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Then it looks like I have the right questions to answer in-story as I start writing into book two. Not just here, but questions asked elsewhere. I wish I had some final question to ask here. Perhaps ...\n\nAre you ready to see the ending?\n", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Oh! Then it looks like I have the right questions to answer in-story as I start writing into book two. Not just here, but questions asked elsewhere. I wish I had some final question to ask here. Perhaps ...

Are you ready to see the ending?
", "writing": "\nMy name is Freya Savitri, and I am an aspiring flight risk. \n\nThe choking gasp of one’s throat under constriction. Harsh jabs into the spines on my neck as either Gesshru tries to keep their footing, twisting and turning.\n\nKampf in German. Loita in Galician. Fjochtsje in Frisian. Bats toi in French. Taistella in Finnish. Away in Filipino. Voitlus in Estonian. Lukton in Esperanto. Strijd in Dutch. Kaempe in Danish. Boj in Czech. Borba in Croatian. Cummattimentu in Corsican. Stryd in Afrikaans. Perleshje in Albanian. Mybarze in Azerbajani. \n\nJace held firm and I could hear his labored breathing. Attempting to choke, keeping his arms around Tasgal’s neck. He left me wishing I could hear the snap, some indication of that bastard’s death.\n\nStri in Scots Gaelic. Tau in Samoan. Lupta in Romanian. Luta in Portuguese. Walka in Polish. Slass in Norwegian. Whawhai in Maori. Glieda in Maltese. Perjuangan in Malay. Ady in Malagasy. Kampf in Luxembourgish. Koba in Lithuanian. Cina in Latvian. Pugna in Latin. Ser in Kurdish. \n\nWith nothing else to focus on I put all of my attention on this moment, on these sounds. Face down and incapable of watching the play by play. Flesh tore and tufts of fur tickled down onto my bare skin. I could feel dabs of blood sprinkle down like the lightest of rain. Warm and sticky, so small it felt more of a mist than a drop. \n\nClaws raking through his forearms, or perhaps teeth trying to bite, and I wasn’t able to tell who the winner or victim was. If Tasgal wins then everything is through, if Jace wins then we have …\n\nThey leave the embrace.\n\nOne close to my helmet cockpit was gasping, struggling to draw breath after the choke. The other regains balance and steps forward. A hard slam of skin against bone, the soft crunch of a blow connecting. Fist perhaps? I could feel all four sets of feet. I could hear Tasgal trying to yell, cut off from whatever he attempted to shout by a blow to the stomach. Or maybe it was the chest? \n\nI felt Tasgal shifting to swing a strike of his own, only for Jace’s feet to reposition. A deft maneuver slipping around the outside of it, the squealing gasps when he goes for the hold again.\n\n“H-he -…” Tasgal twitches atop my shoulders, his feet wedged directly into the bones on my back. His movements desperate but his position off-balance. I could feel as Jace walks backward, wordlessly, silently dragging that Gashn pilot toward the edge. \n\nNo words. Only struggle, for I could tell that it felt as if my pilot’s arm were pinned and Jace had his elbow looped around the bastard’s chin. Taking a step back, dragging, away from my cockpit and towards my shoulder. No ramp on this side, somewhat hidden from view, a pain to climb back up assuming the fall doesn’t knock him out.\n\nOh who am I kidding, these things are tiny. A fall was barely worth worrying about. \n\nJust at the edge. Jace seemed ready to throw, or at least twist and shove to hurl Tasgal off. But my pilot slips away right at the last moment while Jace is wobbly on the uneven ground of my skin. His claws stung, bare feet and the squish of food paste that I couldn’t wipe off. \n\n“I-intruder!” Tasgal shouted, or rather choked out in a breathless sob. Backing away, moving defensively. \n\nAnother grab, a step forward and thrust. I felt the slap of palm against fluff when Jace’s arm is bapped aside. \n\nTasgal counter-attacks with what had to be a kick, one leg lifts off the ground and the weight on his other increases sharply. But then I heard fur rubbing against fur, I could practically feel the panic in my pilot’s voice. Jace must have grabbed the leg and tucked it in close. \n\nStill I felt the attempt at pulling free, the tiny swoosh of his paws swiping at the air, the angry clicks and frightened whimpers of a rodent taken off-guard. \n\nJace throws. Pulling at my pilot’s leg in the most literal sense of the word, wrenching his hips out from under him and forcing a swing down my shoulder. A smack onto my elbow, a slide and bounce as he keeps falling. The soft plap when the monster lands face-first onto hard tile. A surface as cold and unforgiving as his own heart, and by all rights a fair bit more intelligent. \n\nMy prisoner in arms ran to my cockpit. A moment I dreaded on every occasion, even now as I realized how close it meant to victory, how this might be my only chance at escape before the end. Assuming I even live through a full lobotomy I was not going to possess the mental facilities required to organize any form of jail break, alien or otherwise. But there was always something so impersonal about a fuzzy rodent controlling your body from just behind your skull.\n\n“Sir, what was that racket? Sir. Please tell me you aren’t having trouble just jacking in …” the voice of that irritated assistant calls in. I could hear his footsteps on tiles, rounding the corner and getting closer. Impatient at the fact I still haven’t moved and he’s stuck there holding the door open until I get up. \n\nJace was in my cockpit now. He was struggling to get his tail inside and fit his thin little body into the seat, the design almost intentionally obtuse by what little I’ve seen of it. Feet trying to slot into a fitted holster, elbows propped up in an ergonomic armrest for long term use, face wedged into a holster of wires that left one staring at a computer screen.\n\nThe interface and my vision was on that. Everything I could see, Jace could see, which mostly amounts to the bridge of my nose and a shadow on the ground. \n\n“A-aalrrm.” Tasgal sobs off to my left while his assistant approaches from the right. The sound of my pilot wobbling back onto his knees, that pitter-patter of a rodent clamboring up onto my already stained hand. \n\nButtons were pressed, wide twitches and involuntary jerks as random signals are shot through my central nervous system. My leg starts to extend. He was going to mess this up. The idiot didn’t know the first thing about how to pilot, he didn’t know … he just …\n\nHe’d just … \n\nI moved my eyes for the first time in minutes. A curled my fingers into a fist. \n\nI did that. Me. Jace had just turned off the control over-ride, giving me full range of motion, and I had Tasgal rounding the corner right in front of my face.\n\nInstantly I was on my feet. Left hand swiping at Tasgal with a feverish speed, curling into a low crouch that pressed knees against my shoulder and left me with a better range of motion. Jace leased a tiny squeal and I could tell he was almost thrown out of the cockpit, but that didn’t matter right now.\n\n“R-run … Rruuuuun! I-intrud- …” Tasgal starts to scream, and staring up, all the way up, far too much up to see my glaring eyes through a cracked helmet that assistant did indeed turn and run. Scrambling madly. \n\nIt wasn’t hard at all to snatch him with my opposite hand, if a bit awkward for the both of us seeing as it left him smeared in nutriment paste. The door wide open, a Gesshru prisoner latched onto the back of my open control panel, and two Gashn soldiers in hand. Oh this was glorious. If I were the movie villain type I would have used here and now to gloat over my impending victory. \n\nAnd that would of course been the moment Jace figures out enough of the controls to strip that victory away from me. No, I’m not letting that happen. Move quickly. \n\nI leapt toward the center of my cage with a greasy, panicked Gesshru in hand, shoved him as gently as it was quickly into the center of my food bowl, and then immediately moved to grasp at both ends of Tasgal. \n\n“A-aahh, nononono! Maneater, No! NOOooo! I’m not food get me out of here, Aaaahhh!” the assistant screamed, already on the verge of tears. I could see a dark patch of wetness on the clothes between his legs, presumably a sign that he’s just ruined my food. \n\n“You monster.” Tasgal whispers to me, left hand around his shoulders and his legs dangling free. My right hand reaching to pluck at the bottom of his pants and pull, sliding them off as quickly as I could. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted, I knew we had to fix your mind. But they didn’t’ listen.” \n\nHis speech wasn’t stopping me. And at any awkwardness I didn’t try to slow down either, the gray paste coating his fur and the thin fabric shredding under my touch. Next I gripped his legs in one hand while snatching at his shirt in the other, calmly walking toward the doorway. A peak into the halls as stealthily as I could manage, one finger cupping over Tasgal’s mouth to keep him from screaming for help. No two ways about this. \n\nI flung his shirt off toward my food bowl, flicked his pants back so the shredded cloth drapes down on top of that poor assistant. The tiny thing, soaked in nutriment paste, looked up at me as if the whole world was about to end. As I were the great apocalypse and every god or spirit he’s ever prayed to have all abandoned him. \n\n“Waitwat.” Jace muttered behind my ears, seemingly surprised at what happened next.\n\nAs I brought the naked pilot up toward my lips, squeezed him through the cracked hole in my helmet, and popped him down like a pill. \n\n“HGmmph! No-nooooo, y-you should be dead! We should have killed every last one of htmnmoph!” the man struggled to talk once my lips closed around him. The flavor nothing special, not outright horrible but also nothing that stands out. The texture of fur, familiar after so long with that child on my tongue. The sensation of his tiny scrambling paws trying to claw at me for purchase. He didn’t break the skin, he didn’t tear, he didn’t even cause pain, on the spit slicked surface he mostly just slid about like an idiot. \n\nHe was screaming the whole way, but his voice didn’t carry very far. \n\nI leaned my head back and gulped. \n\nFurry little body easing down my throat, I lost track of his screams, of his threats, even the tickle of his fingernails was hard to focus on past my collar bone. It was done. The room was effectively empty.\n\nI had just become a soul eater in their eyes, and if that bastard suffered just a tiny bit more knowing he was the first, then it was all worth it. A lick of my lips mostly to wipe the flavor off, the warm sensation of something weighty in my stomach. He went down easy which was the hilarious thing. \n\n“Okay, no …” Jace whispers. He was actually trying to talk quietly as if someone else might hear him. None have yet come in to hear the screams of these two workers. “Either you show me how these controls work, or you are the one getting us out of here. Do not fight. Do not rampage. Do you hear me? Don’t let them know anything went wrong, we need them to be clueless for as long as possible. Okay?”\n\nI poked my head out of the open doorway. Cold and lifeless halls, at the far corner they were teaming with Gesshru workers and technicians and soldiers alike. \n\nNormally this is where I’d tear down this pathway at a dead run, knocking aside any who got in my way and smashing through the main gate. That didn’t work last time though, nor the time before that, and it certainly didn’t work the first time so many years ago. The Gashn expect that and know most of our tricks and capabilities, even if they try to suppress that knowledge from the common people. \n\nLoren’s plan once more flickers into my mind. Be quiet. Act like you are tame, so that they never know when you are going to strike. \n\nIt was with a heavy breath that I pulled my hand back, licked my fingers clean of the gray paste, and snapped the control panel shut. Sealing Jace inside and making the helmet appear as normal as possible. Cracked still, the holes from those spears still haven’t been repaired and there was a gaping tear in my visor. But those were all hard things to fix without removing the collar outright, it’s designed to fold up after all, meaning near impossible to replace one aspect without replacing the whole thing. \n\n“No control for you.” I clicked back in his own squeakity language, striding boldly … no, I had to catch myself, awkwardly down the halls. There wasn’t a Gesshru controlling me, and from the sounds of it Jace didn’t seem to be trying. He trusted me as best he could manage, perhaps aware that I knew more about this than him. \n\nOr just conscious of the fact that he’d draw even more attention to us than I would if he’s crashing me into walls and slapping my face with my own hand over and over again.\n \nHead strait, try not to look down. Move slowly and deliberately, walk the way you’d expect a robot to step. Arms stock at my side, knees raising higher than they should. I was already supposed to be coming out. This was a time where people expected me to leave the hallway, albeit they also expected someone to close the door behind me.\n\n“Pst” Jace mutters. “Get your armor on.” \n\nI couldn’t feel him point and I didn’t turn my head to look, but I was already planning on that. Walking lockstep toward the tall metallic pillars of gears and latches and hydraulics wires. Never did take much to just stand between two of them and keep my arms to my side. It was so hard not to breathe, not to sigh at the sensation as thick padding once more wraps itself around me. \n\nHard outer layer of cheap plastic with the soft foam lining the insides, in a world where that foam was actually just as effective at being armor as the plastic itself was. \n\nBoots around my feet. Twin loops of plastic perfectly fitted to my legs cover the thighs and foreleg, one half on the front and one half on the back while a robotic screwdriver latches them together. \n\nThe same occurred to my waist and groin, then the shoulders and stomach. The arms and the neck. Always leaving only enough articulation for ordinary movement, about as effective as a space suit and not especially bulky. Being bulkier than normal clothing just couldn’t be helped of course. \n\nNo one at my feet suspected a thing.\n\nThere were awkward stares about the damage to my helmet. The thigh and chest armor had long ago been replaced or repaired, those things were removable and easier to work with. But this was among the first time most of these Gesshru could see my eyes.\n\nStaring down at them. Eyes as big as their head and focused directly on a Gesshru, then another, then another. Waiting impatiently for the pillars to finish their outfitting.\n\nIn truth I’d rather be without the armor because one required these same machines to take it off, but that just couldn’t be helped. \n\nWith a click and whiirr the outfitting was done. I stepped forth a tiny bit too quickly and had to remind myself how much control I had right now. There was no delegating to Jace, who watched with a knowing anticipation as if this were his plan all along. We aren’t out of the compound yet, lets at least wait until we get to the woods before trying to celebrate. \n\nPeople moved away from my stomping boots when I padded forward, a strait ninety degree angle turn to pave a pathway directly into the center. Approaching wide, metal garage doors and awaiting them to open it. \n\nThese same doors I’ve slammed my fist against so many times. These same doors that I knew could withstand a shoulder check, and that merely kicking at it won’t do a damned thing. There was nothing for it but to wait. \n\n“All clear!” I heard a man in that tiny little control box shout as he started pressing buttons. Eye level with me, and it took all of my will to not turn and stare at him. \n\nMost pilots didn’t bother with idle standing poses or unnecessary movement when waiting around, normally nothing happened at all unless they chose to press a button or a combination of levers. So I had to be just as still as the collar normally forces me to. \n\nClicks and clicks and a small bit of grinding, the door swings up and harsh light from a desert world begins to overtake this small room. I could feel a tiny fluttering in the pit of my stomach as if I’d swallowed a butterfly, sheer excitement and a childish nervousness. \n\nWait … what? No. The butterflies were now focusing on a single point, and I could practically feel the brief vibrations. It was just Tasgal trying to pound on my stomach walls, or scream in the hopes someone would hear him. But if I couldn’t make out a single word he said, knowing that human senses were almost universally better than Gesshru senses, there’s not a snowball’s chance in a supernova for that pilot to be heard by anyone. \n\nThe metal door slides up past my eyes, and I glance out to that bright landscape of tents and square buildings and yet another open gatehouse with a cheaper, less mechanized doorway. Towering walls of mud and brick lined with razor wire that all faces inward, clearly intending to keep us giants from climbing out than from enemies to work their way in. \n\nMax units were the largest, scariest, most dangerous thing on this planet. Who would want to fight their way into this place? Or so the logic goes. \n\nIt was hard to keep from looking down at any of the people at my feet, left to simply hope that none were dumb enough to stand in the way. Tagal never looked down, even the kinder pilots didn’t bother. Just an assistant, Doth had said. Don’t worry too hard if one of them dies … \n\nBut by that same token none were especially keen on talking to Tasgal, and knowing exactly which unit I was by the state of disrepair my helmet was in left few people brave enough to stand in the way.\n\n“Almost there. Keep it up.” Jace mutters into the back of my head. I could hear how tense his voice was, just at the edge of panic. Just waiting for the action to start. \n\nMy eyes turn to the side. No, I turned my head and made sure my eyes followed, a glance of orange, a flicker of yellow. There was a fluttercat thingy trapped inside a cage. A foot deep pit in the ground with a series of metal bars lining the roof, and a several metal poles jabbed into the ground around it. Presumably to keep the thing from just digging out. A thin sloping hole to one side formed a tunnel going from ground level to where the souleater was buried. \n\nI could almost feel Jace shuddering, and his breathless whisper is filled with dread \n\n“They really are trying to make souleaters into weapons …” \n\nA bright green collar adorned the creature’s neck. It didn’t seem to jab through the flesh like mine did, was far too loose to have been melted into the poor thing’s spine. But the intent was clear, as were the obvious plans Gashn forces had for this thing. Humans were aliens dropped in from another world, and take generations to reproduce. Assuming we even manage to in the first place. And then the child would take longer than their entire civilization has existed to reach maturity. Ten years was ancient, twenty years was the realm of legends. \n\nBut these? Native creatures on this world. If they could be captured here, in greater numbers, a far more formidable task force could be formed out of this entirely new breed of pilot … \n\nI did nothing. \n\nIt disgusted me, but I did nothing. Not when my own chance at escape was so close at hand. \n\n“Heh, but I guess we already knew that. Your quite the souleater yourself.” \n\nWe made it to the final outer gate, and I pointedly ignored his jab. However accurate by their own mythologies. Two guardsmen along the tower walls bearing down at me, from what was just barely eye level and draped in the shadows of spike coated metal. I stood stock still and waited, listening to their squeakity shouts. \n\n“Pilot Flits, you were told to wait until repairs had finished.” One of the Gesshru said, glancing back over to his small roofed hut that presumably had communication equipment. Either way these were the first and final check. \n\nI said nothing. Jace said nothing, but then I’m not sure he even knew where the speakerphone was or how to contact it. \n\n“Flits?” the other one shouted, a little sterner but acting as if on the verge of falling to his knees and begging forgiveness. “You are supposed to be resting yourself, to recover from your own injuries.” \n\n“Play it cool.” Jace whispers. Well, in truth it was actually a specific turn of phrase about being calm under the face of the enemy most common in military jargon but- … \n\n“You have d-direct orders Pilot Tasgal. Turn around and put Maneater back in her cage.” One of them says, neither moving to open the main gates. \n\n“There’s no need to put both of you in combat. No. Leave now and I might p-put in a good word with y-your supervisor.” The other started off strong as if he were brave and confident, but then slipped into fearful stuttering when it was increasingly apparent that I wasn’t going away. \n\nWe stared at each other. \n\nAll movement in the camp stops now, the walls closed and me as the center of attention. Sweat dripped down my forehead, my eyes going from a narrow scrutiny to fearfully wide as I tried to run through my options. They could see it, one eye through the cracks in my visor. I could see them, their own fear growing, perhaps fully aware of how callous and unstable Tasgal was. \n\nMy stomach fluttered. The sensation of butterflies that now left me pleasantly warm, faint tickles as I could just about make out his face rubbing against my belly. Feel his movements slow and falter. \n\nNeither of us backed down, and I could see the Gesshru on the left starting to turn back toward his tiny little booth. There was only one way I’m getting out of this. \n\nI turned around. \n\nI took one step back toward the compound, then another step. I could feel Jace worrying in the back of my head, the way his weight shifted as he tries to look behind him and realizes the cover of a control panel is in the way. \n\nHe leans down and whispers. \n\n“Rusted Now!” \n\nMy body turns. No, I was turning it, twisting on my heels and throwing my weight foreword. A slam! \n\nPlastic against wood, my fist against a doll house, the wires and glass and thin sheets of paneling crumple under my weight. I could feel the crunch of a Gesshru inside, dead instantly and blood seeping into the sides. \n\n“ALAAaaaaarm!” The other one screams, now drawing the Needle Thrower off his shoulder and trying to back away from the main gate. \n\nThis was a noisy affair, and there were guards lining every inch of that wall for the very obvious reason of wanting to have eyes up all over the place. Every single one of them should have a remote on hand, any single one should be able to shut me down with the press of a button. \n\nMy arms still moved. I reached above the chest high walls and wrapped my fist around razor wire. The gauntlets cut and metal sticking into the padding, but my skin untouched. \n\nPeople were scrambling, some picking out weapons while others held up tiny little boxes, still more simply ran away or took cover inside a building.\n\nA pull up, dragging my body over the tall fence, lifting my knee high and crunching down over the inner walkways. Standing higher, draping my stomach over the wire and all but throwing myself across the battlement in a desperate fervor. \n\nThe Gesshru on the walls took fire. A plink against the armor, another soft click, tiny plastic literally firing into my backside as I’d decided to make sure my butt was their only target. The controls to the gate were smashed and I was halfway over, the armor was getting scraped and clawed with every movement, my belly feeling the slight twinge as some of the wire catches and holds firm into the plastic outer shell. \n\nIt didn’t support my weight though, popping right back out as I flop to the ground in a ruined heap. Shoulder first, the rest of me afterword, it was all I could do to keep my head from slamming down first. But the armor did blunt some of the damage, and while dazed I wasn’t exactly stopped. \n\nCrawling. \n\nI’ve made it this far before, that was back before they’d put on the razor wire, back when I could just jump the gate in a moment. It was always a remote control that took me own. \n\nKneeling. \n\nThe wide open desert and smooth rounded rocks, a place that looks so much like mars it’s uncanny, even if the rest of the world doesn’t quite follow suit. A hail of tiny plastic needles smack onto the back of me, some solid blows flung by those bits of rubber sticking directly through while most simply glanced off harmlessly. \n\nScrambling to my feet. \n\nThis was the first time I have ever escaped while wearing my armor. A symbol of my oppression, the ultimate dehumanizer, something that signifies I am no longer my own creature but rather an extension of someone else’s will. A machine to be put to work, a weapon used mostly to kill and destroy. An alien terror on the Gesshru battlefield. \n\nStaggering forward. \n\nMove, just move and don’t stop, get out of sight. I had to get as far as possible and never look back. Worry about food later. Get something to drink later. Move … just keep moving. The soft tinks of plastic on plastic were all I needed to tell I was far too close. The shadow of that compound receding behind me, tiny needles of their weapons jabbing into the dirt at my feet. \n\nBreaking into a run. \n\nThey would never be able to catch up to me unless I stop moving. A max unit was the fastest thing in their military short of a light sailboat with a tailwind behind it, and even that I could outrun if it came down to a sprint. Assuming they didn’t even realize this wasn’t Tasgal in my cockpit, they’d still be left with suiting up with whatever humans and pilots were available. That same lengthy process of putting on armor and staggering down the halls, that slow gait under the painfully robotic movement that now served as my aid.\n\nRun. Just run and keep running. \n\nNothing they had was as fast as an free human at a full sprint. Even weighed down by this very light armor, even staggering through the pain of impact and my bulky clothing, I was leagues faster. Doth was the first in over a year to realize it, though I suspect any they send after me would discover this in short order. Wait, no. There were several humans stationed directly in combat, something about repelling an attack to the south. If they decided my escape was a priority they’d send those humans up after me. Chasing me down.\n\nDon’t think about it. Run.\n\nSomething I told myself but didn’t actually try to do, thoughts racing at ghosts and possibilities. I needed a direction, but I had to get out of sight first. No matter where I go there will be obvious tracks, even if I tried to hide them a Gesshru could trip over my footprints in the sand. Scando was taken, and presumably someone is still setting up a base there. Galm? Yes, head to the ruins of Galm and then north to the forests. Gesshru can’t chase me there … \n\n“Told you we’d make it.” Jace clicked in my ears. \n\nI kept running. Faster and faster until my breathing was ragged. “Yes.” I squeaked back and could practically feel the little rodent cringing under the sound. He didn’t stop me though. \n\n“Where are we going to go from here …” he muttered. And I couldn’t tell if he was asking me or himself. Presumably himself. \n\nBut it a question I finally got to ask. After all these years, and for him it was so matter of fact. Freedom. \n\nHeat and exhaustion and the smell of my own breath. My stomach lurching with that tickle of butterflies within, my feet aching from every pounding step and my shoulders bruised from such a hard landing. This was freedom, and every ounce of discomfort would be worth it. \n\nI’ll have to come back to Ontal once I have a plan figured out. There has to be some way to break my people free. Whether it be myself smashing through walls or with an army at my back, I’m not going to abandon my teammates. Escape. They’ll know I’m going to come back for them.\n\nRodan, as soon as we get you out we’re going to need you working on that ship. \n\nToris, Kell, I’m coming for you. Just you wait. \n\nJust wait a little bit longer Loren.\n\nThe nightmare will finally end. \n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "
My name is Freya Savitri, and I am an aspiring flight risk.

The choking gasp of one’s throat under constriction. Harsh jabs into the spines on my neck as either Gesshru tries to keep their footing, twisting and turning.

Kampf in German. Loita in Galician. Fjochtsje in Frisian. Bats toi in French. Taistella in Finnish. Away in Filipino. Voitlus in Estonian. Lukton in Esperanto. Strijd in Dutch. Kaempe in Danish. Boj in Czech. Borba in Croatian. Cummattimentu in Corsican. Stryd in Afrikaans. Perleshje in Albanian. Mybarze in Azerbajani.

Jace held firm and I could hear his labored breathing. Attempting to choke, keeping his arms around Tasgal’s neck. He left me wishing I could hear the snap, some indication of that bastard’s death.

Stri in Scots Gaelic. Tau in Samoan. Lupta in Romanian. Luta in Portuguese. Walka in Polish. Slass in Norwegian. Whawhai in Maori. Glieda in Maltese. Perjuangan in Malay. Ady in Malagasy. Kampf in Luxembourgish. Koba in Lithuanian. Cina in Latvian. Pugna in Latin. Ser in Kurdish.

With nothing else to focus on I put all of my attention on this moment, on these sounds. Face down and incapable of watching the play by play. Flesh tore and tufts of fur tickled down onto my bare skin. I could feel dabs of blood sprinkle down like the lightest of rain. Warm and sticky, so small it felt more of a mist than a drop.

Claws raking through his forearms, or perhaps teeth trying to bite, and I wasn’t able to tell who the winner or victim was. If Tasgal wins then everything is through, if Jace wins then we have …

They leave the embrace.

One close to my helmet cockpit was gasping, struggling to draw breath after the choke. The other regains balance and steps forward. A hard slam of skin against bone, the soft crunch of a blow connecting. Fist perhaps? I could feel all four sets of feet. I could hear Tasgal trying to yell, cut off from whatever he attempted to shout by a blow to the stomach. Or maybe it was the chest?

I felt Tasgal shifting to swing a strike of his own, only for Jace’s feet to reposition. A deft maneuver slipping around the outside of it, the squealing gasps when he goes for the hold again.

“H-he -…” Tasgal twitches atop my shoulders, his feet wedged directly into the bones on my back. His movements desperate but his position off-balance. I could feel as Jace walks backward, wordlessly, silently dragging that Gashn pilot toward the edge.

No words. Only struggle, for I could tell that it felt as if my pilot’s arm were pinned and Jace had his elbow looped around the bastard’s chin. Taking a step back, dragging, away from my cockpit and towards my shoulder. No ramp on this side, somewhat hidden from view, a pain to climb back up assuming the fall doesn’t knock him out.

Oh who am I kidding, these things are tiny. A fall was barely worth worrying about.

Just at the edge. Jace seemed ready to throw, or at least twist and shove to hurl Tasgal off. But my pilot slips away right at the last moment while Jace is wobbly on the uneven ground of my skin. His claws stung, bare feet and the squish of food paste that I couldn’t wipe off.

“I-intruder!” Tasgal shouted, or rather choked out in a breathless sob. Backing away, moving defensively.

Another grab, a step forward and thrust. I felt the slap of palm against fluff when Jace’s arm is bapped aside.

Tasgal counter-attacks with what had to be a kick, one leg lifts off the ground and the weight on his other increases sharply. But then I heard fur rubbing against fur, I could practically feel the panic in my pilot’s voice. Jace must have grabbed the leg and tucked it in close.

Still I felt the attempt at pulling free, the tiny swoosh of his paws swiping at the air, the angry clicks and frightened whimpers of a rodent taken off-guard.

Jace throws. Pulling at my pilot’s leg in the most literal sense of the word, wrenching his hips out from under him and forcing a swing down my shoulder. A smack onto my elbow, a slide and bounce as he keeps falling. The soft plap when the monster lands face-first onto hard tile. A surface as cold and unforgiving as his own heart, and by all rights a fair bit more intelligent.

My prisoner in arms ran to my cockpit. A moment I dreaded on every occasion, even now as I realized how close it meant to victory, how this might be my only chance at escape before the end. Assuming I even live through a full lobotomy I was not going to possess the mental facilities required to organize any form of jail break, alien or otherwise. But there was always something so impersonal about a fuzzy rodent controlling your body from just behind your skull.

“Sir, what was that racket? Sir. Please tell me you aren’t having trouble just jacking in …” the voice of that irritated assistant calls in. I could hear his footsteps on tiles, rounding the corner and getting closer. Impatient at the fact I still haven’t moved and he’s stuck there holding the door open until I get up.

Jace was in my cockpit now. He was struggling to get his tail inside and fit his thin little body into the seat, the design almost intentionally obtuse by what little I’ve seen of it. Feet trying to slot into a fitted holster, elbows propped up in an ergonomic armrest for long term use, face wedged into a holster of wires that left one staring at a computer screen.

The interface and my vision was on that. Everything I could see, Jace could see, which mostly amounts to the bridge of my nose and a shadow on the ground.

“A-aalrrm.” Tasgal sobs off to my left while his assistant approaches from the right. The sound of my pilot wobbling back onto his knees, that pitter-patter of a rodent clamboring up onto my already stained hand.

Buttons were pressed, wide twitches and involuntary jerks as random signals are shot through my central nervous system. My leg starts to extend. He was going to mess this up. The idiot didn’t know the first thing about how to pilot, he didn’t know … he just …

He’d just …

I moved my eyes for the first time in minutes. A curled my fingers into a fist.

I did that. Me. Jace had just turned off the control over-ride, giving me full range of motion, and I had Tasgal rounding the corner right in front of my face.

Instantly I was on my feet. Left hand swiping at Tasgal with a feverish speed, curling into a low crouch that pressed knees against my shoulder and left me with a better range of motion. Jace leased a tiny squeal and I could tell he was almost thrown out of the cockpit, but that didn’t matter right now.

“R-run … Rruuuuun! I-intrud- …” Tasgal starts to scream, and staring up, all the way up, far too much up to see my glaring eyes through a cracked helmet that assistant did indeed turn and run. Scrambling madly.

It wasn’t hard at all to snatch him with my opposite hand, if a bit awkward for the both of us seeing as it left him smeared in nutriment paste. The door wide open, a Gesshru prisoner latched onto the back of my open control panel, and two Gashn soldiers in hand. Oh this was glorious. If I were the movie villain type I would have used here and now to gloat over my impending victory.

And that would of course been the moment Jace figures out enough of the controls to strip that victory away from me. No, I’m not letting that happen. Move quickly.

I leapt toward the center of my cage with a greasy, panicked Gesshru in hand, shoved him as gently as it was quickly into the center of my food bowl, and then immediately moved to grasp at both ends of Tasgal.

“A-aahh, nononono! Maneater, No! NOOooo! I’m not food get me out of here, Aaaahhh!” the assistant screamed, already on the verge of tears. I could see a dark patch of wetness on the clothes between his legs, presumably a sign that he’s just ruined my food.

“You monster.” Tasgal whispers to me, left hand around his shoulders and his legs dangling free. My right hand reaching to pluck at the bottom of  his pants and pull, sliding them off as quickly as I could. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted, I knew we had to fix your mind. But they didn’t’ listen.”

His speech wasn’t stopping me. And at any awkwardness I didn’t try to slow down either, the gray paste coating his fur and the thin fabric shredding under my touch. Next I gripped his legs in one hand while snatching at his shirt in the other, calmly walking toward the doorway. A peak into the halls as stealthily as I could manage, one finger cupping over Tasgal’s mouth to keep him from screaming for help. No two ways about this.

I flung his shirt off toward my food bowl, flicked his pants back so the shredded cloth drapes down on top of that poor assistant. The tiny thing, soaked in nutriment paste, looked up at me as if the whole world was about to end. As I were the great apocalypse and every god or spirit he’s ever prayed to have all abandoned him.

“Waitwat.” Jace muttered behind my ears, seemingly surprised at what happened next.

As I brought the naked pilot up toward my lips, squeezed him through the cracked hole in my helmet, and popped him down like a pill.

“HGmmph! No-nooooo, y-you should be dead! We should have killed every last one of htmnmoph!” the man struggled to talk once my lips closed around him. The flavor nothing special, not outright horrible but also nothing that stands out. The texture of fur, familiar after so long with that child on my tongue. The sensation of his tiny scrambling paws trying to claw at me for purchase. He didn’t break the skin, he didn’t tear, he didn’t even cause pain, on the spit slicked surface he mostly just slid about like an idiot.

He was screaming the whole way, but his voice didn’t carry very far.

I leaned my head back and gulped.

Furry little body easing down my throat, I lost track of his screams, of his threats, even the tickle of his fingernails was hard to focus on past my collar bone. It was done. The room was effectively empty.

I had just become a soul eater in their eyes, and if that bastard suffered just a tiny bit more knowing he was the first, then it was all worth it. A lick of my lips mostly to wipe the flavor off, the warm sensation of something weighty in my stomach. He went down easy which was the hilarious thing.

“Okay, no …” Jace whispers. He was actually trying to talk quietly as if someone else might hear him. None have yet come in to hear the screams of these two workers. “Either you show me how these controls work, or you are the one getting us out of here. Do not fight. Do not rampage. Do you hear me? Don’t let them know anything went wrong, we need them to be clueless for as long as possible. Okay?”

I poked my head out of the open doorway. Cold and lifeless halls, at the far corner they were teaming with Gesshru workers and technicians and soldiers alike.

Normally this is where I’d tear down this pathway at a dead run, knocking aside any who got in my way and smashing through the main gate. That didn’t work last time though, nor the time before that, and it certainly didn’t work the first time so many years ago. The Gashn expect that and know most of our tricks and capabilities, even if they try to suppress that knowledge from the common people.

Loren’s plan once more flickers into my mind. Be quiet. Act like you are tame, so that they never know when you are going to strike.

It was with a heavy breath that I pulled my hand back, licked my fingers clean of the gray paste, and snapped the control panel shut. Sealing Jace inside and making the helmet appear as normal as possible. Cracked still, the holes from those spears still haven’t been repaired and there was a gaping tear in my visor. But those were all hard things to fix without removing the collar outright, it’s designed to fold up after all, meaning near impossible to replace one aspect without replacing the whole thing.

“No control for you.” I clicked back in his own squeakity language, striding boldly … no, I had to catch myself, awkwardly down the halls. There wasn’t a Gesshru controlling me, and from the sounds of it Jace didn’t seem to be trying. He trusted me as best he could manage, perhaps aware that I knew more about this than him.

Or just conscious of the fact that he’d draw even more attention to us than I would if he’s crashing me into walls and slapping my face with my own hand over and over again.
 
Head strait, try not to look down. Move slowly and deliberately, walk the way you’d expect a robot to step. Arms stock at my side, knees raising higher than they should. I was already supposed to be coming out. This was a time where people expected me to leave the hallway, albeit they also expected someone to close the door behind me.

“Pst” Jace mutters. “Get your armor on.”

I couldn’t feel him point and I didn’t turn my head to look, but I was already planning on that. Walking lockstep toward the tall metallic pillars of gears and latches and hydraulics wires. Never did take much to just stand between two of them and keep my arms to my side. It was so hard not to breathe, not to sigh at the sensation as thick padding once more wraps itself around me.

Hard outer layer of cheap plastic with the soft foam lining the insides, in a world where that foam was actually just as effective at being armor as the plastic itself was.

Boots around my feet. Twin loops of plastic perfectly fitted to my legs cover the thighs and foreleg, one half on the front and one half on the back while a robotic screwdriver latches them together.

The same occurred to my waist and groin, then the shoulders and stomach. The arms and the neck. Always leaving only enough articulation for ordinary movement, about as effective as a space suit and not especially bulky. Being bulkier than normal clothing just couldn’t be helped of course.

No one at my feet suspected a thing.

There were awkward stares about the damage to my helmet. The thigh and chest armor had long ago been replaced or repaired, those things were removable and easier to work with. But this was among the first time most of these Gesshru could see my eyes.

Staring down at them. Eyes as big as their head and focused directly on a Gesshru, then another, then another. Waiting impatiently for the pillars to finish their outfitting.

In truth I’d rather be without the armor because one required these same machines to take it off, but that just couldn’t be helped.

With a click and whiirr the outfitting was done. I stepped forth a tiny bit too quickly and had to remind myself how much control I had right now. There was no delegating to Jace, who watched with a knowing anticipation as if this were his plan all along. We aren’t out of the compound yet, lets at least wait until we get to the woods before trying to celebrate.

People moved away from my stomping boots when I padded forward, a strait ninety degree angle turn to pave a pathway directly into the center. Approaching wide, metal garage doors and awaiting them to open it.

These same doors I’ve slammed my fist against so many times. These same doors that I knew could withstand a shoulder check, and that merely kicking at it won’t do a damned thing. There was nothing for it but to wait.

“All clear!” I heard a man in that tiny little control box shout as he started pressing buttons. Eye level with me, and it took all of my will to not turn and stare at him.

Most pilots didn’t bother with idle standing poses or unnecessary movement when waiting around, normally nothing happened at all unless they chose to press a button or a combination of levers. So I had to be just as still as the collar normally forces me to.

Clicks and clicks and a small bit of grinding, the door swings up and harsh light from a desert world begins to overtake this small room. I could feel a tiny fluttering in the pit of my stomach as if I’d swallowed a butterfly, sheer excitement and a childish nervousness.

Wait … what? No. The butterflies were now focusing on a single point, and I could practically feel the brief vibrations. It was just Tasgal trying to pound on my stomach walls, or scream in the hopes someone would hear him. But if I couldn’t make out a single word he said, knowing that human senses were almost universally better than Gesshru senses, there’s not a snowball’s chance in a supernova for that pilot to be heard by anyone.

The metal door slides up past my eyes, and I glance out to that bright landscape of tents and square buildings and yet another open gatehouse with a cheaper, less mechanized doorway. Towering walls of mud and brick lined with razor wire that all faces inward, clearly intending to keep us giants from climbing out than from enemies to work their way in.

Max units were the largest, scariest, most dangerous thing on this planet. Who would want to fight their way into this place? Or so the logic goes.

It was hard to keep from looking down at any of the people at my feet, left to simply hope that none were dumb enough to stand in the way. Tagal never looked down, even the kinder pilots didn’t bother. Just an assistant, Doth had said. Don’t worry too hard if one of them dies …

But by that same token none were especially keen on talking to Tasgal, and knowing exactly which unit I was by the state of disrepair my helmet was in left few people brave enough to stand in the way.

“Almost there. Keep it up.” Jace mutters into the back of my head. I could hear how tense his voice was, just at the edge of panic. Just waiting for the action to start.

My eyes turn to the side. No, I turned my head and made sure my eyes followed, a glance of orange, a flicker of yellow. There was a fluttercat thingy trapped inside a cage. A foot deep pit in the ground with a series of metal bars lining the roof, and a several metal poles jabbed into the ground around it. Presumably to keep the thing from just digging out. A thin sloping hole to one side formed a tunnel going from ground level to where the souleater was buried.

I could almost feel Jace shuddering, and his breathless whisper is filled with dread

“They really are trying to make souleaters into weapons …”

A bright green collar adorned the creature’s neck. It didn’t seem to jab through the flesh like mine did, was far too loose to have been melted into the poor thing’s spine. But the intent was clear, as were the obvious plans Gashn forces had for this thing. Humans were aliens dropped in from another world, and take generations to reproduce. Assuming we even manage to in the first place. And then the child would take longer than their entire civilization has existed to reach maturity. Ten years was ancient, twenty years was the realm of legends.

But these? Native creatures on this world. If they could be captured here, in greater numbers, a far more formidable task force could be formed out of this entirely new breed of pilot …

I did nothing.

It disgusted me, but I did nothing. Not when my own chance at escape was so close at hand.

“Heh, but I guess we already knew that. Your quite the souleater yourself.”

We made it to the final outer gate, and I pointedly ignored his jab. However accurate by their own mythologies. Two guardsmen along the tower walls bearing down at me, from what was just barely eye level and draped in the shadows of spike coated metal. I stood stock still and waited, listening to their squeakity shouts.

“Pilot Flits, you were told to wait until repairs had finished.” One of the Gesshru said, glancing back over to his small roofed hut that presumably had communication equipment. Either way these were the first and final check.

I said nothing. Jace said nothing, but then I’m not sure he even knew where the speakerphone was or how to contact it.

“Flits?” the other one shouted, a little sterner but acting as if on the verge of falling to his knees and begging forgiveness. “You are supposed to be resting yourself, to recover from your own injuries.”

“Play it cool.” Jace whispers. Well, in truth it was actually a specific turn of phrase about being calm under the face of the enemy most common in military jargon but- …

“You have d-direct orders Pilot Tasgal. Turn around and put Maneater back in her cage.” One of them says, neither moving to open the main gates.

“There’s no need to put both of you in combat. No. Leave now and I might p-put in a good word with y-your supervisor.” The other started off strong as if he were brave and confident, but then slipped into fearful stuttering when it was increasingly apparent that I wasn’t going away.

We stared at each other.

All movement in the camp stops now, the walls closed and me as the center of attention. Sweat dripped down my forehead, my eyes going from a narrow scrutiny to fearfully wide as I tried to run through my options. They could see it, one eye through the cracks in my visor. I could see them, their own fear growing, perhaps fully aware of how callous and unstable Tasgal was.

My stomach fluttered. The sensation of butterflies that now left me pleasantly warm, faint tickles as I could just about make out his face rubbing against my belly. Feel his movements slow and falter.

Neither of us backed down, and I could see the Gesshru on the left starting to turn back toward his tiny little booth. There was only one way I’m getting out of this.

I turned around.

I took one step back toward the compound, then another step. I could feel Jace worrying in the back of my head, the way his weight shifted as he tries to look behind him and realizes the cover of a control panel is in the way.

He leans down and whispers.

“Rusted Now!”

My body turns. No, I was turning it, twisting on my heels and throwing my weight foreword. A slam!

Plastic against wood, my fist against a doll house, the wires and glass and thin sheets of paneling crumple under my weight. I could feel the crunch of a Gesshru inside, dead instantly and blood seeping into the sides.

“ALAAaaaaarm!” The other one screams, now drawing the Needle Thrower off his shoulder and trying to back away from the main gate.

This was a noisy affair, and there were guards lining every inch of that wall for the very obvious reason of wanting to have eyes up all over the place. Every single one of them should have a remote on hand, any single one should be able to shut me down with the press of a button.

My arms still moved. I reached above the chest high walls and wrapped my fist around razor wire. The gauntlets cut and metal sticking into the padding, but my skin untouched.

People were scrambling, some picking out weapons while others held up tiny little boxes, still more simply ran away or took cover inside a building.

A pull up, dragging my body over the tall fence, lifting my knee high and crunching down over the inner walkways. Standing higher, draping my stomach over the wire and all but throwing myself across the battlement in a desperate fervor.

The Gesshru on the walls took fire. A plink against the armor, another soft click, tiny plastic literally firing into my backside as I’d decided to make sure my butt was their only target. The controls to the gate were smashed and I was halfway over, the armor was getting scraped and clawed with every movement, my belly feeling the slight twinge as some of the wire catches and holds firm into the plastic outer shell.

It didn’t support my weight though, popping right back out as I flop to the ground in a ruined heap. Shoulder first, the rest of me afterword, it was all I could do to keep my head from slamming down first. But the armor did blunt some of the damage, and while dazed I wasn’t exactly stopped.

Crawling.

I’ve made it this far before, that was back before they’d put on the razor wire, back when I could just jump the gate in a moment. It was always a remote control that took me own.

Kneeling.

The wide open desert and smooth rounded rocks, a place that looks so much like mars it’s uncanny, even if the rest of the world doesn’t quite follow suit. A hail of tiny plastic needles smack onto the back of me, some solid blows flung by those bits of rubber sticking directly through while most simply glanced off harmlessly.

Scrambling to my feet.

This was the first time I have ever escaped while wearing my armor. A symbol of my oppression, the ultimate dehumanizer, something that signifies I am no longer my own creature but rather an extension of someone else’s will. A machine to be put to work, a weapon used mostly to kill and destroy. An alien terror on the Gesshru battlefield.

Staggering forward.

Move, just move and don’t stop, get out of sight. I had to get as far as possible and never look back. Worry about food later. Get something to drink later. Move … just keep moving. The soft tinks of plastic on plastic were all I needed to tell I was far too close. The shadow of that compound receding behind me, tiny needles of their weapons jabbing into the dirt at my feet.

Breaking into a run.

They would never be able to catch up to me unless I stop moving. A max unit was the fastest thing in their military short of a light sailboat with a tailwind behind it, and even that I could outrun if it came down to a sprint. Assuming they didn’t even realize this wasn’t Tasgal in my cockpit, they’d still be left with suiting up with whatever humans and pilots were available. That same lengthy process of putting on armor and staggering down the halls, that slow gait under the painfully robotic movement that now served as my aid.

Run. Just run and keep running.

Nothing they had was as fast as an free human at a full sprint. Even weighed down by this very light armor, even staggering through the pain of impact and my bulky clothing, I was leagues faster. Doth was the first in over a year to realize it, though I suspect any they send after me would discover this in short order. Wait, no. There were several humans stationed directly in combat, something about repelling an attack to the south. If they decided my escape was a priority they’d send those humans up after me. Chasing me down.

Don’t think about it. Run.

Something I told myself but didn’t actually try to do, thoughts racing at ghosts and possibilities. I needed a direction, but I had to get out of sight first. No matter where I go there will be obvious tracks, even if I tried to hide them a Gesshru could trip over my footprints in the sand. Scando was taken, and presumably someone is still setting up a base there. Galm? Yes, head to the ruins of Galm and then north to the forests. Gesshru can’t chase me there …

“Told you we’d make it.” Jace clicked in my ears.

I kept running. Faster and faster until my breathing was ragged. “Yes.” I squeaked back and could practically feel the little rodent cringing under the sound. He didn’t stop me though.

“Where are we going to go from here …” he muttered. And I couldn’t tell if he was asking me or himself. Presumably himself.

But it a question I finally got to ask. After all these years, and for him it was so matter of fact. Freedom.

Heat and exhaustion and the smell of my own breath. My stomach lurching with that tickle of butterflies within, my feet aching from every pounding step and my shoulders bruised from such a hard landing. This was freedom, and every ounce of discomfort would be worth it.

I’ll have to come back to Ontal once I have a plan figured out. There has to be some way to break my people free. Whether it be myself smashing through walls or with an army at my back, I’m not going to abandon my teammates. Escape. They’ll know I’m going to come back for them.

Rodan, as soon as we get you out we’re going to need you working on that ship.

Toris, Kell, I’m coming for you. Just you wait.

Just wait a little bit longer Loren.

The nightmare will finally end.
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