the Clan?"

    "Why not?" Edik crushed the cheap recycled plastic bottle and tossed it over the edge of the roof. "It''s just the local guy, and he hires local vampires, so I don''t think it''s a huge deal."

    "Except now you''re in their books."

    "Except I''m not. Cash exchange, no names. I''m telling you, Jin, the local branch knows what vampires need to survive and how to deal fairly with us. Apparently the boss in PennCity is cut from a different kind of cloth from the bigwigs out west."

    "They are mobsters."

    "Maybe so, but they treated me like a person. Do your sponsors?" Edik grabbed a second bottle and shrugged. "I say pick your allies. The Alliance system says we''re property or prey. The Clan says we''re customers. Seems pretty straightforward to me."

    Jin let it drop, but only because he half agreed.

    ~

    The blue Vade90 wildcard dominated the track. He was halfway through his victory lap when the first official, regulation bikes crossed the finish line.

    "Keep an eye out in your territory, Jin," Edik insisted, "and give me a beep if blue-boy shows up. I would love to see Wolf9 put that bike to the test in a wildcard-versus-wildcard."

    Jin nodded absent-mindedly, not really listening. He gathered up his jacket and empty bottles to go, but hesitated to leave.

    "Edik?"

    "Hmm?"

    "Give me the address of the guy you went to. Just in case."

 His Pillar, Crumbled

    "Drew? Hey!"

    Fingers snapped in Drew''s face and he jerked back to reality, blinking in confusion at the janitor, Bill, whose fingers were responsible.

    "What?"

    "You went blank, right in the middle of my story. What''re you thinking about?"

    Drew smiled ruefully. "Nothing; I didn''t even realize I was doing it." He took a last sip of coffee and checked his watch, more out of habit then anything. Then cursed under his breath. "Sorry, Bill, I lost track of time. You''ll have to tell me the rest of that story later; I need to get back on the floor.''

    Bill shrugged, glancing at the mop-cart sitting abandoned on the other side of the cafeteria. "Yeah, I should probably go do a spill-check too. Oh, but can I have your sandwich? Unless you plan on cramming it down between patients?"

    "Oh, no, go ahead."

    He had forgotten to eat lunch. Coffee, somehow, was a priority, but the actual food... he just had no appetite for it. Thankfully, Bill did. The rotund janitor could always be relied upon to make sure good food didn''t get wasted, and even better, it wasn''t all for himself. Drew had seen the fellow moving boxes at the local food bank and recognized the hospital''s icon on some of the leftover containers.

    Of course, taking leftovers for redistribution was in blatant violation of Grid Health and Safety Standards, but the hospital and the food bank were off-grid establishments. As long as that status was loudly disclosed, the proprietors gave it the go-ahead, and the off-gridders kept coming, no one could shut them down.

    Lost in thought, Drew found himself wandering several turns down from his office when he finally checked room-numbers. He clicked his tongue at his absent-mindedness and turned around, only to jump when he saw Marko standing right there.

    "Oh, good morning," Drew said cheerfully, though the sight of the senior doctor was a little unnerving. Marko had a way of only showing up when no one else wanted to tackle a difficult case... or when internal hospital affairs demanded attention.

    "Drew," Marko replied with a nod, his tone dead serious. "We need to talk."

    A shiver of unusual foreboding ran down Drew''s spine. I haven''t done anything wrong lately, have I? Besides being a little late getting out of lunch...

    Marko wasn''t in any mood to beat around the bush. He walked with Drew back to the latter''s office, then immediately closed the door behind him. Drew moved cautiously around his desk, making a half-hearted attempt to find something urgent that would get him out of this talk, but there was no avoiding the senior doctor''s pointed, silent, command to sit.

    Marko didn''t immediately follow suit. He stood behind the chair on the other side of Drew''s desk for a long moment, half-frowning in thought, then sat down on the very edge and leaned forward with a piercing gaze.

    "I''m sorry about this, Drew, but we can''t afford to keep letting things slide because of sentimentality. I''ve given you every chance imaginable, but... there aren''t any other chances. You can''t keep working here."

    The room fell silent. Drew laced his fingers together, running through the brief statement again in his head.

    "I don''t understand," he said finally.

    "The owners, and I, have agreed that you need to be let go."

    "Let go?"

    "Fired."

    Drew closed his eyes, raised his hands rub the bridge of his nose. "What do you mean... ''fired''?"

    Marko sighed. "Drew..."

    Drew opened his eyes, raising his hand in partial surrender. "I admit I''ve been a little tardy lately, but you can''t be serious about firing me for--"If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "A little tardy?" Mark demanded. "You''ve been coming in late on a regular basis, you''ve missed entire days without as much as acknowledging it, and when you do show up you''re clearly half asleep most of the day. I don''t know what you''re doing off duty, but it''s clearly more important to you then your work here."

    "I don''t do anything that would hinder my work, and I do not miss days," Drew protested.

    "Yes, you do," insisted Marko firmly, "and I have the records if you insist on seeing them to acknowledge that fact. And even if you were showing up when you are supposed to, that leads right into the second major reason for your dismissal. Drew, you are no longer fit to work here."

    Drew rose abruptly, shoving his chair back with a wooden screech. "What?"

    "You have been misdiagnosing patients, sending lab results to the wrong patients, ordering unnecessary tests and operations... you sent Miss Korely down for Mister Mason''s lung surgery this morning, sending her and her parents into a panic, I might add. And then no one could find you to get any answers. Where were you this morning, Drew?"

    "Doing my rounds," Drew insisted, horrified, "and I haven''t even gotten to Miss Korely yet today. I was going to check in with her after lunch."

    Marko gestured vaguely. "This is exactly why you''re no longer fit for the duties of a doctor. You have become a danger to our patients, and you can''t even see it." Seeing Drew''s look of increasing dismay, Marko leaned forward even more. "From friend to friend, you need to start looking after yourself, Drew."

    "I don''t need looking after."

    "You died."

    "For a few seconds! You know as well as I do clinical death takes minutes to cause serious brain damage."

    "You forget what day it is."

    "I''m fine!"

    Marko shook his head, but did not reply. He just rose, and even before he said anything, Drew knew his outburst had changed nothing. A cold sinking feeling filled his chest.

    "Go home, Drew. Get some rest."

    And as if that was enough, Marko turned to leave. Drew lifted a hand, prepared to call him back, but somehow he couldn''t bring himself to do it. It was futile, and he felt suddenly too drained to keep trying.

    Fired.

    Drew leaned against an overpass, watching the cars zip past below. A box of belongings from his office sat on the sidewalk next to him.

    Beautiful view. If I weren''t so much of a coward, it would be a great last sight, he thought dismally. He flicked a bit of gravel over the edge, watching it fall. What was that saying? The call of the void? He couldn''t remember what that felt like.

    Fourteen years, and they threw him out. His entire adult life it had been an empty apartment, dusty files, lonely nights, debt and paycheck-to-paycheck, because saving lives was more important.

    Now that was gone.

    He flicked another bit of gravel.

    He was off the grid, which meant none of the big hospitals would hire him. And the independents... a lot of them had a kind of health-care network of their own. The reasons Marko had given would surely warrant a blacklist warning, and months, if not years, of suspicion from every prospective employer.

    How long he stood there, he didn''t know. It was dark when he finally picked up his box and began the long, slow walk back to his apartment.

    Marko was right about one thing. Rest was sounding very appealing. When he got home, Drew planned to sleep until he dreamt up a new life for himself.

    That night, he dreamed of roof-racing, and awoke in the middle of it to the sensation of bugs crawling on his arms.

    He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. There were no bugs, of course, but the feeling was very present and refused to fade by itself. He scrubbed at his hands and arms for several long minutes before it was finally gone.

    His hands were red from the cold water. For some reason the sight of them made Drew''s stomach lurch, and he leaned against the sink breathing hard.

    His co-workers had been saying he looked tired lately. If only they knew what his nights really were.

    When he felt well enough to move, he headed for the kitchen. As tired as he was, he knew there would be no sleep for him for another hour, at least. There was half a cup of coffee in his machine, which he poured to drink cold. Too weary to do anything else, he put in an old movie to distract himself. Even so, that bugs-crawling feeling kept trying to creep back into his arms, and he had to keep rubbing it away.

    Halfway through the movie, the thought of work in the morning came to him, a comforting reminder that he needed to get some sleep. He had pulled the disc and was almost done putting it away before he remembered there was no work for him the next morning.

    Nausea struck, and he ran for the bathroom again.

    He spent the rest of the night in bed, sobbing.

 His World, Shattered

    Dmitri rubbed his penny until it shone before popping it in his mouth. He had heard that the taste was supposed to be reminiscent of blood, but it felt like a feeble kind of "supposed to", invented as a desperate means of coping with starvation.

    And yet, Dmitri still found himself sucking on the penny, pushing it between his fangs and around his mouth with his tongue. What else was there to do, after all?

    No work again this week, not at the loading bays, the factory, or even Sal''s Diner. Sal was a sympathetic, but she only had so much work for vamps - had to spread it around. Dmitri had already had a turn this month. But no work meant no food, which meant weak limbs and sick head... both of which would only make it harder to get any work next week.

    The bitter taste of the penny suddenly made Dmitri''s stomach churn. He spat it into his hand and clenched his fist over that one pitiful piece of outdated, offgrid currency.

    He saw sudden movement at the entrance of his narrow alley and turned quickly. There was a man standing there, watching him. Dmitri half-rose, tensed to run, even as he made his assessment.

    At first glance, actually, the newcomer didn''t seem to fit in down here at all. His outfit looked stylish, clean, well-tended... not the sort of stuff you saw in the factory district. Hair... a bit long, a bit unkempt, but not excessively so. As far as Dmitri''s past experiences and instincts could say, this man was not likely a threat, though why a human who looked off-grid middle-class or on-grid lower-class would be wandering into known vampire slums was a mystery. That alone made Dmitri wary.

    His apprehension grew as the man advanced into his alley, tugging the neck of his jacket to one side.

    "Bite me."

    Dmitri felt his feeble confidence in his own safety crumble. He shifted backwards slightly, trying to think of a way to respond to this clearly unstable human in a way that wouldn''t seem insolent.

    "Go on, drink my blood," the man insisted, coming even closer. "You''re starving, aren''t you? Don''t worry, I''ve already run tests to make sure it''s clean."

    "I... I''m sorry, we can''t bite," Dmitri stammered, wondering how this person could be so knowledgeably ignorant that he knew to check for blood pollutants, but not that most vampires would never dare bite a human. "It''d only make trouble. There are plenty of donor hospitals--"The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "Drink my blood, curse it!" the man snapped, and Dmitri prepared to make a run for it. As quickly as he had snapped, though, the human relaxed again, and a spark of understanding flickered in his eyes. "No, I get it. The vampire-haters would see any bite as an excuse to attack you all, right?"

    Dmitri nodded quickly, relieved. "As... much as I appreciate the offer," he said carefully, "it really in''t a good idea for either of us. Bitin'' can cause real damage to a person, get infected... cause all manner of trouble. And for my side... if word got out I was bitin'' people, even other vampires would avoid helping me. ''Least, the law-abiding ones. And I''m not a ganger."

    The human nodded in agreement. "Right, of course. What was I thinking? I didn''t come to cause trouble." As he spoke, he reached into one pocket. Dmitri was so relieved that biting was out of the question now that he almost missed the flash of light glinting off the opening flip-blade. Almost.

    Even while Dmitri was trying to process what was going on, the human calmly pushed up his jacket sleeve and slit his own wrist.

    "Go on," he said, his voice strained but somehow eerily cheerful. "No danger now." He held out his arm, and Dmitri stared in rapt horror as blood began dripping, flowing, to the ground.

    A moment later, though, the reality of what had happened hit him, and Dmitri bolted.

    This man''s crazy! And Dmitri wanted nothing to do with him.

    Drew watched the vampire run, the rejection like a knife twisted in his heart.

    "I''m trying to help!" he screamed, but there was no turning back, no hesitation. Once again, it was an utter refusal, with no hint of regret.

    Blood dripped to the dirty ground. Drew didn''t even register the pain of the cut.

    He stumbled back a step to steady himself against the closest building. Now what? he asked himself, dismayed. Even the lowest of the low... the people most in need... even they didn''t want his help.

    No one wants my help, came the cruel little thought. Drew let out a shaky sob. I''m no longer making a difference.

    The next thing he knew, Drew was sitting, leaning, against the building. He glanced down at his throbbing wrist and found a torn piece of his jacket wrapped crudely around it to try and staunch the flow of blood. It was already dyed red, and blood was still dripping.

    "Another blackout," Drew muttered to himself, dully tearing off more cloth. It was far harder then he thought it would be.

    They were becoming more frequent, and he was becoming more aware of them. It was possible they had been around during even his hospital days, but he had never noticed them before. Now, however, it was impossible to miss. What baffled him was how active he still seemed to be, and how much more driven. If his blackout hadn''t gone to the trouble to amateurishly wrap up that wrist, at least trying to save himself, Drew suspected he would have just let it be.

    If he died, he died. It wasn''t as if this world had any use for him anymore.

    He leaned back against the wall, and let darkness take over.

 (Jade) The Outcast Stirs

    Deep in the Mapless Sea, the Sea of Dragons, on the scarce-remembered Isle of the Dead, a Queen heard whispers on the wind. Whispers of conquest.

    ¡°Your Faithful have prepared a way back for you, my Jade,¡± he murmured in her ear. ¡°A silent, swift vessel, to take you back to the greener lands.¡±

    ¡°You have done well, Scythe,¡± replied the Jade Dragon to the Reaper. ¡°But I am not going back to the central isles. Not yet.¡±

    The mad grim reaper cocked his head, his all-black eyes widening.

    ¡°Why not?¡± he breathed. ¡°Have the Faithful been faithless, that they do not deserve you? Have they been false?¡± His voice rose as he spoke, and anger began to twist his features. ¡°Have they deceived me, my dragon?! Does need be that I go and tear those miserable souls from the corpses they call bodies?¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Jade chuckled, laying her hand on the Reaper''s arm. Her hand looked tiny compared to the huge, imposing figure of the Reaper, but her touch instantly stilled him.

    ¡°Put away your hatred for another time, Windward Scythe. You were not deceived, nor have any of mine broken troth. I will return to those islands not as an outcast crawling back like a bedraggled rat, but as a conqueror. Thus, I need to raise an army before I set my sails towards home.¡±

    ¡°An army? Where would we find the numbers of dead required for an army worth the combined forces of the Isles?¡±

    Jade''s smile was dark, knowing. ¡°Anywhere, my love. Anywhere.¡±

 His Spirit, Broken

    A Grim Reaper is neither Mortal nor Immortal. They cannot be killed, for they are Death''s Minions. They do not age, for they are Timeless. Yet they cannot live forever, for the Doom and Blessing of the Grim Reaper is this; they will exist until they find love.

    In all of time, there is one person the Grim Reaper cannot help but encounter, cannot help but fall in love with, and cannot help but watch die. And when that Mortal dies, the Grim Reaper, his life complete, will fade away as well.

    ~

    Scythe of Shadows crouched over her grave, his black eyes wide with more emotions then the Bone-Rose had ever seen in one of his own kind. Terror, anger, pain... emotions of a mortal, in the pure and depthless eyes of a Grim Reaper.

    ¡°Step aside, Of Shadows,¡± he said calmly, his grip tightening around the handle of his own namesake-scythe. ¡°That soul needs to be set free. It has already been three days... much longer and we risk her soul reawakening.¡±

    ¡°Leave us be, Bone-Rose,¡± snapped Of Shadows. ¡°Leave me to what time I have left!¡±

    ¡°What use is it to linger by her grave?¡± Bone-Rose persisted, coaxing as gently as he knew. ¡°She is dead, and you are dying. Shouldn''t you free her soul to Death and use what time remains to continue our work?¡±

    ¡°What do you know of it?¡± Of Shadows screamed, his voice cracking and hoarse. Bone-Rose took a step back in midair, startled by the force of his emotion. ¡°When you find her, love her, and lose her, then you may tell me what I should and should not be doing. When you are on your last moments, then you can talk. But you have not! I have, and I am. I do not care about other souls, and soon that will not even matter anymore! Leave me be.¡±

    ¡°I cannot,¡± Bone-Rose protested. ¡°It is my duty to see the dead freed from their bodies, lest they rise again in torment. Would you have her stumbling hither and thither in her waking death, unable to comprehend, broken and ailing? If you loved her--¡±

    ¡°I WILL DO IT, THEN,¡± Of Shadows roared, then sank to the ground suddenly, his head lowered. His body and voice shook. ¡°I... I will, before it comes to that, do it myself. Before I die. So just... just leave. Please, Bone-Rose. There is nothing else for me to do.¡±

    So... this is what love does to a Reaper. It makes us like them.

    Bone-Rose closed his eyes for a moment, then swung his thorny scythe up to rest against his shoulder.

    ¡°Very well, Of Shadows. If this is what you need to do, then do it.¡± He turned away but hesitated before leaving, pity for his broken brother swelling inside him. ¡°I am sorry you have to do this alone. I''m sorry I cannot help you.¡±

    ~

    The Dragonfolk Necromancers keep their methods close and secret, but in truth, for all the intricacies of programming a soul, the first and most necessary part of Necromancy is the ability to speak and deal with Grim Reapers. A Necromancer can ask Grim Reapers to leave a soul attached to the body even after death, for after a soul is severed and set free no magic can bind them once more to the Mortal World.

    ~

    ¡°My name is Tiberius, and I can help you.¡±

    Scythe of Shadows raised his head, looking at the man before him with blank eyes. The turmoil of emotions that had been tearing him apart had also worn him down, and now there were no more black tears left to shed. Nothing left for light to shine off of in his soul.

    ¡°Who are you to offer such a thing?¡± Scythe of Shadows asked dully. ¡°You are not Grim Reaper, nor necromancer. What are you?¡±

    ¡°I am a keeper, a soul-watcher, a maker of miracles,¡± replied Tiberius with a smile. ¡°Deal with me, for I am the only one who can make such an offer to you.¡±

    ¡°And what is it you offer me?¡±

    ¡°The power to bring her back, and save you from the death of a Reaper.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ~

    Necromancers in Dragon Society are honored, but they are not above responsibility. When a Necromancer abuses his power, the Emperor of Dragons can demand any penalty deemed appropriate and the Necromancer must comply, for the Imperial Royal holds the secret to taking away a Dragon''s magic forever...

    ~

    The dragonman whimpered and spasmed on the floor, reaching out a trembling hand in silent plea. Scythe of Shadows could see the man''s spirit crying as his magic was torn from him again and again, splinter by splinter.

    It was a pitiable sight.

    He had chosen a necromancer already accused of misusing his powers, but even in this cell of his, the dragon had held himself with dignity. Now that same man writhed in emotional pain, like a fish on dry ground feeling his life draining away.

    ¡°Please...¡± he begged, his hand slipping towards the ground as his strength failed him. ¡°Mercy, Reaper... mercy! Do not take... my magic...¡±

    Scythe of Shadows considered the artifact, the power contained within. It was not a container for stolen magic but a conduit, yet some scraps of dragon magic were still trapped within from previous uses. The Dragon Emperor had not shied from using an unknown, ancient magic like this in need against his own people.

    And Scythe of Shadows had never needed anything so desperately, not in over seven hundred years of walking the lines between the Mortal World and Death.

    Tiberius stepped through a wall next to him, glancing briefly at the pitiful prisoner. ¡°I believe you could stop there,¡± he said quietly. ¡°If you wanted to spare what is left of his pride.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± replied Scythe of Shadows, his voice still coarse and rough with grief, and released the siphon. The man curled up on the ground, muttering wordlessly to himself, or to whatever gods the dragonfolk thought watched them. Scythe of Shadows and Tiberius left him to his imprisonment; they had what they had come for.

    ~

    Grim Reapers are the servants of the unknown named Death. They see a mortal''s life as nothing but the wait before death... until they are on the brink of death themselves. Only then, for a brief time, are they granted the chance to truly live.

    ~

    ¡°I bring her back now?¡±

    Magic was a strange thing to Scythe of Shadows, for he was not a Reaper who dealt habitually with necromancers. He looked down at her grave, stolen magic swirling like a storm in his soul. It hurt, but if it did as Tiberius had promised... the pain and wrongness now would be worth it later. She was down there, and her soul still slept, tethered to her mortal body. Not for much longer, my love.

    Tiberius put a gentle hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention back. ¡°Not yet, my friend. Think of her. She is mortal, they need breath and light to live. Bring her back buried in the ground, and she will be scared, confused. Neither of us can free her, unfortunately, being of non-physical realms... but I have a solution. I did promise you an escape, a way to save yourself as well as her, didn''t I?¡±

    ¡°What''s your plan?¡± grated Scythe of Shadows, and Tiberius sighed slightly.

    ¡°Before you bring her back to life, you must first bring yourself to life, in the body of a mortal.¡±

    Scythe of Shadows''s black eyes narrowed. ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°I have studied necromancy for centuries, watched true masters of the dragon art... it should be possible. If you find a very recently dead mortal, one whose body has not even begun to cool, and simultaneously bring him back to life and sever his soul from his earthly tether... you should be able to hijack the necromancy itself and tie yourself to the newly raised body. With an only barely dead mortal, sometimes a swift return to life can be explained, one way or another, by other mortals and they don''t suspect anything, so you shouldn''t even be suspected of being undead. If you''re careful, there is no way humans could discover otherwise.¡±

    ¡°And then,¡± Scythe of Shadows said slowly, ¡°I come back here, free her from her prison of planks and death... and...¡±

    ¡°Live,¡± Tiberius finished. ¡°Together.¡±

    Scythe of Shadows took an empty breath, casting out with his grim senses to find a human whose heart was beating its last. ¡°Then let us waste no more time. She''s waiting.¡±

    ~

    Grim Reapers are not meant to practice Necromancy. Ever.

    ~

    Tiberius balanced on a streetlight, watching through the walls of the ambulance as his plans collapsed in violent chaos.

    The poor mortals scrambled hither and thither, yelling at one another with panicked words. The man whose heart had stopped moments before thrashed and writhed on the floor of the vehicle, having already flipped from his gurney. To Tiberius''s otherworldly eyes, the true horror of the scene was also visible. The twisted souls trapped in a fragile frame, howling in terror and madness. Man and Grim Reaper, locked together by magic neither should wield.

    ¡°I made a mistake.¡±

    Tiberius had truly thought it would work. Of course, his intentions had been selfish; having made a deal with him the Reaper''s soul was his rightful prey, and eventually Tiberius would have collected the debt. But this... this was an abomination. This was a twisted result of magic that Tiberius had never seen before. The effects on his own soul if he tried to ensnare such a thing... it frightened him, he who had not been frightened by anything since the day he went Dark.

    He straightened, standing tall above the tragedy for a long moment. With a twinge of regret, he gave the poor humans one more glance.

    ¡°I''ll take my leave, then. Good luck, Scythe of Shadows... if you even exist anymore.¡±

 (Jin) What We are Owed

    A smell of old blood clung to the inside of the prep-room like barnacles to a bridge strut. Jin wrinkled his nose and put down his mop bucket.

    There were no corpses lying around for the moment, but just the thought that the metal slabs usually held bodies made the vampire''s skin crawl. He rubbed the ridged lines and circles of his sponsor code as if to scrub away the sensation, then unwrapped an extra-strength mint swiped from Avanay''s desk. The smell of blood - even old, gross, dead blood - could trick a vampire into hunger. Drive them ravenous, even.

    The mint lasted him until every surface had cleaner on it, and then any trace of blood was hidden under the harsh sting of bleach and artificial lemon. Jin scrubbed and rinsed and mopped, then hauled all his cleaning supplies to the next room to do it all again.

    Upstairs, Aven was serving coffee and fancy-prance donuts to a room of suits and his dragonfolk overlordess. If Jin knew his brother, he''d probably leave that completely unrelated marketing meeting with a future-sponsor''s contact information.

    The second mint cracked under the pressure of his left fang.

    The necromancy division was deserted, except for him and a few frozen corpses waiting for prep. And he had the janitor keys.

    ~

    Aven caught him in the breakroom, just after he grabbed his dinner-rations and before he could reach the door. "Jin, we need to talk."If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Why?" Jin retorted. "I would like to drink my pre-packaged chemically-modified blood juice in peace for once."

    "Don''t be sarcastic, this is serious. You have to stop sneaking off during work hours."

    "Sure thing can I go now?"

    "Cut it out," Aven snapped, then took a deep breath and got that patronizing ''calm'' look he was so very fond of deploying against Jin. "Your work isn''t getting done, and Miss Avanay knows it."

    "I just--"

    "Not today, but in general. I don''t know why she''s covered for you so far, but you need to stop taking advantage of her generosity. It''s bad enough that you leave after hours when you''re supposed to be sleeping, but eventually someone is going to get sick of your complete lack of respect for the rules."

    "You mean like you?"

    "That''s not--"

    "Oh, don''t pretend this isn''t about you and your reputation," Jin interrupted with an aggressive step towards his brother. He jabbed the bottle of faux-blood at him like an angry finger. "I live my life for my sake - not yours. I didn''t sign up for this - you signed me up for this. I didn''t agree to play maid for a megacorp - you did."

    "You signed the contract! You took the code and every advantage it gives you!"

    "What else was I supposed to do? We were starving! But now I know what all those asterisks mean, and I''m done pretending I''m a good pet vamp. Deal. With. It."

    "Jin--!"

    But he refused to listen, refused to slow. He slammed the breakroom door behind him, cutting Aven off mid-protest.

    ~

    The buyer was already waiting in the shadow of the overpass. Jin dumped his mop bucket of discarded Cyber parts on the concrete, watched the dealer''s eyes widen, and stuck out his hand.

    "Nice to not-officially meet you. Wanna make a deal?"