Art by itsunos_vision. Who still (wisely) refuses to create a reddit account.

This looks so funny without the context, which is : >!Keane threatening to shoot his ass for being a murderous jackass and trying to kill her crew full of "ex fed" species. Somehow, he thinks that's super hot. !<

From Scorched Threads.
Keane is from Threads in the Fabric by u/Quinn_The_Fox

Anton doesn't appear in the main Scorch Directive universe, being a crossover character mostly. But he is from that universe and hates the feds as much as you'd think.

If I had a coin for everytime there are fanfics² that feature another faction going off to fight the gmo humans I'd have like...5 coins.
Don't take this the wrong way, I just think this repeating pattern is funny as hell.

Little cured fella is from An Ape Out of Place by u/Bbobsillypants
Big toothy fella is from Scorch Directive, by me.

Many thanks to Spacepaladin15 for creating this universe!

>Summary: Can Terrans regain their humanity after becoming the monster the federation wanted them to be?

This AU features features darker themes. If you prefer romance and drama check out my other fic: Alienated. Or Private Journals of Vehla of Imenta, set in the SD universe but without the darker elements.

First: Ficlet 01 Previous: Ficlet 18 Next :

A/N 1: Check the anniversary posts: Tarva and Noah intermission, Armor redesign, Prequel fic, and Theme Song by Hyper Strident
See the new ficnaps at the end of the post.

____________

Grand Admiral Mingzhe Zhao, Grand Hotel ‘Protector’s Repose’, Vurn

  “Remind me again, why am I the one getting roped into this?”

My eyes drift to the projection on the droid’s holoscreen as I slip my coat on. Heavens forbid I try to take a vacation from all the warfare, because the moment I sat down on my chair in Vurn’s beachside, Meier disrupted my momentary peace with urgent news of contact with one of the Federation’s species.

“Because if I send Cora, she’s going to give herself away as a backstabbing viper,” he starts listing as he brings up a clawed finger, “we can’t just send one of our ambassadors with no heavy titles, because that would be disrespectful according to their people’s customs. And I can’t go in person, because if I receive the nevok’s envoy myself, it makes the Dominion look weak and desperate.”

“So what, I’m just the one you could spare to send?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, my displeasure evident in my face, not that Elias seems to care much. “Besides, why do you even care what some space deer-hares think? They were the ones who reached out to us, not the other way around. If anyone should be begging on their knees, it’s them.”

“I’m sending you because you’re one of our heavy-hitters, just as they are sending one of theirs. A title like ‘Eyes of the Imperator’ carries weight to them, just as ‘Grand Admiral of the Terran Armada’ does to us; as for why we have to play ball: the nevok are one of the Federation’s industrial powerhouses. Having them on our side not only would bolster our fleet’s capabilities, but deal a heavy blow to the Federation.”

“We could just bomb the shit out of them. Problem solved,” I sigh as I button up the navy coat, looking at myself in the hotel room’s mirror to make sure nothing is out of place. “Worked wonders with the yulpa.”

“Dammit Zhao, we are not executing the Scorch Directive on every planet that slightly inconveniences us!”

“But it’s so fun…” I whine, pouting as I look in his direction, like a child begging for ice cream. “Just an itty-bitty-little more genocide, pleeeeeease?”

Elias rolls his eyes before bringing a hand to his face, rubbing the edge of his temples with his fingertips.

“No, Mingzhe.”

“Ugh, you’re such a spoilsport. Whatever happened to the Elias Meier who crushed a venlil’s head to a pulp with his bare hands?” I ask rhetorically. I know the answer already: he got tired of playing the monster. Both him, Chief-Hunter Isif, and many others under them.

When they found out that in doing so, we had been following the Federation’s script, things began to shift. First with Venlil Prime, Williams was given a budget to help rebuild the detestable wall-eyed sheep planet. Then it was Leirn, the fighting coming to a close in less than a day, not by bombs and missiles, but by words.

That rubbed the lizards the wrong way: humanity ditching the assigned role of butchers. To Betterment, we were never allies; just another weapon to point at their prey and shoot with.

Funny that said weapon turned around and took off Betterment’s head, quite literally at that.

Since then, things have begun to change quickly. The yotul have started to pop up in stations and colonies as enforcers, freeing up clawed hands and scaled tails to take care of more delicate work. The soldiers breathe easier now, and even the civvies we lord over have had their quality of life slowly improving, even allowing them to freely travel within Dominion-controlled systems.

We’re letting them off too damn easy, in my opinion. But alas, I don’t call the shots. Doubt we would have made it this far if it were the case. I’m no visionary.

Elias sighs and shakes his head. “Listen, I know I’m imposing a lot on you, and that you were officially on leave-”

“You are, and I was, but do go on…”

He grumbles, much to my amusement, before he regains some of his poise, “but, you are the man I want in charge of these negotiations. The nevoks’ Imperium going out of their way to offer us a deal sets a precedent we can use in the future.”

I reach for my cap and put it on, adjusting it so it rests firmly around my head as Elias continues.

“If they can be convinced to secede from the Federation, that’s good enough, they can have our word that we will leave them alone. If they’re willing to throw their lot in with us, even better. I’d rather not waste personnel and assets just to bring them to heel.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I’ll be a proper gentleman, have her back home by ten. Don’t you worry, sir.”

“Good. I’m counting on you, Mingzhe.”

“When aren’t you?” I ask back right as the call ends, knowing just how much it pisses Elias off not to get the last word in.

I look back to my reflection, giving every detail a last check before I leave my suite: steam-pressed pants fitted into polished boots, with nary a wrinkle on either that would throw off my silhouette. Coat hugging my upper body, keeping my vest and my Consul pistol hidden, the pins over my chest evenly arranged. Pristine, white leather gloves that will protect my hands from any contact poison. Dress shirt of the same white, navy-blue tie that matches the uniform even under different lighting, and the pièce de resistance, my cap, hugging my temples and the back of my head without constricting circulation.

“I, Grand Admiral of the Terran Armada, Mingzhe Zhao, welcome you to Vurn. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I say as I salute and stand firm, holding my own gaze for a beat before I relax, letting out a sigh.

There is a knock at the door, though I don’t bother looking in its direction as I reach into the nightstand to grab my father’s watch. “Come on in.” The old CASIO hugs my wrist snugly, the word ‘Edifice’ etched over the brand’s logo. It stopped at 12:57 BJT, October 22^(nd) of 2099.

The day the world was set on fire.

The moment when four thousand years of human history and culture, an empire that suffered through wars, natural disasters, famine, disease, viral outbreaks, and every tragedy without bending the knee, was reduced to ashes in the blink of an uncaring eye.

The door slides open as an arxur aide steps in, standing up firm as she salutes. “Grand Admiral, sir. We have confirmed the Imperium’s ship has landed in Vurn’s terminal, the ambassador and her security detail are enroute aboard one of our transports,” the space lizard reports, her whole body tensed like a bowstring.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Thirty-seven years ago, it was us, humans, who had to stand firm and proper before the arxur. They had lived under a caste system for millennia, and expected us to adopt it for a chance of survival.

Some of us didn’t have any qualms, having lived under one even in the 21^(st) century. The arxur were the ones with all the chips, and humanity was but a nascent phoenix; frail and pathetic, a smoldering little thing after the Federation’s attempt to burn us out of existence. We had to, as Elias and his compatriots like saying, ‘play ball’, or risk extinction.

Look at us now: a majestic firestorm that soars through the universe’s cold void of space, capable of reducing whole planets to ash in the blink of an eye. We are feared and respected, a far cry from the ‘primitive apes’ we were once dismissed as.

“Best I don’t keep our guests waiting, then.”

She nods and makes her way out of the suite, waiting for me to step out to follow behind me. When this all began, there were many among us humans who felt unnerved, being stalked and observed by our new scaly overlords. I was never among them, especially not after the serum closed the gap between them and us.

Even during the United Dominion’s early days, something the arxur knew as the only truth, and that humanity pretended to have forgotten, is that might makes right. The strong lead, the weak follow. What the arxur didn’t know then was that might goes beyond just the physical prowess, or who has the bigger guns.

The memories of those first covert raids are still fresh in my mind. When Elias, myself, and a few other ‘lucky’ ones, were sent to Federation satellites and stations to test our combat skills. To prove to the arxur what humanity was capable of. But we did not perform as the arxur expected a fellow predator to.

Every test they devised, we would surpass expectations.

We were disciplined, measured, every movement and decision a coordinated effort to ensure swift, overwhelming victory. Even the times the odds were flipped against us by some unaccounted variable, we persevered. And then, the arxur began to understand why the Federation tried to kill us all.

A ravenous monster that will come out of the dark and eat you is scary. A monster that can think and plan how he is going to cut off your escape routes little by little, until you’re backed into a corner so it can catch you at its leisure? That’s the stuff of nightmares.

And today, it is my duty to show the nevok why it is us, humans, that are now leading the United Dominion.

“Tell Chef Miller there is a change in today’s menu,” I say as we approach the elevator, pressing the button on the panel. “I want my pesto with some meat in it. Something… bold, but no sapients; he has plenty of Terra’s product to choose from. For appetizers, sushi will do. If I see any avocado or cream cheese inside my rolls, I will cut off his fingers and feed them to him myself after our guests leave.”

The arxur nods as she follows me inside, standing beside me as we make our way up the hotel’s central spine.

“And for dessert, sir?”

“Hmmm,” I pause a moment, thinking of a decent pick. “Strawberry cheesecake. I’m feeling particularly decadent today.”

“Very well sir, I will let the Hunter-Culinar know,” she replies, fiddling with her holopad.

This one is a curious thing. Has been under my command since I was made Grand Admiral, assigned by Isif himself. Yet, I don’t think we have ever spoken unless necessary.

“Kiex.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Once the nevok’s envoy and I are seated in the dining room, I want you to take the day off.”

Her head shifts ever so slightly as she blinks, her tail’s tip moving slowly behind her in what I have come to learn means an arxur is intrigued.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“May I ask the reason why?”

“I don’t believe I’ll be needing protection from our guests. We are merely sharing a meal and then having a chat, after all. They’re not stupid enough to try to assassinate one of the Dominion’s higher ups in broad daylight, let alone when he is in a room with several heavily-armed guards.”

Kiex flicks her tongue between her lips, much like a snake tasting the air, looking for prey. She hums pensively a moment before her eyes focus back to the panel showing we are almost to our destination.

“I apologize sir, but that is not an order I can follow.”

I chuckle under my breath, looking her way from the corner of my eye.

“Are you that concerned for my safety? I’m touched.”

Her tail flicks again, a sharper twist, betraying some irritation.

“When Chief-Hunter Isif assigned me as head of your security detail, he gave me very clear instructions...”

She suddenly slouches forward, then brings one arm behind her back and squints - just like Isif would, before adopting the gruff underhissing his voice usually carries.

“‘Kiex, I want you to make sure no harm comes to this one,” she raises an index claw just as the former Chief-Hunter would when imparting an order. "Even if he were to throw himself out of an airlock, I expect you to be right behind to pull him back inside’."

She blinks and straightens again.

"I have not failed in obeying this order since then, I do not plan to start now, sir.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of my lips as I look back to the doors when our ascent comes to an end.

“Well, don’t complain I never offered you any PTO,” I joke after the bell rings.

The walk to the landing pad is a quiet one, the sun shines bright in the sky, even though there are a few clouds here and there. In the distance, I can see the small silhouette of the helicarrier approaching.

“How do I look?”

“As you usually do, sir,” Kiex replies, standing at my left, just a step behind me. “Sharp like a tliskis’ edge.”

The ship lowers itself onto the platform, the wind making my coat’s tails billow behind me as we stand steady, waiting for the engines to slowly quiet down. Only when their whirring has lulled to a faint whine, does the side door slide open.

Out step a few of our men and women, standing in two rows and saluting before the guest of honor sets a hoof down on the helipad.

Sandy fur covers every inch of her body, her torso and waist covered by an elegant purple dress that hangs from one of her shoulders. She is wearing spectacles with a thick upper rim, and holds a pad in her hand as she walks closer to us with the confidence of a model in a runway. Behind her, four more nevok march out, clad in garbs we have seldom seen during this war.

The space hares are a rather elusive sort. We have never formally fought them in any capacity, since most we have encountered in other planets and colonies are mere civilians. Their uniforms are a light grey that reflects the light just like freshly fallen snow, and on their belts I can spy handguns and holstered knives.

They follow behind her until she comes to a halt, just a few paces from Kiex and I. She looks up to me, her expression betraying no fear or concern.

Hm, sure is Jones around here.

“Eyes of the Imperator, Zarai d’Araji,” I begin my formal address, placing a hand on my stomach as I slightly bow my head. “I, Grand Admiral of the Terran Armada, Mingzhe Zhao, welcome you to Vurn. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Her nose flares briefly before the corners of her mouth curl into a subtle smirk. “The pleasure is all mine, Grand Admiral of the Terran Armada, Mingzhe Zhao. Your hospitality humbles us,” she replies, giving what I assume must be a modest curtsy.

“Please, just Grand Admiral will do fine,” I say, hoping she will accept the offer to not have to say the whole thing out whenever she wishes to address me. With one hand, I gesture behind me as I lightly turn to show the way. “Follow me inside. We have had one of our top cooks prepare a meal for us. One should not have to make any important decisions on an empty stomach.”

I had expected her entourage to react to that. A translator misinterpreting my offer as a threat, someone getting into their head that we were planning to eat them. Instead, Zarai lightly tilts her head and blinks slowly, looking at Kiex briefly before turning her eyes back to me. The hare-like alien, elegant and poised in her own way, wouldn't look out of place in Chang'e's court.

“A private transport, and a meal in one of Vurn’s best hotels? You certainly know how to make a lady feel welcome,” she chuckles, bringing a hand to the side of her face. “But you are right, Grand Admiral. Negotiations on an empty stomach tend to turn sour quickly.”

I don’t know what scares me the most: the fact that not one of these moon rabbits has shown any sign of fear that I can pick up, or that it almost feels like I’m being flirted with by Cora Jones’ fuzzy doppelganger.

Our group enters the acclimated hallways of the hotel, advancing towards the reserved dining room: a rather welcoming lounge, with a stage where an instrument similar to a grand piano rests in solitary vigil. As soon as we enter, both security teams spread out as we approach the table.

White satin drapes over wood that resembles mahogany, the cushioned seats of a similar make, one at each end of the decorated table. Thankfully, nevok are not on the short side compared to other species we deal with, so there was no need to commission some booster seats just for this occasion.

I pull out her chair and with the other hand gesture to her seat, which she takes after handing the pad to one of her bodyguards. After gently pushing her chair in, I walk to the opposite end and sit down myself, removing my cap before handing it to Kiex for safekeeping before she retreats, giving us some space.

Almost on cue, the door leading to the kitchen opens, and out march a human and an arxur, pushing a small hovercart in our direction. These two came with recommendations from Chief-Hunters Reska and Coth, having served meals for diplomatic events and United Dominion celebrations with only one incident to their record so far.

They stop just beside us before the human in a fully-white uniform brings a hand to his abdomen and politely bows.

“Greetings, Eyes of the Imperator, Zarai d’Araji. I am Hunter-Culinar David Miller, the one responsible for preparing your meals today,” he introduces himself before gesturing to the arxur beside him. “This is my apprentice, Culinar Koska, the one whom I owe the preparation of all the ingredients used in today’s dishes. Appetizers are already underway; however, I wished to ask, what vintage will you be drinking along with your meal? We have a wide selection of both local, imported, and even Terran beverages to choose from, though I can also give my own personal recommendation.”

Zarai’s ears swivel a brief moment as she regards the head chef, humming as she taps her lips with one claw. Eventually, she lets out an almost inaudible chuff of amusement before responding.

“I will go with whatever the Grand Admiral chooses.”

Miller nods before looking my way, while Zarai studies my body language through her spectacles. In her eyes’ reflection, I can see lines of writing far too small for the translator to pick up on. Should’ve figured someone who runs intelligence for the Nevok Imperium would bring along some spy gadgets.

“Vermentino. Bring an unsealed bottle.”

The chef and his assistant both nod in unison before they begin setting the table, placing wine cups before us, as well as immaculate white plates and silverware for every planned meal before excusing themselves. Koska takes the cart into the kitchens while Miller moves to the bar area, leaving Zarai and I to ourselves. Or at least, as much as we can be by ourselves in a room with ten soldiers plus Kiex, all watching our every move for a sign they need to intervene.

“I must say, I like the new management of this place,” she says, turning to look out the window to the city below. “Last time I dined in this hotel, the service was nowhere near this attentive.”

“The United Dominion prides itself in rewarding excellency and efficiency. The times when seniority was the only means of promotion have long since passed,” I comment, briefly glancing to the side to gauge what she may be looking at. The city seems to be going through its usual motions, order maintained by the local Peacekeeping corps.

She chuckles at that, looking my way from the corner of her eye. “So it would seem. The death of Prophet-Descendant Giznel must have been quite liberating, then.”

A shiver crawls up my spine as I begin to realize just how close the similarities to Cora are. Word of Giznel’s death was expected to eventually reach the ears of most of the Federation, if Meier’s call with Nikonus is anything to go by, but was not estimated to be public knowledge any time soon. She is tipping her hand, showing there is very little about us they are not aware of.

The space hares, in comparison, are a wild card. We know less about them than we knew about the yulpa when we took the fight to Grenelka. The few that Jones’ people have interrogated are civvies through and through, not privy to any intel that would give us an edge if things got ugly. Even the Federation species that dealt with them know very little about nevok as a whole.

About the only thing we have to go by about them, is their adherence to their business customs. It is no coincidence that we set this up the way we did: the host should treat their guest as they themselves would like to be treated. A shared meal is a sign of good will and seeking mutual profit.

“Certainly. However, that does not mean we do not value experience,” I say, looking at my warped reflection in the empty glass cup. “We humans have a saying: ‘beware the old man in a profession where men die young’.”

Zarai brings a hand to her mouth and laughs. Not mockingly, just amusement. “Your kind are a rather interesting sort, Grand Admiral,” she begins, bringing her hand down as she turns her head to address me. “The predator and prey dichotomy does not fully apply to you, nor the way you go about things. You can be as delicate as the touch of a dossur’s tail, or as ruthless as an arxur’s bite,” she says, looking Kiex’s way briefly. “No offense.”

Kiex doesn’t reply, not that she needs to, her silence seemingly doing the work for her. Miller comes back with a bucket of ice and water, the white-labeled black bottle’s neck poking out of the edge.

“Here we are, ‘Contessa Pauline’, from the region of Tuscany, Italy. Aged six months,” he describes as he places the bucket down between us. He reaches with a gloved hand for his shirt’s pocket, bringing out a fancy metal corkscrew with an engraved T-shaped handle.

A few turns in one direction and a pull later, the immediate area is perfumed by the vintage’s intense and persistent aroma. Fruity, with hints of apricot and peach. He serves Zarai first before filling my own glass with the straw yellow beverage, then places the bottle on the metal bucket, and gets out of the way just as Koska arrives with trays filled with a wide selection of Japanese-styled sushi rolls.

“To start off: a selection of multiple rolls with different fillings and toppings,” the arxur assistant chef takes the lead as she gently places one tray down, then the other right next to it. “No avocado nor cheese for the Grand Admiral, per his request,” she nods before smoothly retreating and pulling the cart away from our table to wait beside Miller, just by the door leading back to the kitchen.

Zarai takes the glass in one clawed hand, giving it a practiced swirl to watch the liquid inside spin. I take my own glass and raise it, tilting it in her direction.

“A toast. To the meeting of two great galactic powers,” I offer.

She seems puzzled, looking at my cup as she stops swirling her own. “Am I to drink from your cup, Grand Admiral?”

I blink at the question.

“No. We clink our glasses together, like so,” I say, leaning slightly closer to make sure my glass gives hers a light tap, before I lean back and bring the wine closer to me. “After that, we drink. It’s an old Terran custom, for good fortune.”

She chuffs in amusement before bringing the cup to her snout. No doubt whatever cameras she has on her spectacles are scanning the drink, maybe looking for poison. She takes a whiff before drinking, which I mimic, stopping after my sip to place the glass down next to my main plate.

“This is good. I would not be remiss to take a bottle home, if you would permit,” she says, placing her cup down. She reaches for one of the vegetarian rolls, inspecting it before bringing it into her mouth.

“Certainly, I believe we can easily accommodate such a request,” I reply, taking one of the salmon rolls myself. Hmm, it is actual salmon, not that printed crap you’d get served in the Black Bane’s food court. I may have underestimated Miller’s commitment to his craft.

She watches intently as she chews on her own bite, her eyes fixed on my lips before I swallow. Mayhaps she was expecting I would not consume meat before her. But pretending I am not what I am would make us look weak. They came here to deal with the United Dominion, not the spineless venlil or the meek zurulians.

Besides, by their own customs, the host chooses the meals to be served, and the guests must partake. For while ‘a gift freely given is an investment into the future’, ‘a gift rejected is a sign of impassable differences*’*. They hailed us to set up this negotiation, so while we may be playing ball, said ball is in our court.

Or something along those lines. I didn’t exactly get to study everything about their customs between last night and today, and I was never big on basketball either. But I do know that to them, profit is the be-all and end-all. I can understand that.

And if I can understand it, then I can use it to my advantage.

“If I may ask, what is the purpose of the clinking of glasses before drinking?” She is looking my way from the edge of her spectacles, holding a roll filled with baby corn in her hand. “We do toast on Ittel, mind. Just not in such a manner.”

“Drinking naturally engages four of our five senses: smell, touch, taste and sight. By clinking the glasses together and engaging hearing, we reach sensory completion,” I explain simply, reaching for a shrimp-stuffed roll. “There is a myth that, in olden times, human monarchs would do so to spill some of their drink onto other nobles’ cups, so that if their drink was poisoned, their would-be assassins would share the same fate.”

Zarai’s eyes widen at that, before a low, sultry laugh rises from her throat, the space hare chuckling heartily at that. I offer a small smile, hoping I didn’t just fumble this whole thing by telling her that.

Then again, I have nothing to hide. I’m not Jones.

“Interesting. And given how calmly you say it, I will presume you are not planning to poison me, then?” she asks, eating the second roll before chasing it with more wine.

“Of course not. The United Dominion has nothing to gain from making the Nevok Imperium our enemy.”

She nods at that, putting the glass down. “I see. Glad to know we are dealing with professionals, then. Not to gossip, but some of the Federation’s representatives have proven to be rather poor hosts.”

“I’ll not speak ill of them behind their backs, but somehow, that does not shock me,” I reply, taking a third roll, this one filled with crab paste. “Then again, whenever we meet them, they tend to be screaming.”

Zarai lets out an amused chuff, one of her ears swiveling half a turn before flopping back. I don’t know what that means, but what I do know is that the roll she is grabbing next has crab paste in it. She regards it a moment, her glasses probably analyzing it.

“This has flesh in it, does it not?”

I hold her gaze as everything around us falls silent. This is it, the moment that makes or breaks this whole thing.

“Yes. A species of crustacean, native to Terra. Non-sapient,” I reply, trying to hide the fact I’m holding my breath.

She looks back down to it, blinks, and to my shock, opens her mouth and pops it in like it was candy. She chews slowly, her eyes never breaking contact with mine during the whole process. Her face doesn’t show any disgust, instead just arching a brow before she swallows, letting out a small, satisfied sigh.

Either this bunny has one hell of a poker face, or she has eaten tilfish before.

“That was new, but also strangely familiar somehow. Hm, how queer,” she notes before grabbing another of the veggie rolls to eat.

It takes Kiex’s tail subtly poking my leg for me to remind myself to continue eating, looking to the side briefly to notice chef Miller and Koska; both are staring at our guest wide-eyed, their jaws open so big, they might as well be dislocated.

I don’t have the luxury of expressing my surprise. A squint of my eyes gets them to come out of their stupor before they move back into the kitchen, probably to start bringing the main course.

“So, your people seem to be rather knowledgeable about mine, yet I fear the United Dominion knows very little of the nevok,” I say casually, hoping to fish for any useful information. “Besides the Federation’s reliance on your technology, that is.”

“Well, that is because we keep to ourselves, most of the time. Our clans are rather tightly-knit, you’ll rarely ever see a nevok with another species. Outside of special occasions such as today, of course,” she explains, taking another sip of wine.

“Really? I would have thought the Federation would have tried to force their integration doctrine on your people, as they have with others.”

“Oh, they tried, and every time, we pushed it back. We have our traditions, the rules by which our society abides. The Federation eventually just let us be,” she shrugs, tilting her head before taking another roll to eat. “As long as they get their ships and hardware, they really don’t care much for how we do things.”

“That’s interesting. The Federation seems to be rather invasive when dealing with any of its members.”

She chuckles and closes her eyes a moment, “oh, believe you me, Grand Admiral, they can be troublesome in other ways. They have become so reliant on our production and exports, they have racked up a rather impressive tab. Even if they were to win the war, I doubt they would be able to pay it back in full.”

A larger entity, placing all its production in the hands of a smaller one, only to end up indebted because it was cheaper to outsource the work to foreign sweatshops? The coincidence is so damn amusing I can’t help but laugh, bringing a hand to my chest. Zarai opens her eyes and looks my way, a brow raised as she tilts her head in curiosity.

I wave a hand and bow my head slightly, “sorry. Let’s just say I’m particularly familiar with such an arrangement. When the ones who think they are holding the reins end up with the bill, well… it’s a rather amusing irony.”

I know Elias and Cora are listening in on us, and probably fuming at my choice of words, which just adds to my own amusement.

She smirks and nods slightly at that. “Oh, I think we are going to get along swimmingly, Grand Admiral.”

“It pleases me to hear that, Eyes of the Imperator, Zarai d’Araji.”

“Please, let us dispense with such formalities for the time being.” Her hand reaches for her cup of wine before she slowly raises it to her lips once more, “Lady Zarai will do just fine.”
_____________________

A/N: The writer isn't familiar with alien tail language and refuses to read NoP. So imagine the smiles as whatever a fed would do. Today, we see Max's characters in this little cameo!

We have a thread in the official NoP server too!. Chapter brought to you by itsunos_vision.

This is a fic from the main Scorch Directive AU. There's many fics written by other people with their own take on it, for more you can take a look here.

Canon Sidestories:

Annihilation Order (Prequel, possibly ongoing)

Children of the Serum (finished)

Noah and Tarva Intermission

Slanek Intermission

Private Journals of Vehla of Imenta (finished)

Vehla's Misadventures and the sequel (oneshot)

The Wildchild (Finished)

Meat Matryoshka (Finished)

Crossing the Rubicon (oneshot)

Crossovers:

Scorched Threads (SD x Threads in the Fabric by u/Quinn_The_Fox)

Cool Ficnaps that make the setting so much better!:
New additions!

Scorch Directive/Human Daycare Services AU by u/Valuable-Location-89

The Soul Directive by Max

The Thawed Directive by Funnelchairman

Cool pics by u/Dorfvonbaron

Balance of Vengeance and its sequel and third act by u/blackomegapsi

Memories Not Mine by u/Quinn_The_Fox

Embers in the Ashes by u/ErinRF

Hellion Squad by cowriter

Scorched Earth by u/Puzzleheaded_Buy6590

Hunters of the Void by u/Competitive_Koala_93

Latest entry of Carol's SD-Verse by u/CarolOfTheHells

Pictures by u/Jollyreflection75

Parenting from the Trenches by Zoé Selardi

Black Sheep in the Wolves Den by u/Barcod123 but the second part was taken down :c

Sketch of an arxur, using as few layers as possible

Many thanks to to Spacepaladin15 for letting us play in this sandbox.!

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Imperator Erol d’Zani, Imperial Council Chamber, Ittel

  The Imperial Council’s chamber is almost never in full attendance. At this point in our people’s time, most of the meetings are mere formalities. Their purpose has been reduced to simply ensure the involved parties of any new legislation or resolved trial are present when we deliver our sentencing. Everything else, we could simply send a letter, or an assassin, depending on the message we would deliver.

Time is the one luxury no one can afford to waste, after all. And yet, we are forced to do so, entertaining Aafa’s new lead buffoon.

“The Federation’s fleet requires more assault ships if we are to be victorious, Imperator.” The kolshian’s frills quiver as he speaks, his posture rigid and forced, trying to project an authority he clearly only has in his own head.

“It’s ‘Imperator Erol d’Zani’. You say the full thing,” I stress again, resting my head on my hand as I listen to the Federation’s de-facto leader make his demands.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes before focusing on my face again, “Imperator Erol d’Zani.”

Unlike his predecessor, this one is direct in his speech. No formal addressing, no protocol, no respect shown. The kolshian really believes he is the one in charge here.

Such arrogance would be impressive, even laudable, on a pup. But on an adult from another species, it makes my skin crawl.

“We are still due to receive our payment from the latest squadron we delivered for your… ‘shadow fleet’, was it?” I remind him, shifting in my seat, moving a hand to the screen to bring up the bill. “Cute name. Unfortunately, FTL drives don’t grow on trees, nor are plasma cannons assembled overnight.”

Maronis huffs, squinting those bulbous yellow eyes my way. “You will be paid in due time. The war against the Dominion is costly, I know. But until the predators have been defeated, we must set aside such trifles.”

I feel my eyebrow twitch at that. Seems he is not so much of a dullard to not notice my displeasure, as he quickly offers an apologetic smile. “Besides, once we are done with them, the spoils of war shall go to the victors.”

“Right. How is the war effort going, by the way?” I ask, sitting straight to steeple my fingers in front of myself. “Heard you let the Dominion take Venlil Prime and Leirn without offering their people any assistance.”

He drops the smile immediately, scowling as he leans over his pulpit before taking a deep breath. Stars, he’s bad at this.

“That… was my predecessor’s own cowardice, letting the predators do as they wished.” He nods, gesturing with his tentacles. “I can assure you, such shameful disregard of our herd’s wellbeing will not reoccur during my rule, or after it.”

“Hmm, I see.” I nod, looking back at the screens beside his projection. “This the same predecessor who dealt with the Arxur Dominion’s Prophet-Descendant Giznel? Choosing which planets to punish for stepping out of line?”

Maronis’s pupils quiver, not from shock, but anger. His nostrils flare slightly as he seems to chew on his response.

“Are you that foolish to fall for obvious predator propaganda?” he asks, smirking amusedly. “Those are lies, sown to separate us, make us easier prey. Only in unity do we stand the chance of ridding ourselves of them.”

I squint my eyes at the insult, but let it slide for now. “Of course not, but they do raise some very funny questions,” I start, leaning against my seat’s rest. “Funny how in Fahl, all of your diplomats were able to leave the planet. Just in time to avoid the Dominion’s coming. Coincidence?”

He closes his eyes and snorts. “Pure coincidence. Had we known the Dominion was headed for Fahl, we would have happily helped strengthen its defenses. We fought to the best of our fleet’s capabilities, and we eventually liberated Fahl’s people from their grasp.”

“Funny you were able to take it back so easily as well.” I point out, tilting my head. “Funny that the same Dominion, that took over Fahl in a day, would lower its guard. Just in time for you to capitalize on it while they were busy taking Colia.”

“We are not privy to the way predators think. Besides, I did not call you to have the Aafa’s leadership questioned,” he hisses, puffing up his chest. “We are the ones leading The Galactic Federation, not you.”

I scoff, looking him in the eye as we let the silence linger. “Of course not,” I finally reply, “If we were the ones leading it, its cybersecurity would not be so pathetic. Even a sivkit can hack it and upload that kind of drivel.”

Maronis’ gills ripple as he scowls again, trying to make himself look bigger on the screen. “The past is the past, Imperator. We must set our sights to the future and-”

“Imperator. Erol. d’Zani.” I cut him off sharply, the fur on the back of my neck standing up.

He bows his head slightly, though his ire is teetering on the brink of coming out.

“My apologies, Imperator Erol d’Zani,” he says, anger clinging to every syllable he speaks. “But this? This is exactly what the predators want. They want to sow discord among the herd. Separate us so they are stronger against every other species, and then come for us, one by one. But together? We can stop them, once and for all.”

Well, this is new: certainty. He says it like he thinks it’s actually true. He has offended me enough to warrant cutting the call short, but I am curious to hear what he has in mind.

“I presume you have devised a course of action, then?”

Maronis’ face brightens up at the question, standing upright to show off the jeweled band around his chest. “Naturally. With the Imperium’s supply of strikeships and armament, we will amass a great fleet, and put an end to our plight.”

He says it with such finality, such zeal, it’s almost adorable. “How, exactly?” I ask, looking at him expectantly.

“We will send our fleet to Terra, the Dominion’s new heart and core planet. With its leadership extinct, its remnants will be easy pickings. We will reclaim every planet they have taken, and make Orion’s Arm a safe place for all of preykind.”

I look at him a moment, mulling his words over in my mind as I chew on a piece of strayu. He even looks proud of what he just said, like it is the work of a genius.

“That’s… certainly a plan,” I say, looking at the senators and chancellors gathered, whose faces reflect my own sentiment: that is the dumbest idea that has visited this chamber since the time the late Imperator Ahrim d’Aldemir tried to raise taxes on gambling dens.

We didn’t even hire assassins that time, we just lynched him then and there.

Maronis blinks and tilts his head, “at a loss for words, Imperator Erol d’Zani?”

“I just… wonder how viable such a bold stratagem is. The Imperium has provided The Federation with enough ships, armament and technology to have put up a better fight than this,” I start, bringing up the star chart. “Yet, the results have not been what we were promised. Far from it, in fact.”

The kolshian’s frills twitch, but he does not move to interrupt. “In order to successfully attack Terra, after Wriss bolstered their defenses in that sector, it would require a massive fleet just to get close enough to target the planet. We’re talking about hundreds of ships, maybe over a thousand.”

“Precisely,” he croaks, putting his tentacles behind him. “The sooner we have them, the better.”

“You misunderstand,” I say, looking into those yellow orbs on his face. “Right now, the Imperium’s production of components and assembly of ships is at its maximum capacity. Has been for almost a decade, in fact. We would have to assign every man, woman and child in this generation, and the next one, just to fulfill such a quota.”

“Then make it so, d’Zani. The future of the whole galaxy is at stake.”

“The…!” I groan, clenching my fists as I reign in my own anger. “You are asking us to starve our own people, just so you can try to take out a bunch of apes!”

“Sacrifices must be made for the greater good,” he says firmly. “If you cannot comply with our demands, I understand. It’s not a small order, after all. We can also ask The Fissan Confederacy to help reach that number should the Imperium fall short.”

My claws dig into my throne’s arm rest as my vision blurs momentarily. After a moment, I manage to summon some decorum and take a deep breath.

“It is, as you say, ‘not a small order’. The Imperial Council and I need to deliberate on a decision, could you hold a moment? It shan’t be long.”

Maronis blinks then rolls his eyes, “Very well, Imperator. I will begin communicating with the Confederacy in the meantime.”

I bring my finger to the control panel and put Maronis on hold, waiting just a moment before I let all the pent-up indignation come spilling out.

“That… arrogant crimson fuckwit! Who does he think he is?!” I slam my fist so hard on my throne it sends my bowl of toasted strayu bits flying.

“I much preferred Nikonus. That one at least had the sense to show humility when addressing us,” Chancellor Bail d’Imenta says, clearing his throat.

“Maronis’ demands?” I ask, trying not to raise my voice. My hoof clicks against the floor impatiently as I bounce my leg, tapping my forehead with a claw.

“It is as you say, Your Excellency. Our production of electronic components and assembly lines are already topped out,” speaks one of the chancellors. “Workers have begun to faint on the spot from exhaustion, and some are threatening to go on strike if we do not increase their wages to match the extended working hours.”

“Marvelous,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my snout between my fingers. “Am I to presume the budget doesn’t allow for such accommodations anymore?”

“Worse than that, Your Excellency. With the way things are going, unless the Federation begins to pay up their debt, we are headed towards an inevitable recession. We will have to start pulling resources from our colonies just to try to break even by the end of this year’s final quarter.”

A sigh escapes my throat as I sink into my seat, tilting my head back against the ornate throne’s cushions. I knew this deal was going to be bad when my predecessor signed it. The writing was on the walls when the Federation started to wave IOUs around like they were flags.

Kadir must be laughing from beyond the grave, watching this timebomb of an agreement blowing up on our faces now that it cannot affect him. Bastard. Part of me wishes I would have had the pleasure of driving a dagger behind his back myself, but his removal required a more elegant solution.

I close my eyes a moment, steepling my fingers together as my elbows rest on the throne’s armrests.

Should we refuse, the Federation is liable to up and abscond without repaying their debt to us, giving up our hold over the Federation’s manufacturing to the Fissan Confederacy.

If we comply, we condemn our species to starvation and death. Placing all our chips on the gamble presented with the blind faith of a man who has clearly never taken a punch to the face.

Decisions, decisions…

“Eyes of the Imperator, Zarai d’Araji,” I call out, and she quickly rises to her hooves from her seat. “What are the reports of our agents within the planets the Dominion controls?”

Zarai nods, before bringing up her pad and swiping up to send her feed into the auditorium’s main projector. I was prepared to see carnage. Bodies littering the streets, chaos as stampedes flee seeking safety. Predators eating those who cannot escape.

Instead, what we all see is… intriguing.

The capital city of Colia shows signs of battle, yes. But normal life, or an imitation of it, continues: zurulians, venlils, gojids, krakotl, even lesser species, like the sivkits and dossur, all milling about in the streets.

About the only change to the daily routine, besides the damage to infrastructure, is the unmistakable presence of the predators there.

The arxur look almost unrecognizable. Before the Arxur Dominion became the United Dominion, almost all the greys we saw looked gaunt and emaciated. ‘Famine given form’, some would call them.

The ones in the projector look healthy, clad in armor polished to a shine.

They watch the prey like one watches an inferior opponent’s hands in a game of pazaak, waiting for a chance to strike them down at the first sign of weakness. But the strike never comes, despite the many chances presented, and so they continue their vigil; hands loosely hanging at their sides, not even gripping their weapon as one begins conversing with its partner.

They do not have the crazed look of a ravenous monster we had grown so used to seeing. If I didn’t know better, I would believe the two guards I’m focusing on simply look bored.

Another video plays, this one from Vurn. A similar look to the city’s skyline, some ruined buildings that have been closed off with hard light barriers. The markets operate, stalls manned by their owners, under the watchful eyes of the Dominion’s new dominant species.

Humans.

Compared to the arxur, these ones stand much taller, covered from head to toe in armor that looks like it was assembled right on top of their skin. Movements fluid and unimpeded, their forward-facing eyes scanning the area.

I spot another one entering the shot, without any armor, clad in simple garments that expose its pinkish skin. It wears some round eyewear on its face, the blond fur at the top of its head cut short, save for a single line over its skull, resembling a sulean’s mane.

It opens its mouth as it lets out a series of short barks, bringing a clawed hand to its stomach. As it turns around a stall, another figure comes into view.

…

Is that a nevok, walking by its side?

“Cousin Vehla?!” Chancellor Bail asks, his mouth hanging agape, eyes wide open in horror as he brings his hands to the side of his face.

I briefly glance at Bail before looking back to the projection. The two continue walking down the stalls, stopping before a venlil that freezes up as soon as the human opens its mouth. It takes the vendor a moment to get out of his stupor before he hands them a full star fruit.

The nevok reaches into her purse before the predator holds his claws in front of her, reaching for his back to produce a small item. It withdraws something and presents it to the venlil.

A card.

Humans have credit cards.

The stall’s owner shakily swipes it over a small terminal before offering it back reverently. Upon retrieving it, the two begin walking out of shot. The predator takes the star fruit and easily splits it in two with its bare claws, before handing a half to the nevok by his side. Then, to my shock, it opens its mouth and brings the fruit to it, taking out a chunk in one bite, the fruit’s juice dripping down its angular chin.

And then they leave the shot, the market continuing as normal. Like it wasn’t the scene of the most outlandish thing I have witnessed in my life.

Predator and prey, walking side by side, sharing food.

“Have one of our agents in Vurn tail the Imenta clan’s degenerate. Her interactions with the human could provide valuable information,” I order, Zarai nodding while Bail sinks into his seat, trying to hide himself in shame.

The feed changes. This time in Venlil Prime from the looks of its architecture. I can see Dominion soldiers assembled in front of a ship as the shutter opens and lowers itself into a ramp. Then out of it, march out yotul.

Primitives.

Clad in green suits of armor that follow a similar design to that of the humans and arxur. Must be three dozen of them that walk out of the ship, arranging themselves in rows before standing at attention. A human with brown skin and dressed in fancy navy blue clothes walks up to them, the yotul standing straight before saluting in unison.

The video zooms in closer, though we have no audio besides ambience noise. Once the human returns the salute and brings its hand down, it speaks, looking at the newcomers. Then, it steps aside as armored humans and arxur walk closer to the yotul in a line.

One of the humans presents some kind of club to one of the yotul in the first row, the head lighting up with crackles of lightning, before turning it around and offering it to the yotul. The smaller soldier takes it, giving it a few experimental swings as the human returns to its original position.

The others do the same routine, handing down the weapon to the new arrivals. The yotul do not flinch, regardless of what is looking them in the eye. Human or arxur, it makes no difference. Even if the armor’s colors are different, the mark on their shoulder is still the same.

As the last of yotul receives his club, I raise a hand. “Pause the video,” I order, Zarai obeying as the image holds still in front of all of us.

“This isn’t about prey and predators anymore…” I muse aloud, blinking just to be sure my eyes do not deceive me. There they stand together: humans, arxur, and now yotul. United in purpose.

I take a deep breath before I stand up from my seat.

“Ladies and gentlemen of this council. What we were witness to just now is evidence, gathered by some of our agents located within planets and colonies the Dominion now occupies,” I explain, in case someone in the crowd hadn’t still caught up on it. Then, I motion to Zarai to continue.

She adjusts her robes and clears her throat. “These pieces of evidence were sent through our own backchannels, hidden within the Federation’s network, which the Dominion has no access to. They have as of yet not detected our agents’ true identities, nor the security breaches we purposely left in the Fednet. I can vouch for the authenticity of everything we just saw.”

Whispers and murmurs fill the chamber as the chancellors begin to discuss among themselves. After a moment, I raise my hand to quiet them, leaning against the railing before me.

“It is clear that the Federation’s enemies are a greater threat than what Maronis implied. His plan to raze Terra to the ground holds as much weight as his promises of payment,” I begin, looking around the seats beneath mine, all present hanging onto my every word. “And I need not cite our people’s book of customs for us to know that one who cannot keep their promises is not an ally, but a liability.”

I take my hands off the railing and bring them behind my back, standing straight, like the human that greeted the yotul in the last holovid.

"Which is why, upon the release of the Grenelka logs, in which the late Imperator Kadir d’Liman was listed, I took it upon myself to ensure such liabilities would not threaten the Imperium in the future. Ladies and gentlemen, that future is now."

The council chamber is quiet before someone in the left wing raises their hand. "I thought he had died in a freak pod-racing accident."

"Yes, his chariot's engines mysteriously exploded. Very tragic," I shake my head before clearing my throat. "Filling his role has been a trying endeavor, but believe you me when I say this: It is time to stop thinking about what the Federation wants, and focus on what the Nevoks need."

I swipe a claw over my own pad to move the paused holovid away to bring up the star chart of Orion’s arm.

“Over two thirds of inhabitable territory have fallen within the grasp of the Dominion in a short span of time. This is no longer the Arxur Dominion we are contending against, but a rising power that not only rivals the Federation, but could very well threaten the Imperium.”

Gasps come from some of the seats as I deliberately dim the chamber’s lights for emphasis, ensuring all eyes are on me as I say this.

“Which is why, I believe the course to chart is clear,” I say with finality. “If one cannot buy out the competition, the soundest choice is a merger.”

"My liege… do you plan for us to betray the Federation?" asks Chancellor Bail.

"'Betray' is such an ugly word. I'm saying we should consider… diversifying our investments. War is a boon to the economy of manufacturers, that much is true, but only if they are on the winning side. And we most definitely aren't right now," I argue, taking a breath.

"The Federation has accrued enough debt to buy up a whole sector, with little to show for it after all the ships and technology the Imperium has so graciously provided them, and at such an accommodating interest rate. The wise choice is to call a spade a spade, and continuing to accept the Federation's IOUs is to keep throwing our people's labor into a black hole."

"But we would be at the mercy of the predators!" Chancellor Torek cries from her stand. "The humans and the arxur, who knows what they'll do to us?"

"Pray, tell me, Chancellor: what became of the zurulians under the Dominion's rule?" I ask, the silence hanging from my words for a moment. I mentally add her to the list of possible 'waste removal jobs' to post on the deep net if she challenges me again. Since she doesn’t reply, I speak once more.

"They continue to operate with certain liberties, serving their new masters. The venlil, spineless as ever, surrendered and are occupied, yes. But they are still allowed to trade and export in the Dominion's systems. Even primitives like the Yotul have been given a place within the Dominion, as muscle in occupied colonies and planets, as you just saw."

I let my words sink for a moment, gesturing to the still projection in the middle of the chamber. Of the armored yotul being handed a weapon by a human.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are no longer dealing with the Dominion of old that only understands hunger. We are looking at an avalanche of new power. You’re either riding it, or are buried beneath it. If we do not seize the chance to ally ourselves with it, we doom our species to be on the losing side of this war. And I for one, cannot stand the idea of lesser species, like the fissans, looking down on us.”

The fur on the back of my neck curls at the mere thought of something as lowly as the Fissan Confederacy telling us what to do.

“A nevok's place is at the top, something Maronis, in his hubris, has seemingly forgotten." I see a few heads nod in affirmation, and can catch whispers of indignation as well.

“The kolshians believe that the nevok need their Federation to continue our existence, when it is the Imperium that holds the edge in technology within the Federation,” I point out. “Without our people’s hard work and craftmanship, this war would have been long lost. Our people’s secession from The Galactic Federation has been a long time coming. It is time we leap into this new era, and leave behind the anchor that would sink us with it!”

The murmurs rise in volume to clearly audible agreement to my words. I smile beauteously, holding out my hand to quiet their voices again.

“Very well, ladies and gentlemen,” I say, bringing my claw to my pad again. “I believe we’ve let our ‘Chief’ wait long enough.”

With a push of a claw, the star chart and the video fade, and Maronis’ projection fills the center of the room again. His frills twitch in annoyance, tentacles curled over each other in front of him.

“Finally. I was growing worried you had forgotten about me.”

“Hello, Chief Maronis,” my brow twitches as I struggle to keep a neutral expression. “We are glad to inform you we have reached a decision.”

He smiles and puffs up his chest at that.

“Great. The sooner we get those ships, the better.”

My smile grows as I close my eyes, leaving only enough of an opening so I can see through my eyelashes.

“However, we will need all nevok within other Federation-controlled planets to return home,” I say, bringing my hands behind my back. “The more hands on deck, the faster we can move along the queue.”

At that, he freezes, those bulbous eyes looking at me for a moment before he nods.

“Done. We will ensure the safe return of every nevok in our systems to Ittel, by ark ships if necessary.”

“Excellent,” I clap my hands in front of myself, opening my eyes a little more. “We also want those currently captive in any Predator Disease Treatment facility. The sooner they get here, the better.”

“What for?” Maronis raises an eyebrow. “What use could they possibly have to you?”

“If they have hands, they can work in the assembly lines under supervision,” I argue, tilting my head. “Like we agreed, this is not a small order you place on top of all previous ones. We need every nevok to pitch in, for the safety of the galaxy, and the greater herd.”

The red kolshian closes his eyes a moment before nodding. “Very well, I will see to it they are sent to Ittel. Your people’s toil shall not go unrecognized, d’Zani.”

I clench my hands together, tired of correcting this uncouth moron. “Thank you, Chief Maronis,” I say through clenched teeth as I take a bow. “We eagerly await the return of our kith and kin.”

“Just as we eagerly await those ships,” he replies, relaxing in his spot. “May the Spirit of Life hold you in its grace. Until next time.”

I press the button on my pad to end the call, standing fully upright as the council members look at me. Some confused, some angry even, while a few seem to understand what my plan is.

“My liege,” Chancellor Torek says cautiously, looking my way from her seat before bowing her head in submission, “I… we thought you would refuse Maronis’ demands.”

“Oh, and we will, but first things first: we must ensure the safety of our people before making an enemy of the Federation,” I explain, taking a couple steps back to take my seat, motioning to one of the servants to clean up the mess on the floor. “Once every nevok is accounted for and safe on Ittel, we will continue as planned.”

I hear the murmurs of those gathered below, some gasping in realization, others praising my guile. Sycophants they may be, but it is always nice to have one’s own wit appropriately recognized.

“And what of the United Dominion? How are we to convince them to allow us to serve them?” Chancellor Fiska d’Enur asks from his seat.

I blink a couple times before laughter erupts from my mouth, and soon some other chancellors begin laughing along. Only when I stop to catch my breath and raise a hand does the chamber fall silent again, Fiska shrinking into his seat from the ridicule.

“Serve? We are nevok! We do not serve anyone but ourselves,” I correct, my eyes drifting back to the video’s still, now hanging in the middle of the chamber without obstruction. “As for the Dominion? It is simple, really: we are going to make them an offer they cannot refuse. Will there be risks? Certainly, but as our people’s customs dictate, ‘the riskier the road, the greater the profit’.”

_________________________

A/N: The writer isn't familiar with alien tail language and refuses to read NoP. So imagine the smiles as whatever a fed would do.

We have a thread in the official NoP server too!. Chapter brought to you by itsunos_vision.

This is a fic from the main Scorch Directive AU. There's many fics written by other people with their own take on it, for more you can take a look here.

Canon Sidestories:

Annihilation Order (Prequel, possibly ongoing)

Children of the Serum (finished)

Noah and Tarva Intermission

Slanek Intermission

Private Journals of Vehla of Imenta (finished)

Vehla's Misadventures and the sequel (oneshot)

The Wildchild (Finished)

Meat Matryoshka (Finished)

Crossing the Rubicon (oneshot)

Crossovers:

Scorched Threads (SD x Threads in the Fabric by u/Quinn_The_Fox)

Cool Ficnaps that make the setting so much better!:
New additions!

Scorch Directive/Human Daycare Services AU by u/Valuable-Location-89

The Soul Directive by Max

The Thawed Directive by Funnelchairman

Cool pics by u/Dorfvonbaron

Balance of Vengeance and its sequel and third act by u/blackomegapsi

Memories Not Mine by u/Quinn_The_Fox

Embers in the Ashes by u/ErinRF

Hellion Squad by cowriter

Scorched Earth by u/Puzzleheaded_Buy6590

Hunters of the Void by u/Competitive_Koala_93

Latest entry of Carol's SD-Verse by u/CarolOfTheHells

Pictures by u/Jollyreflection75

Parenting from the Trenches by Zoé Selardi

Black Sheep in the Wolves Den by u/Barcod123 but the second part was taken down :c

A recreation of the Grenelka call between Nikonus and Giznel in Scorch Directive, told by Siffy.

Artwork and story by itsunos_vision. Current main writer of SD who refuses to get a reddit account or read NoP.

A collection of things I've drawn! Some cursed, some not so much. Maybe they're all cursed.

I wanted to see if BOP's darth maul looking ahh top-down shots of SD arxur were correct.
Huh, interesting. (this boy is still missing some spiky deets and the teeth.)

Made with nomad sculpt. I'm no 3d artist so don't mind how messy this look.

If you prefer renders of canon arxur I'm sure someone else will provide that eventually. This is just for my AU hence why it looks weird.

Just a color test. Wondering how my lizards would look like if they had lips.

I kind of like this better tbh

For my fic

I wasn't held at gunpoint to post this meme in cowriter's behalf...

Edit by itsunos_vision

Scorched Threads pic!

This has happened a few times!.
Just like sometimes people think u/BlackOmegaPsi and I are the same person lol.

The OG will always be there for you, lemme be edgy!

Look at that venlil, thoughts are not a thing for him.

Uncertainty has never sat well with me.

Years of sacrifice and study led me to free this Council, yet they did nothing to prepare me for the suffocating dread of not knowing what comes next. The chamber feels stifling. I pace from one end of the room to the other, as though movement alone could shake off the anxiety clawing at my thoughts.

Why now?

More importantly, why here?

Of all places, it seems strange that the Federation's Chief would demand an urgent meeting at this facility. The implications weigh heavily on my mind. Maybe Kamaris discovered our little deception and came here to revel in it before deciding how best to punish us.

That would be a catastrophe.

Centuries of treaties and maneuvering between our species, undone in a single moment by the gamble my ancestors took. As if the Federation needed another fault line threatening to split it apart.

The sound of approaching footsteps cuts through my thoughts.

Two guards are heading straight for me. Kamaris must have arrived.

"The Kolshians have landed, sir," one of them reports with a respectful dip of his head.

"Then let's not keep the Chief waiting."

I head for the door.

The anxiety doesn't fade. If anything, it grows stronger with every step.

By the time I reach the docking bay, the Kolshian is impossible to miss.

His massive, misshapen frame sits at the center of an escort of elite guards. He looks worse than the last time I saw him. Age and illness have drained the deep red hue from his skin, leaving behind a pale, unhealthy complexion. Hunched over in his medical chair, he turns his gaze toward me.

A glint of malice flashes in his eyes that makes the fur along my neck rise.

My hesitation must have shown, because Kamaris lets out a low, cruel laugh.

"Catarq, my boy. It's been far too long."

His tentacles twitch with amusement.

"But introductions can wait. Let's get inside. The air out here is murder on a frail old man like me."

The walk to the archive complex proves nearly as uncomfortable as waiting for Kamaris's arrival. We exchange the usual pleasantries along the way. Questions about his health, brief mentions of recent meetings with the other Federation leaders, and other meaningless formalities designed to fill the silence. 

Despite it all, the Kolshian refuses to reveal why he came. Every answer he gives feels rehearsed, every friendly gesture forced. The uncertainty gnaws at me with each passing step.

When we finally reach the upper archive chamber, Kamaris flicks a tentacle toward his escort. Both his guards and mine stop immediately. The Federation Chief shifts in his medical chair before fixing me with an unreadable stare.

"That's far enough. Let's get to the point, Catarq."

"I'm listening, Chief. I assume a meeting this urgent wasn't called over some trivial matter."

I do my best to sound composed. The hesitation at the docking bay was embarrassing enough. I refuse to give him another glimpse of weakness.

"Of course not." A dry chuckle escapes him. "What I have to discuss concerns the future of our beloved Federation. Keeping its many parts working together is my responsibility, after all."

His eyes narrow.

"And that brings me to an old debt. A mistake your people made."

My stomach drops. Damn it. I knew it.

The vile amphibian had found out.

Before I can formulate a response, something slams into my leg. A crack echoes through the chamber.

Pain detonates behind my eyes.

I don't even realize I've fallen until my remaining good knee strikes the floor.

For a brief, horrifying moment, I can't breathe.

The world dissolves into white-hot agony radiating from my shattered joint. My heart pounds wildly against my ribs as nausea churns in my stomach. Every instinct screams at me to howl, to clutch at the ruined limb, to do anything that might make the pain stop.

I force my jaw shut.

No.

I won't give him that satisfaction.

Through blurred vision and tears I refuse to acknowledge, I manage to lift my head. One of Kamaris's guards stands nearby, a heavy baton still gripped in one tentacle. The message could not be clearer.

Kamaris watches me struggle with open amusement.

"You think I'm a fool, Catarq?" he snarls. "Does your entire species take us for idiots? Did you really believe we'd never verify if the humans actually killed each other?"

Each word drips with venom. The hatred in his stare is startling. For a dying old man, he has enough malice left to poison an ocean.

"Give this damned hypocrite a painkiller," he snaps, without taking his eyes off me. "Now."

A guard approaches and presses an injector against my arm. Relief does not come immediately. The pain remains, throbbing through my body in savage pulses that leave my thoughts sluggish and unfocused. By the time the medication begins to dull the edges, sweat has soaked through my fur.

Yet even that agony pales beside the terror settling into my chest.

Kamaris is furious.

Our alliance, maintained for millennia, now hangs by a thread because of a lie told by ancestors long dead. Some cosmic joke. The Elders who chose to conceal the predators' survival are long gone, beyond the reach of consequences. Yet it’s me who has to suffer the fallout.

My guards do nothing.

Not one of them protests. Not one steps forward. They simply stand aside and allow the Federation Chief to break me as he pleases. Whether they are afraid, loyal, or merely pragmatic no longer matters.

A grimace spreads across Kamaris's face as he studies my kneeling form.

"That's better, Catarq."

He lets the words linger.

"On your knees. Where you belong."

"Now tell me why."

His voice drops, becoming almost conversational.

"Why did you hide this from us?"

So that was why he had come.

The answer should have relieved me. Instead, it only deepened the dread coiling in my stomach. There was no explanation I could offer that would satisfy someone like Kamaris. Whatever reasoning the Elders had possessed when they concealed humanity's survival had died with them a while ago.

 Even now, I wasn't entirely certain what had motivated the decision. Scientific curiosity? Fear of the Kolshians' reaction? A desire to preserve something unique? It hardly mattered. To someone like Kamaris, those distinctions were meaningless.

"Our duty has always been to observe and preserve knowledge," I said carefully. Speaking through the lingering pain in my shattered knee required more effort than I cared to admit. "I imagine the Elders believed they were fulfilling that duty. Humanity proved more complicated than anyone expected. If we had revealed everything we knew, you likely would have sent an Extermination Fleet to their world long ago."

For a moment, the old Kolshian simply regarded me. His expression remained unreadable, though there was a strange glimmer in his eyes that I couldn't place. Eventually he exhaled through his mouth and tilted his head slightly.

"And then you would have lost your experiment."
His voice carried no accusation. If anything, he sounded amused.

"Funny, isn't it? For all these centuries, the Farsul have insisted that we're the impulsive ones. The species that rushes to violence whenever confronted with a problem."

His gaze drifted toward the observation window overlooking the archives.
"But you've misunderstood me, Catarq. I have no interest in extermination. I'm an opportunist."

A chill crawled down my spine.
The statement should have reassured me. Instead, it frightened me more than any threat he had made since arriving. There was something deeply unsettling about the certainty with which he spoke, as though he had already reached a conclusion years ago and was only now allowing the rest of us to catch up. 

The worst part was that he genuinely seemed pleased with himself.
"What does that even mean?" I asked.

I attempted to stand as I spoke, only for a lance of pain to shoot through my ruined knee. The joint immediately gave out beneath me. A strangled gasp escaped before I could stop it, and I was forced to lower myself back onto the floor. Humiliation burned hotter than the pain. Once, leaders had crossed entire sectors to seek my counsel. Now I sat helplessly on the ground while Kamaris watched me struggle like an injured animal.

The old Kolshian offered no sympathy. He merely turned toward one of the nearby control consoles and activated the observation window. Massive armored shutters retracted with a mechanical groan, revealing the preservation vault beyond.
Rows of capsules stretched across the chamber.
Human specimens stood frozen within them.

Kamaris stared at the beasts with an expression I had never seen before. It wasn't hatred. It wasn't disgust. It wasn't even fear. It was admiration.

"The solution to every major problem facing the Federation is right in front of us, old friend."
The enthusiasm in his voice was impossible to miss now.

"What you're looking at isn't merely another predator species. It isn't just a flesh eater with unusually developed intelligence. These creatures are persistence incarnate. I've spent years studying them. Their cultures, their conflicts, their technological development. The more I learned, the more fascinated I became."

He slowly approached the glass, his medical chair humming quietly beneath him.
"They survive everything."
One tentacle rose toward the capsules. "Resource shortages. Ecological disasters. Wars. Plagues. Economic collapse. Internal division. Again and again, they drive themselves to the brink of destruction."

His reflection stared back at him from the observation glass.

"And yet they never seem to stay there."

There was something unnerving in the way he spoke. The reverence reminded me less of a politician discussing strategy and more of a scientist marveling at a newly discovered phenomenon. Every instinct told me that whatever conclusion he had reached, I was not going to like it.

"Kamaris," I began cautiously, "if you're suggesting that humanity could somehow be integrated into the Federation, then you've misunderstood what they are. Humans cannot abandon their nature. They require meat to survive. Predation isn't simply a cultural flaw for them. It's biological reality. You know that as well as I do."

The old Kolshian laughed.

The sound echoed throughout the chamber before dissolving into a fit of violent coughing. His frail body shook with the effort, and for a moment I was reminded that age and illness were slowly killing him. Yet when the coughing finally subsided, the amusement remained in his eyes.

"Catarq, that's exactly why they're valuable."
My blood ran cold.
"I don't want to cure them, I want to use them."

The casual way he said it made the words feel even more monstrous.

"You've noticed the Federation's condition yourself, haven't you? Every few rotations another member species starts questioning our authority. Another government begins entertaining fantasies of independence. Another political movement starts demanding reforms that would weaken central control."

Disdain crept into his voice.

"The Arxur are useful, but only to a point. Giznel's ‘people’ are crude. Mostly effective, certainly, but crude. They terrify populations, yet they lack discipline, vision, and long-term planning."
His eyes drifted back to the human capsules.

"Humans possess all three."

I felt a knot forming in my stomach.

"They never stop. They never accept limitations. They never settle. Give them a challenge and they'll spend generations trying to overcome it. Give them an obstacle and they'll dismantle it piece by piece."

His voice grew quieter."Imagine what a species like that could accomplish if properly directed." Only then did the realization sowly begin to form.

"You want to use them as a second deterrent."

The words felt absurd even as I spoke them.
Kamaris's eyes gleamed. "Correct."

The knot in my stomach became something colder.
"Imagine it, Catarq. Two great predator civilizations occupying the ends of known space. The Arxur embody brutality. Humanity embodies persistence. Different methods. Different strengths. Different forms of fear."

He spread his tentacles toward the observation window.

"Every species in the Federation would understand exactly what awaits them beyond our protection."

The full scope of the plan struck me all at once. He wanted the Federation's member worlds to remain obedient because the alternative would seem unfathomable.

"That's insane," I said. "Even if you succeeded, empowering a species like humanity would be catastrophically dangerous. You're talking about elevating one of the most resilient predators ever discovered. Sooner or later they would become impossible to control."
To my horror, Kamaris didn't hesitate. He had an answer ready, of course he did.

"I've considered that."

The certainty in his voice was absolute.

"I've observed something interesting about humans. Despite their predatory nature, they're extraordinarily social creatures. In some respects they even resemble prey species. They form attachments. They seek approval. They build identities around communities and shared causes."

A terrible feeling settled over me as he continued.

"They can’t be controlled the same way as the Arxur. They need to be guided." He said.

"We don't exterminate them entirely. We simply shape the circumstances of their development. A partial extermination campaign, a wound they’ll never forget. Enough suffering to give them motivation."

The old Kolshian looked back at the frozen humans.

"Then, we allow the Arxur to introduce them to reality. They'll adapt. They always do. Eventually they'll emerge hungrier, harsher, and infinitely more useful. Once the Federation witnesses two united predator powers operating together, every secessionist fantasy will disappear overnight."

I could scarcely believe what I was hearing. This wasn't the rambling of a senile old politician. No, Kamaris had spent years thinking about this. Years refining it. Years convincing himself that he alone understood what the Federation needed.
The realization terrified me more than the plan itself.

"You're insane," I whispered.

The amusement vanished from his expression. Then the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Be careful, Catarq. I've already broken one of your knees today."
Every muscle in my body locked in place.
The threat wasn't shouted, but it didn't need to be. His guards stood behind him. My own guards stood silently against the walls. The outcome of any resistance had already been decided.

"You seem to be under the impression that your opinion matters."
There was no anger in his eyes. Only certainty.
"Your people betrayed mine. Whatever happens next, you will help me correct that mistake."

His gaze returned to the human capsules.

"As for these creatures, stop worrying so much. They're animals. All I require is that they behave according to their nature."
I stared at the ancient Kolshian and felt despair settle over me like a lead blanket.

Kamaris wasn't dying and lashing out at the galaxy in one final fit of arrogance.
That would have been comforting. But no, the truth was far worse. He genuinely believed he was saving the Federation.
And if the most powerful individual in known space truly believed that, then we were already doomed.

_____________________

;)

Story and art by me! There might be more chapters like this, maybe!

Thank you to all the fellas on the server for your support!

Damien, Gila, Rass and Rick from Hellion Squad! Except the humies are now lizzors and the lizzors are humies

Many thanks to Spacepaladin15 for creating this universe!

>Summary: Humanity is saved and uplifted by the Arxur after the premature bombing of Earth. This vengeful version of humanity becomes the galaxy's second predatory terror in no time. As their crusade goes on however, they start to realize that they're no different than the feds in all their cruelty.

This AU features features darker themes. If you prefer romance and drama check out my other fic: Alienated. Or Private Journals of Vehla of Imenta, set in the SD universe but without the darker elements.

First: Ficlet 01 Previous: Ficlet 16

A/N 1: Check the anniversary posts: Tarva and Noah intermission, Armor redesign, Theme Song by Hyper Strident
See the new ficnaps at the end of the post.
________________

Chief-Hunter Isif

   Typing with only my left hand is ever so awkward. I have to re-read every word to make sure I’m not accidentally adding a stray letter somewhere in my sentences. After all, any mistake in this battlefield is costly; especially when one must thread the needle between what the Federation’s network will accept without raising any alarms, and what will get the other posters riled up.

>‘Everyone knows kolshians reproduce via in-vitro fertilization, because their males are so puny they’d drop dead after mating once. PrplLvr is just fantasizing about a life he could never have. Besides, no respectable female would ever let a sivkit-brain like him anywhere near her eggs. Couldn’t be me. ¯\_(óᴗò)_/¯’

Elegant, eloquent, with just the right amount of bite to spite my opponent without breaking the forum’s rules. I hit send and let the page refresh on its own. Like a fisherman that has cast his line into the dark waters, so too do I cast my inflammatory remark and wait. I copy the link to my comment and quickly tab out to the instant messaging app.

‘Let’s see how they respond.’

Sent.

My eyes wander to her profile picture.

Same as it’s ever been since she last logged in. I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself. It’s been years since she likely passed. Dossur don’t exactly live long compared to other species, especially when compared to arxur.

Did she pass, believing me to be ‘just some bored harchen’, like I said I was?

A part of me always hopes one day I will see the outline light up in green. That she will send me a link to some post she made calling someone speh-for-brains, or a crudely-drawn picture of a crying venlil for me to post in response to someone’s complaints.

But I should know better than to hope for something impossible.

I refresh the page again with a swipe of my claw, only to see the welcome sight of multiple replies to my post, calling my fake identity all kinds of slurs. My eyes scan every word, the corners of my lips rising in an amused smile as I stifle a laugh. I close my eyes a moment as I think of a rebuttal, some parting words before I bring the discussion to an abrupt end.

What would Felra say?

My eyes open and my fingers tap at the screen, like a maestro conducting his orchestra.

‘And there it is! The ‘ideal kolshian male’ turns out to be just another buffoon who can’t make a good argument to save his bloodline. I wouldn’t have expected less in this kind of online circles. The fact people like you are allowed to taint the Fednet is proof we shouldn’t let kolshians be in charge of anything of worth.’

I hit send, and after the refresh, I report my own comment so the moderation team will have to look at it. They will lock the forum down for weeks, try to track the address of whoever ‘Fahling4U’ is on suspicion of ‘predator disease’, only to come up empty-handed.

And then, I will make a new alias. Another disgruntled Fed face in a sea of many will take the place of the previous one, and none but me will be any wiser.

The sound of the door opening draws my attention away from the pad as I look to my side. Elias enters unannounced, a bag in one hand, a six-pack of canned alcohol in the other. I raise a brow and give him a nod before he closes the door behind himself.

Only when it’s just the two of us does he sigh and drop himself on one of the chairs. “What, not going to give your old man a hug?” I ask, setting the pad down on its charging stand before getting my feet out of the medical bed.

“You’re a hand short for hugging nowadays,” he retorts with an eyeroll, leaving the cans on the floor to fish another from the bag. He holds it in front of himself a moment before lobbing it towards me, my hand snapping and catching it midair. Blood tea, warm off the vending machine.

Not quite as good as the properly prepared thing, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks, his eyes looking at my right arm. Or at least, the empty space where my right arm used to be.

I chuff and roll my shoulders casually. “Only a little sometimes. You know us arxur, can take more punishment than humans. Doc said that the phantom pain would linger for some time before going away,” I explain before cracking open my can using my thumb’s claw. It’s an awkward thing, but it is something I will have to get used to.

“We could grow you another, you know? Colia’s biotech-”

“No.” I say firmly. “We discussed this already. I won’t take the easy way out. I can’t. I owe it to every arxur and human who helped us pave the way to this day. Most of them lost their lives, some lost family members, all so that we could succeed in removing Giznel from power. I can’t bring the dead back, no matter how much I might want to. If I only lost an arm, I’d consider myself pretty damn lucky. I can’t ever forget all that was lost to get here.”

His steely blue eyes bore into mine as we hold each other’s gaze a moment, before he sighs tiredly in defeat and moves to grab one of his own cans. “You say that, but your lot don’t object to using fancy prosthetics, do they? Especially to replace what was lost in battle.” He grumbles. “Those are more expensive.”

I chuckle. “Arxur wear their scars with pride. Doesn’t mean we will let them stop us from doing our work. If I’m going to be leading them as Prophet-Ascendant, I can’t set a bad example. If I want to change things for the better, I have to be better than those who came before me.”

“That what you’re going with, then? Prophet-Ascendant?” he asks. I don’t know what to make of his tone. “A prophet of what, exactly?” I feel a chill in the room that wasn't there before.

Does he think that my rise would be a precursor to a new Giznel?

Power corrupts, and the greater the power, the deeper the corruption runs. Humans know it as well as we do, after all.

I may not have all the answers, but I am not foolish enough to be oblivious to its seductiveness.

“You know my people are slow to embrace new things. We resist change as much as the land resists the waves of the sea, but that doesn’t mean we will stay the same forever,” I start, looking at the can in my hand. “I want to chart a new path for them, away from the Betterment’s cruelty. It will take time, and I may not live to see the results of it, but I want them to know in their hearts, that they- that we can be more. More than the role of monsters that the Federation forced upon us.” 

Elias nods his head and holds up the can of beer in front of himself, hoisting it up in toast. “To the dawn of a new age, then.”

I raise my own and tilt it slightly his way before bringing it to my maw, letting the warm liquid spill into my gullet. Elias drinks as well, and neither of us stops until both cans are empty. I snap my jaws after I’m done, the satisfying warmth spreading down my throat and into my stomach. “I’m surprised they let you walk in with alcohol into the medical bay.”

“I don’t think there is anyone in the Dominion’s armada who has the stones to tell me I can’t do it,” he snorts, closing his eyes a moment before setting the empty can aside on the empty chair next to him. “You yourself aren’t exactly following the doctor’s orders, either.”

I close my eyes and chuff, “if they had their way, they would have me strapped to the bed until the ceremony. Did you bring what I asked for?”

Elias reaches into the bag, pulling out the wooden box and presenting it to me. I step off the bed and take it, inspecting the lid’s engravings. ‘Montecristo Especiales No. 2, produced by Habana S.A.’, my favorites. An acquired taste during those early years spent helping rebuild Terra, the first case a gift from the then-US president, Abraham Graham.

Never did it occur to us arxur that we would be able to get anything from plants besides indigestion or allergic reactions. To use plants for recreational purposes was unthinkable fifty years ago.

Now, we have our own local tobacco plantations and cigar manufacturers, to supply Wriss’ demand for them.

Betterment had thought that dealing with humans would be like dealing with cattle slaves: arxur telling them what to do, humans obeying. But communication and cohabitation are two-way streets. That’s what Giznel and his lot were blind to.

Yes, the humans changed because of us, but so have they changed the arxur in return. Whether for the better or worse, I can’t truly say. That will be for those who come after us to determine.

I open the case and place it on the night stand to retrieve one of the stogies, putting it in my mouth before closing the wooden box. I hold the cigar between two fingers as I bite the back of it to remove the seal, spitting the stub into the trash bin. Turning around, Elias is already holding a lighter in his left hand, flipping it on to light my smoke. “Thanks, son.”

With that done, I pace towards the window, raising the blinds and sliding the panel open to let the smoke waft out. “I’m surprised you never got a taste for these,” I say before taking slow drag, letting the earthy smoke fill my mouth.

“Not my style. I already look like a token dictator from the 20^(th) century with the cap and coat,” he responds, cracking open another beer and taking a sip. “Besides, the pipe is more refined.”

“You should try growing a mustache then, Generalissimo.”

“You first.”

I chuckle, turning my attention fully to the streets outside the palace as I exhale, smoke billowing in the wind. The capital is tranquil, despite the unrest of days past. Once Giznel’s betrayal was brought to light, the populace demanded answers and blood. As Betterment fractured along new allegiance lines, its grip lessened.

All the decades of injustice, of repressed anger, enforced submission, fear and hope had finally ruptured free; and as the hand that held the neurowhip faltered, so had many seized their chance.

Many? No, nearly everyone.

However, once those first scores had been settled, as the new Wrissan government settles into its seat of power, the new normal takes shape. Life continues. After all, stations must be manned, records must be filed, heat and power flowing, materials delivered.

The United Dominion is too big of a structure to fail just because of a rock tumbled down from the pyramid’s top. And the universe doesn’t stop for the death of anyone, even someone as powerful as Giznel. It’s what’s below that truly matters, the foundation. The ones that hold everything up from below.

It is for them we have done this. To bring back what Betterment had tried to erase from our collective minds. Our culture, our history, our pride as a people, all suppressed under versions compliant to the Prophets’ vision. In a way, no different than the Federation’s integration doctrine, erasing personhood to enforce a single identity.

“You’re still arguing with Feds online?” Elias’ question snaps me out of my introspection, blinking my eyes a couple times before taking another drag of my smoke. “We need to get you a woman, fast.”

I snort and laugh. “Oh, and you are one to talk about women, aren’t you, Elias?” I ask, blowing out more smoke before turning sideways to look his way.

Only, it is not the Generalissimo of the Terran Armada I see sitting on the bed. Or at least, not the one everyone sees nowadays.

Black hair, pale skin, blue eyes. Yes, those were there from the start. Dirty, frail, almost scrawny, so much that any Abidance inquisitor would have dismissed him as ‘defective’ at first sight. So small he looks out of place with how big everything around him is. His hands look so tiny, compared to the tablet he is holding up. Blunt nails at the end of each digit.

Thirty-eight years since we met. Those early days feel like a lifetime ago now. Maybe they are.

He may think that this version of himself died along with his family in 2099. But it still lives, fresh on my mind. I still remember how bright his face was when first setting foot on my old ship. The wonder in his eyes when he saw Terra from space.

Elias Meier was just one of the many war orphans left all alone after the Federation’s attack. And now here he stands, the man who has begun to change the universe so it will never happen again.

Because even though the universe took everything from him, having all the reasons to become a bigger blight upon it than Giznel ever dreamed to be, he chooses to make things better. And I couldn’t be any prouder.

A warmth surges in my chest as I blink a few times and take deep breaths. There he is again, all grown up, grey hairs on his temples and stubble. Can’t let the kid see me cry, or he might just call a doctor thinking something is wrong.

I clear my throat, taking another drag before I turn to fully face him, leaning against the windowsill. “But, since you’re the one bringing up relationships, tell me, how’s the First Lady of the Terran Armada?”

“Ugh,” Elias groans as he drops the tablet and stands up, dunking the empty can in the bin near the bed.

“Right. How about miss…?” I trail off intentionally, smirking as he takes his seat again to grab his third beer, “or miss…?” I continue, his shoulders sinking as he cracks the can open. “Or could it be that you and Cora have finally decided to be an item?”

That gets him to growl, “don’t name that witch! You might just summon her,” he warns, bringing the beverage to his mouth for a sip. “Besides, I don’t have time for relationships.”

“Bullshit, you have five kids you’ve sired yourself.”

“Yeah, in drunken one-night stands at celebrations. Those aren’t relationships.”

“Ah, so is that why you brought those in? Mustering up some liquid courage before ‘putting on the moves’ on someone?” I ask, holding my cigar by the window.

Elias groans and leans back on his chair. “These are non-alcoholic, so I doubt that will happen,” he admits with a sigh. “I’m not like you, Isif. I’m… fuck, I don’t know. A general, a leader, sure. But I’m not a father. To those kids, I’m just a face in some picture.”

“Have you tried, I don’t know, maybe calling them sometimes? That’s better than just pictures.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “And tell them what? That I miss them? I’m not going to lie to them,” he says, knocking back the third can before throwing it into the trash. “Harumi’s not exactly thrilled to see my face when I do call her mother. I can tell, kids are honest like that.”

"Ah, yes, Harumi,” I say, her name not quite rolling off my tongue. “Seems my eldest grand-daughter inherited her father's stubbornness," I snort, taking another drag before putting the cigar out on the ledge outside the window. He watches in silence as I walk to the night stand to store it in the box, reaching for the foil with my sword hand and-

Right. It’s gone. Muscle memory playing tricks on me again.

I collect myself and place the cigar on the table, wrapping it with some foil to avoid contaminating the unsealed ones. Even with only one hand, claws come in handy for such tasks. “Well, once the war is won, you’ll have to settle down with someone. Raise a couple ankle-biters yourself.”

“Tch, I could tell you the same thing.” He bites back.

“Aren’t you a little old to ask for siblings?”

“Well, the only one I ever had was burned alive, so…”

Mmm, right. I could have chosen better words than that. “Sorry…” I sigh, closing the case and putting it in the drawer.

“It’s alright, I know what you mean…” he replies quietly, eyes on the floor. “It’s just… war is all I’ve known most of my life. When it’s over, I don’t know what I will be without it.”

“No one can fight forever, Elias,” I say, looking at him from the corner of my eye. “Both the great chief-hunters and Terran generals of old knew when it was time to put down their weapons and live in the times they helped create, good or bad.”

“And which ones are we creating?” he asks, looking at me from under his brow.

“I don’t know yet,” I admit, taking pause for a moment. “But right now, they seem to be better than the ones that preceded them. And that's a good enough reason to keep going.”
______________________________________

A/N 2: Hope you liked this one, it's been a while.

We have a thread in the official NoP server too!. Chapter brought to you by itsunos_vision.

This is a fic from the main Scorch Directive AU. There's many fics written by other people with their own take on it, for more you can take a look here.

Canon Sidestories:

Children of the Serum (finished)

Noah and Tarva Intermission

Slanek Intermission

Private Journals of Vehla of Imenta (finished)

Vehla's Misadventures and the sequel (oneshot)

The Wildchild (Finished)

Meat Matryoshka (Finished)

Crossing the Rubicon (oneshot)

Crossovers:

Scorched Threads (SD x Threads in the Fabric by u/Quinn_The_Fox)

Cool Ficnaps that make the setting so much better!:
New additions!
The Soul Directive by Max

The Thawed Directive by Funnelchairman

Cool pics by u/Dorfvonbaron

Balance of Vengeance and its sequel and third act by u/blackomegapsi

Memories Not Mine by u/Quinn_The_Fox

Embers in the Ashes by u/ErinRF

Hellion Squad by cowriter

Scorched Earth by u/Puzzleheaded_Buy6590

Hunters of the Void by u/Competitive_Koala_93

Latest entry of Carol's SD-Verse by u/CarolOfTheHells

Pictures by u/Jollyreflection75

Parenting from the Trenches by Zoé Selardi

Black Sheep in the Wolves Den by u/Barcod123 but the second part was taken down :c

If you, for some reason feel like ficnapping feel free!

Summary:

>Like VR Chat, but with pain.

Notes:

>This is a crossover chapter with ErinRF's Embers in the Ashes, featuring one of their Scorch Directive characters, Lucien Smith. Lucien is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns.

First Previous Next

Things in the Bane have been getting a lot livelier lately. Might be the recent streak of victories the United Dominion has had against the Federation in the previous months. Or it might be the newest addition to one of the old rustbucket’s hangars: A state of the art combat simulator. Betterment’s idea, of all things. They were likely hoping that giving us an arena to duke it out would make everyone compete for the number one spot, stop everyone from getting all chummy.

Apparently, the space dinos had never heard of laser tag, because that’s exactly what we’ve been treating it as.

It’s good exercise, letting us simulate combat encounters against virtual Feds without risking actual equipment and lives. Dynamic difficulty settings that range from ‘narcoleptic dossur with a heart condition’ to ‘cracked-out aim-botting mazics’, so we can study and adapt to every possible enemy combatant we might come across.

But of course, that’s just one of its many uses, because Betterment designed this for competition, and we Spec-Ops are plenty competitive.

There is only so much you can do in the gym’s mats, without weapons and equipment to back up any claims of who would beat who, when and how. But here? We can go all out using virtual bullets and grenades, let skill and grit do the talking for you. Hard to argue you’re better than the other guy after he popped three virtual caps on your ass. The perfect spot to settle bets, which is exactly why we are here today.

The four of us march out from the fitting cubicle connecting the armory to the sim’s entrance, our rivals already suited up and waiting. Revenant’s leader, Lucien Smith, raises their tinted shades and throws up their hands. “Fucking finally! Thought you folks were gonna chicken out.”

“Nah, you have a pristine Gabecube with my name on it, Lu,” I shoot back, walking up and shaking Lucien’s hand before looking at the rest of Revenant squad. I wouldn’t say they’re better or worse than us, but their composition is very similar to our own: There’s Lucien calling the shots, then their techie Seth Wolfram, aka ‘Wolfman’. Next to them is Ana María Concepción, their sniper and field medic, and at the back of the human trio, the obligatory Betterment quota, Krizac, currently shooting Rassick a mean mug.

“Pft, we know I’m taking your Blu-ray collection home, D,” Lucien chuckles as they take back their hand and walk to join their team on the prep area. “Nothing personal. But hey, don’t be gloom. Ain’t no shame in being number two.”

“Right back at you,” I snort as the Hellions and I move to our designated waiting area. We all take turns logging into the system, the new Poltergeist MK II suits connecting to the arena’s system to monitor our vitals as well as record our combat data. Because of course they would make the new model even more invasive than the previous one.

Once we’re logged into the lobby, the visors begin to show the system’s menus. “So, Team Slayers, yeah?” Lucien’s voice comes up on the voice chat, the option highlighted on the menu.

“Yup, rules as usual: No respawns, starting difficulty level eight, ten minutes, friendly fire on. Whichever team has the highest score at the end wins it all,” I confirm, reviewing the additional settings. “Huh, they finally added Yulpa to the Fed rost-” I pause as I look at the number on the scoreboard. “That can’t be right, right?”

10000 points per Yulpa kill.

A mazic juggernaut, the tankiest Fed unit in the system, is usually worth 5000 points.

Hell, another Spec-Ops member is only worth 1000 points!

Gila cocks an eyebrow beside me, “what do you think the catch is?”

“They’re probably super rare spawns, like metal slimes.” Rick speaks up. “Either that, or they’re incredibly hard to kill. Also like metal slimes.”

“Nah man, ain’t no way a yulpa is hardier than a fucking mazic wearing bombproof armor,” Wolfram counters through the comms. “The sim’s Feds are almost a one-to-one copy of the originals.”

“Whatever the case, I know I’m shooting every striped fucker I see.” Rass says with a grin, cracking his knuckles as I confirm the match’s settings.

The loading screen quickly switches to the armory. Here we can see all the fancy toys the United Dominion has to offer its troops, as well as their price tags. Even accounting for discounts and my own paycheck being quite accommodating, some of these are in price ranges I would rather put towards a house.

Everyone starts swiping through the menus, and I begin to preview the assault rifles. Lately, they’ve been having us provide assistance to the ground troops after our sabotage of Fed installations is done; with how vehemently they’re shifting us towards engaging in combat, they might as well be shoving a rifle onto our chest and saying ‘go, kill shit’.

I pick an AAC Wolverine -the AAC Honey Badger’s roided-up grandson- for myself and start customizing it: suppressor on the barrel, mount an ACOG sight on top, switch the pullout stock to a skeleton one, and put an angled foregrip on the bottom rail. Two extra thirty-round mags topped up with .300 AAC Blackout ought to be more than enough to carry me through the whole thing.

Next, side-arms. Besides the mandatory kabar knife, I grab a pair of SilencerCo MAXIM-XIII. Integrally suppressed, fluorescent iron sights, ambidextrous configuration, 12.7x55mm caliber, seventeen rounds per mag plus one in the chamber. Two extra mags for each should do it. Shame a pair of the real things would cost what it would take to regrow an eyeball in Colia.

After that, it’s just the usual extra stuff like grenades, flashbangs, and smokebombs. The latter two are wholly useless against the virtual feds at this level, but they’re still useful when facing flesh-and-blood competition.

Its poor form to gun down for your fellow operators willy-nilly, especially on what is supposed to be score attack mode. If it were Last Man Standing? Shoot first, gloat later. Still, an ounce of prevention won’t hurt. After confirming my loadout, I wait for the others to finish and stretch in my spot, working out the last-minute kinks on my muscles.

Once everyone confirms their loadout, the system goes quiet a moment. “Thank the Prophet they got rid of the unholy noise. I hope whoever composed that travesty was shoved out of an airlock,” Gila says, closing her eyes as she starts to meditate.

“The lobby music?” I ask, looking her way from the corner of my eye as I pull up my hood.

“I wouldn’t call that ‘music’,” she replies, opening one eye briefly before closing it again. “Now hush, I must prepare for the hunt.”

“It’s folly to treat this as a proper hunt, palescale. There is no reward in virtual prey,” Krizac speaks up through the comms.

“Every hunt is a hunt, simulation or not. So said First Prophet Laznel,” she counters, her tail twitching behind her in irritation.  It's not often some other Betterment patsy tells Gila to stop being such a try hard. I can almost picture Revenant’s sole arxur shaking his head as he lets out a sigh on his end of the comms.

The screen flashes to show the chosen stage, the inside of a cargo bay. Plenty of cover between shipping containers, as well as a few vantage points to snipe from. Unfortunately, the Feds spawn from all sides, and with krakotl scouts flying overhead, they always have a ping on your location, so the only times you can catch a break is between waves.

Once the door opens, we cross the threshold into the arena proper, and the new suits’ neural interface engages. Simulating the weight of the gear as it materializes in the augmented reality. It’s honestly kind of eerie how good it is at that, and why you have to avoid being shot by a VR Feddie. The suit will react as if you had, and give your neurons the signal to register the pain. Sure, beats actually getting shot with live ammo, but taking a shotgun blast to the face will make you wish you actually died.

Without the goggles, the place is just some drab gray floor and walls with gray boxes. But with them on, it’s like you’re really in Sillis, save for the taste and smell. We begin moving as the countdown starts. Thirty seconds to get into position, try to secure a spot where we can begin fanning out from.

Luck isn’t in our side, the map’s layout wound up placing all the high vantage points on the other side of the arena. Oh well, it is what it is.

“Alright, we move through the right-side wall until we reach one of the rises. Rass, you take point, blast anything in our path there,” I nod his way, “Gila, Rick, you cover our backs, make sure we don’t get boxed in. I’ll take over Rass when he has to reload. Everyone ready?”

A loud buzz marks the start of the match, and all our weapons shift from green to red. Rass smiles as he racks back his auto-shotgun’s bolt and smiles full of glee.

"Alright, time to kick some a-"

Rassick's head explodes in a cloud of virtual gore as Gila, Rick and I all reflexively jump behind cover. He stumbles back and falls to his knees, holding his head as he lets out a groan. "Ow! What the fuck?!"

[Revenant-Kilo eliminated Hellion-Sierra]
[Barret M96 - Headshot]

"Dude! We just started the game!" Rass yells as he manages to get back up, despite the killer headache he must be feeling right now.

"Stay away from my sisters," Krizac growls through the voice chat.

"I was just showing her around the place, man!"

"I just want it on record that I did not authorize that shot," Lucien pipes in.

"Lucien, are you guys seriously running double-snipers?" I ask, peeking out of cover to look in the direction the shot came from. Sure enough, I can see the glint of both Krizac and Ana's scopes before I duck, just in time to avoid joining Rassick on the way out as a bullet flies over my head. "You fucking suck, dude."

Gila sneers, joining the trash-talking. “You’re even worse than the harchen. They have the excuse of being prey.”

"Hey, don't hate us for playing the meta." Lucien laughs. I can hear the sound of their gunfire as virtual Feds yell and scream.

"I want a redo! From the top!" Rass says, slapping his tail against the ground after getting back on his feet.

"We'll avenge you man, don't worry," I assure him as I adjust my rifle's ACOG. "Now go get some ice pack for your head, you're gonna need it."

He lets an annoyed scoff and throws his Vorator-4 over his shoulder, the virtual gun shattering into pixel dust as it hits the floor. "Whatever, now I'm actually gonna go put on the moves on ALL of his sisters***!***"

Krizac's reply doesn't take long, another rifle shot whizzes over us, this time through Rass’ crotch. Fortunately for him, his pride and joy are safe from any further virtual violence. "If you lay a single claw on any of them, the next bullet is going to be a live one, you filthy libertine!"

"Rass, just go. You're cramping our style." I order, the tall arxur finally making his exit through the way we came in. Not even a minute in, and we're down one man against a team that is willing to use one of the most busted comps: Two snipers keeping the enemy pinned while the other two are free to rack up points. Annoying, sure, but not an invincible strategy.

I signal for Gila and Rick to switch to our own closed comms channel. “Okay, they spilled first blood. It’s open season on Revenants,” I declare, grabbing one of the virtual flashbangs from my belt. Looking at the scoreboard, Lucien and Seth have begun getting to work under the watchful eye of their snipers, racking up points while our score is set at zero. “Rick, I want you to be ready to lay suppressing fire.”

“That’s still two against one, Sarge. Even if I’m firing a semi-auto, they’re going to pick me off.” Rick argues, his rifle set next to him.

“We’re gonna flash them to give you an opening. Gila, you’re with me, we’re going to camo up and sneak up behind those campers,” I start to explain. “The moment they hit a five-thousand-point advantage, the AI Feds will begin to target them almost exclusively, and the VR Feds don’t show in the thermal vision. Rick, if you get a shot on Lucien or Seth, don’t take it unless they threaten you. We want them scoring points to keep the pressure off us.”

The albino arxur rolls her eyes. “Fight Fed tactics with more Fed tactics? Eugh.”

“Well, if you have a better plan, I’m open to suggestions. We still gotta do Krizac in.”

She creeps out of cover, quickly ducking back in as another shot from one of the two sniper rifles hits where her head was just moments ago. “Fine.”

“On three,” I say, taking the pin out of the blue-striped cylinder. “One, two,” I count before I toss up the flashbang and kick it with my foot, sending it over our cover, “three!”

As soon as it goes off, I tap Gila’s shoulder and make a dash out of cover, turning the corner and keeping my head down to avoid catching any stray shots as Rick begins to fire from his position. “Fuck!” I hear Ana complain through the comms as I dash past a stationary cargo mech.

Thankfully, they have yet to figure out how to make the Fed grunts get into them, because I don’t look forward to ever fighting one of those again. For now, it’s just décor, and cover as Gila and I keep rushing towards the rise Krizac’s at.

I blast a couple harchen that spawn in with three-shot bursts, pushing through the pixelated mist they leave behind as I reach the bottom of the left-side tower. I put both hands together over my knee and wait for Gila to place her foot on them, before pushing up, sending her to the top.

Almost immediately, I feel a shiver on my back, and reflexively duck and jump back. I shoot a few bursts from prone and roll back onto my feet, catching a glimpse of a tail slipping behind some munition crates. “He’s down here!”

“I see him,” Gila replies, her rifle roaring to life as she rains bullets in Krizac’s direction. I toss a grenade ahead of her gunfire, but he manages to avoid that as well. Before I can grab another, Gila drops on top of me, pushing me to the floor right as an explosion goes off from the top of the tower. Small blast, so probably some C4 trap.

Clever bastard, trying to pull a Rambo on us.

“When I catch him, he’s dead meat,” Gila grumbles, getting up and pushing herself against the wall to reload. I get back on my feet and pick up my rifle, moving to check around the corner.

I shake my head, switching mags so I will have a full stock in case this turns ugly. “Let’s pincer him. Watch your six.”

We both begin our prowl, fanning out around his former sniping spot to start looking. Switching on thermal would leave me blind to any Feds I might bump into, so for the time being, I’m relying on my eyes and ears, keeping my rifle close to my chest to avoid getting disarmed by surprise. A gojid shock trooper blocks an intersection, and gets three bullets for his troubles, making me stop as I spot another bullet going through the pixel haze.

After settling myself against the corner, I poke the tip of my rifle out and blind fire, only for it to be kicked out of my hand by Krizac’s foot. He comes out, Eviscerator SMG spraying bullets in my direction, which thankfully go over my head as I dive back. I pull out both handguns and blast him in the gut, then the chest, and finally in the throat, making him recoil as he brings his free hand to rub at his neck.

[Hellion-Delta eliminated Revenant-Kilo]
[MAXIM-XIII]

Krizac hisses in discomfort, clenching his teeth before he opens an eye to look behind him, Gila coming up around the corner. “Tch, I almost had you myself, Vozk brood.”

He scoffs at that, tail pulling closer to him as his hologear disappears. “And I almost got you with my trap, child of Sukos. I suppose that makes us even,” he says, leaning against the box while I stand back up. “Forgive my failure, Sergeant Smith.”

“It’s no biggie, Krizzy. Ginger John Wick over there hardly ever plays fair,” Lucien’s voice comes up. “That’s why we’re not either.”

“Says fucking Goth Skrillex, running double-snipers, like a scrub,” I retort, holstering both handguns and picking up my AR. Everything seems to be in good condition despite the shakeup. Well, now’s three-on-three, should be a fair-

[Revenant-Alpha eliminated Hellion-Romeo]
[Barret M96 - Headshot]
[Hellion-Romeo eliminated Revenant-Alpha]
[SVDK VII - Headshot]

Lucien and I both breathe out “what the fuck?” at about the same time as I look up to see Revenant’s sniper fall on her ass from the top of her tower.

Rick groans into the line, “Sorry Sarge… it was the optimal play.”

“Fucking son of a…” Ana joins in, sucking breath through gritted teeth as she slowly stands back up.

Lucien chuckles in their usual mirthful tone. "Come on folks, don't lose your head over it."

After we all collectively groan at the shitty pun, a chorus of boos and jeers fill the voice chat, not that Lucien cares as they break into a hyena-like cackle.

Krizac places a clawed hand on my shoulder, looking at me with a solemn look on his face. "I'm going to go punch Rassick now. Please understand I bear no ill-will towards you and the rest of Hellion, but my lineage's honor demands I stand up for my siblings' virtue."

"I'm waiting for you right here, Krizzy!" Rass bellows in our ears, snapping his jaws so hard even the mic catches it. “Come out to play! These arms ain’t just for wooing the ladies…”

I shake my head at the exchange. "Have fun, gentlemen. Try not to get yourselves thrown in the brig." I motion Gila to follow me as Krizac begins making for the exit.

With the playing field even, now it’s just a matter of catching up to Revenant’s score. They’re still about six thousand points ahead of us, but if we get lucky and manage to drop a yulpa, we could make a comeback. Just gotta keep our heads cool. “Eyes on the sky, shitbirds about. I’ll cover the ground.”

“Roger,” Gila rasps, bringing the muzzle of her DevourAR up to start bringing down any flyers before they can get a lock on our position. We’re still a little behind points-wise, even after taking out Krizac, but our kills are starting to rack up at last.

Gojid shock troopers, harchen snipers, venlil exterminators, krakotl grenadiers and sivkit trappers all fall and turn to pixelated clouds as bullets fly to and fro. I can hear us getting closer to Lucien and Seth as I stop to slide in my rifle’s last full mag. I stow it and switch to my pistols, double checking my remaining bullets before I pause a moment to catch my breath.

Gila reloads as well, leaning against cover. “Let’s split up, we risk losing if we’re both caught in the blast of one grenade,” she starts, dumping her empty mag aside before press checking her gun. “We’ll cover more ground too.”

“Negative, it’s even riskier to split. Did you forget about Revenant?” I ask as I switch out my pistols’ mags for some full ones. Better to err on the side of caution now that we’re at the half-point mark. Would be embarrassing to get shot by some Feddie because I ran out of bullets early.

“We take them out, the game ends. Simple as that.”

“And we’ll lose if our score is still lower than theirs, even if we survive.”

“Who cares about the score? a hunt is about who is left standing. The predators survive, the prey die,” she hisses as she stands up and takes a few steps away from me.

“Gila, get your tail hole back here, that’s an order.” I try not to raise my voice, but she merely gestures at her headpiece, pretending it isn’t working before disappearing behind a crate as I groan and shake my head in frustration.

Women.

Fine then, might as well get moving myself, that score is not going to raise itself. I break into a sprint, guns close to my body as I move towards the center of the arena. It’s the riskiest place to be, since all enemies will try to converge there and surround you, but if you manage to secure a good position, you can easily camp and blast them as they come your way.

Which is exactly what Lucien and Seth have been doing as I catch a glimpse of them up ahead. I take cover behind a hovercart, letting some Fed troops march to their doom before I slide in behind them, prepping to fire. If both of them get taken out, the game ends and they win by having a higher score. But if I take Lucien out, that leaves Seth alone against Gila and I, and compared to everyone else on both teams, Seth is the most skittish of the bunch.

Work in intelligence long enough, and you get good at predicting human behavior. Without Lucien present to keep morale up and call the shots, Seth will bolt to hide, giving up the sweet spot for us to rack up some kills. Once we close the gap, we can then hunt him down to end the game and come out on top.

Unfortunately, my plan falls apart the moment a smoke grenade goes off between them, filling the area with a blanket of thick grey. Immediately after, Gila’s rifle roars to life as she shoots from atop a crane. Unsurprisingly, both Lucien and Seth split up and leave their positions, disappearing into the maze of containers before I can manage to line up a shot on Lucien’s back.

God-fucking-dammit.

“What the fuck was that, Gila?!” I ask aloud, loud enough so she can hear it through the sound of her gunfire as she dumps her entire mag behind Lucien, only stopping when she runs dry.

“It’s called an ambush, monkey. I’m going after the leader,” she says drily, tossing the empty rifle aside as she flexes her fingers. She barely manages to duck out of a throwing knife’s way before growling, tail swishing in annoyance before pouncing off the crane and on top of a container.

“Gila, stand down and regroup! That’s a direct order!” I shout, blasting some Feds that are currently ignoring me for some easy points. We’re just below the five-k gap. Any more kills, and I will have to actually pay attention to what’s around me.

“What’s the matter, Beaumont? Trouble in paradise?” Lucien asks through the voice chat. “I can recommend a marriage counselor in New Jersey.”

“Lucien, nothing good can come out of New Jersey,” I deadpan as I turn around to start booking it after Seth. If Gila will be keeping Lu busy, that means I can keep an eye on Revenant’s techhead, make sure he doesn’t get eliminated before we can secure the win. Time to finally draw aggro.

I start blasting left and right, both pistols raining virtual lead upon the targets. Two body shots are enough to topple a takkan, a clean headshot guarantees a kill on anything else. The Fed’s AI begins to react to my presence, guns and claws turning my way before they dissipate into pixels.

Seth fires a burst in my direction before ducking behind a container, a couple of bullets grazing the side of my waist; it’s enough to hurt, but not enough to slow me down. We’ve managed to close the gap a little, only a couple thousands until we catch up to them.

Suddenly, a ringing in my ears flares up, sharp enough to get me to stumble and drop behind some cover. “Aaaarrgh! What the fuck?!” I ask aloud, my eyes screwed shut before I shake my head. That’s new for sure. Did they gave the Feds some kind of sonic weapon?

Either that, or I’m having a brain hemorrhage, because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the suit.

I blink a couple times before standing back up, dodging some Exterminator’s fire before I shoot the tank on his back, netting some extra kills. Only a couple hundred more, then we can safely finish this match.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot movement, firing a few rounds in the direction of whatever is skittering behind the containers. I give chase, keeping my eyes peeled for any attempt of an ambush, the virtual Feds around me moving faster and more aggressively than normal.

Up ahead I spot my quarry, striped coat and all: a yulpa. On its muscular neck, a spiked collar stretches out ominously, the collected skulls of humans and arxur adorn the bottom of each spike. On the back, a manipulator arm holds a curved knife aloft.

Before I can take aim, bullets hail from a corner up ahead. Seth steps out of a corridor, firing at me before he retreats into cover. And it is then I catch it. A low, almost imperceptible sound, muffled under the gunfire. I cover my ears and duck my head as the VR yulpa lifts the knife overhead.

"For the Spirit of Life! Suffer not the predator to live!"

Seth fires his rifle, hitting some gojid trooper in the center of mass with enough bullets to topple it. And yet, the porcie doesn't fall or fade into digital gore. It stands there, blue eyes wide open before they take on a reddish tint.

Before he can reload, the gojid releases a warcry I had only heard once. In the munitions factory, from that cargobot operator as he burned alive: "Death to all flesheaters!"

It closes the distance frighteningly fast, claws swinging left and right as Seth scrambles back. A virtual krakotl dives down from the sky, tackling him into the floor.

I duck behind cover as an explosion erupts from his position, taking him and the two frenzied feds out.

[Revenant-Sierra eliminated]

I leave cover to look at Seth, lying on his back. Still very alive and rattled, and very out of the game. I waste no time, jumping from my spot to fire at the yulpa priest before it can sic suicide bombers on me.

Despite looking like a cross between a zebra and a deer, I don't aim for the heart. Because I've heard stories, seen the footage of what they do to Dominion personnel they capture. I'm one-hundred percent positive these things have no heart. But they have a brain, and that's where my bullets go, making the damn zealot go still before shattering into pixelated black dust.

The score updates to reflect our looming victory. The nearby Feds seem stunned the moment the yulpa dies, giving me ample time to put a bullet in each of them, clearing the area around me and Seth.

“Man, that was freaky as fuck,” he groans, getting up from his spot.

“How do you feel?” I ask, reloading my guns as he walks closer.

“Like shit,” he stresses as he takes off his helmet, “sorry Sarge, seems it’s up to you.”

“Don’t sweat it Seth, this isn’t my first manage-à-trois.”

I snort and shake my head. “Oh well, guess I oughta go take care of that. Mind the skies, Wolfman.” I say, leaving Seth to walk himself out of the arena.

By the time I reach the pit’s center, the lights turn red, my guns disappearing as the timer comes to a halt, the arena reverting to its drab, plain gray. “What the hell? Hey, are you guys messing with the console outside?”

Nobody on any squad has the authorization to end a match from the outside. That requires an administrator’s override code.

No answer from Rick, Rass, or anyone else in Revenant either. That’s odd, and slightly ominous. “Lucien, Gila, do you copy?”

Silence.

Suddenly there is a loud buzz as the system wipes the scores and timer back to zero. The team names’ display disappears before I am brought back to the equipment selection screen, only all my options are already locked in.

Did this thing glitch out on us or-

“This is Inquisitor-Overseer Hyvilth speaking,” she says through the speakers, her voice echoing around me. “You have been selected to participate in a special training exercise. Your participation is mandatory.”

The loading screen comes up, showing the new arena: Phobos’ Training Facility. The scenario loads in around me, the gray cubes beginning to move as I run to climb on top of one to avoid being crushed by the shifting battlefield.

“As a reward, whoever comes out on top on this exercise shall receive a single piece from the armory, sponsored by yours truly,” Hyvilth continues. “We expect you to give us your best performance. The data gathered from this exercise shall be used in the training of new operatives of this branch. Do not disappoint us.” Her tone feels more like a threat than an order.

The display changes as the arena finishes loading, revealing the new settings:

[Game Mode: Last Man Standing]
[Difficulty: Deathwish]
[Simulated Pain: 90%]

Yes, the Tarva chapter is here! Written by my cowriter Itsunos_vision on Ao3!

^(A/N: This is AU content from Scorch Directive. As usual thanks to SP15 for creating NoP.)

Ex-Governor Tarva, Venlil Prime.

  A sigh escapes me as I close the car’s door, putting the keys in my blazer’s pocket. I turn around to come face to face with Venlil Prime’s General Hospital. It has been nearly two years since I last set a paw in here. I stopped coming for checkups after losing Stynek and Rellin.

No medicine or treatment within its halls can cure that sort of pain.

The doors slide open when I get close enough, my eyes scanning for the man who dragged me to this place. He raises a clawed hand and waves, a greeting his kind supposedly performs in Terra.

“Miss Tarva, over here.”

Commander Noah Williams, the United Dominion’s chosen overseer for Venlil Prime, appointed by the Generalissimo himself. Still dressed in the same freshly pressed, navy three-piece suit, military cap still resting over his dark hair, and that familiar warmth in his eyes that shouldn’t exist within a predator.

His expression betrays a small hint of positivity in his mood, something I’ve seldom seen since I met him. Either he comes bearing good news, or summoning me here amuses him. The staff at the hospital continue doing their work, ignoring his presence.

I, unfortunately, do not have that luxury.

“Commander Williams,” I say as I stop a few paces from him, offering back a head bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Please, join me for a short walk. I’ve some news that I believe will interest you.” He gestures to the elevator slowly, holding a pad in his claws.

“If this is about Leirn’s annexation and the yotul joining the Peacekeeping Corps, I’m well aware of that already,” I note drily, walking past him towards the elevator.

“Naturally, I would expect no less from you, ma’am,” he says, waiting beside me as the lights above the door flash right to left. Always so formal, always so polite, it almost feels rehearsed.

I think that is the worst part of all this: He thinks he can help.

A part of me tells me I shouldn’t complain much. Venlil Prime could have gotten a much worse overlord than Williams; the humans were much more efficient in their conquest than the arxur ever were in their raids. When it became clear the Federation was not coming to our aid, I gave the word to surrender.

But I had already lost all hope before that. When I heard that the arxur had taken Stynek’s school into their ships. When Rellin’s call was cut short by a bullet. My re-election campaign ran entirely on protecting our home against the looming threat of the predators in our proximity, and I gave it up in less than a day.

So much for my political career after that.

The doors open, some patients and nurses getting off, leaving it empty for the two of us. Williams brings a claw to the edge of the elevator, holding it open for me.

“After you.”

I enter without a word, stopping in the far-left corner of the cabin before he joins me inside. He has to hunch over slightly to fit inside, the normal elevators were never designed with larger species in mind.

He presses the button for the top floor, before putting a key in the override slot, closing the doors, ensuring no unplanned stops.

Ah, so this is it then. End of the line.

My death will probably go unnoticed. No one will mourn the one who surrendered our planet to the Dominion, after all. No surviving family to wonder when I am coming back home. I should be afraid, knowing I will be devoured without anyone being able to help. Instead, all I can muster is quiet resignation.

What is another casualty in a war, after all?

He steps back from the panel and looks my way, offering another small smile. “Sorry for the suspense, but what I am about to share with you is sensitive information,” he assures me, gesturing to his datapad before he hands it over to me. “Not something I can have civilians overhearing.”

I take it, not entirely at ease while being in such a small space with a predator and no way out, but I am partly relieved knowing he is not actually here to eat me. Or at least, that he isn’t going to try to eat me, yet.

I gloss over the document he chose to show me, some scribbles on papers, not something the translator implant can switch into something legible. “What am I looking at, Commander Williams?”

“Please ma’am, dispense with the formalities, they exhaust me so. Noah is just fine.”

“Right,” I note drily, trying not to show my annoyance at his attempts at whatever this is. “What am I looking at, Commander Noah?”

He lets out a small huff before clearing his throat, “that is your people’s written alphabet. The original language of your ancestors, not the one that was imposed on them by the Federation when the venlil were integrated.”

Mm, something about this feels familiar. I vaguely recall having a conversation with the Darkriver University’s dean and one of the Federation’s diplomats. Something about a professor there being suspected of having developed symptoms of Predator Disease.

“Oh,” I say, looking back at the pictures, studying them a moment before looking back to Williams. “Good, I guess?”

He visibly deflates at my evident lack of interest. “I uh… I’ll be honest, I was expecting a different reaction. This means we might be able to restore some of your culture, from before the Federation’s integration doctrine.”

That earns him a scoff and a glare from me. “‘Restore’? What could predators possibly restore?”

“The world the Federation stole and hid from you,” he responds, his eyes turning sterner, gesturing to the pad.

I swipe my claw over the screen, the alphabet switching to what seems to be a letter, written in the same language. Then the next image, a transcription in Terran overlaid on top of the previous picture.

‘… but there is more to these ruins than I had originally estimated. When I mentioned them to the dean, he was alarmed, said he would forbid me from publishing my findings. True to his word, all my drafts in the university’s systems have been mysteriously erased. My lectures were re-scheduled arbitrarily, and I feel as though I am being constantly watched by my peers. What did I unearth that would warrant such a response? The people should be able to know what became of the species living here before the venlil returned to the planet…’

When I look back at him, he speaks. “That is part of a journal authored by a former professor of Darkriver University. He was incarcerated in a Predator Disease Treatment facility up until the United Dominion’s arrival on the planet.”

“A species in Venlil Prime before the venlil’s arrival? Preposterous!” I shake my head, my tail swishing behind me as my ears flatten over my head. “Our people had only left the planet temporarily as we waited for the predators to die out without their main source of food. Only when the planet was deemed safe to inhabit, did we return.”

“And who told you this? The Federation?” he asks, tilting his head as he raises an eyebrow.

“Yes!”

“The same Federation who promised to protect you in your time of need?”

I open my mouth, but no words come to me. Because as much as I am loath to admit, he is right.

We were promised safety if we stayed within the herd. Any attempt of our people to try to secede from the Federation was always met with the thinly-veiled threat of what would become of us without the Federation’s protection. We were ‘preferred cattle’, and the universe was full of predators.

The predators of Venlil Prime had nearly hunted our kind to extinction. By the void’s whim, venlil had evolved to become the most succulent of prey, making them the choice meal of every other species on the planet. Nowhere was safe. Not the scorching desert in the sunlit side, nor the frozen tundra in the lightless side.

With their numbers dwindling, our ancestors put together arks to send their children away, hoping they would be able to come back to our home planet once the threats had died out. All records of our civilization up until the point of our return were lost to time.

Or at least, that is what the Federation told our forefathers once they came to offer us a place within the herd.

The same herd who ignored the cry of our Extinction alarm. That told me on a videocall ‘they couldn’t afford the risks’ of trying to save a planet so close to Terra, while their ambassadors took off in private ships, leaving us to die.

I turn my gaze back down at the pad and keep swiping. Instead of more writings, there is a picture of an old stone wall. Carvings on it resemble the symbols I have seen in the images before, and there are crude markings painted in various tints.

Some of the creatures on them resemble venlil, but the legs are all wrong. The heads also bear horns, and on their faces, I can see what resembles a yotul’s nose where our snout is.

“We have reason to believe that the venlil were subjected to genetic manipulation, much in the same way us humans have,” he says, looking at his claws, closing his hand to hide them. “Our lead geneticist, Doctor Mark Pines, has begun to decode the Venlil genome, and found mutations that shouldn’t be possible in such a short span of time.”

“What are you saying? That the venlil were made to be prey?”

He nods slowly, solemnly even. “That is our suspicion, yes. Whatever precursor species there was before, the Federation altered them into what the Venlil are now.”

I shake my head, squinting my eyes. “What proof do you have of this?”

“We’ve investigated the ruins the professor found, on the planet’s sun side. We have found fossil records there, dating from tens of thousands of years ago.” He reports, standing as straight as the elevator will allow him. “The DNA sequence matches that of the venlil by 99.9%.”

I feel like a bomb just went off behind me.

My knees feel weak, my tail flopping as I drop the pad, bringing my hands to my head as the elevator spins around me.

Lies.

It has to be lies.

There is no way.

Why?

“Miss Tarva.”

He is kneeling in front of me before I can register his movement, so fast it’s frightening, almost supernatural.

No living being should be able to move that fast.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his face anxious, sweat dripping down the side. He has a hand out, like he is trying to reach for me, but keeping himself in check.

Was it a reflex, seeing vulnerable prey, or something else?

I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the elevator’s handrails. “I’m… I’m fine. It’s a lot to take in at once.”

The ding of the bell signals we’ve arrived at our destination.

The doors open behind him to reveal one of the hospital’s hallways. The large windows allow the natural sunlight in, bathing the white, sterile walls in warmth. Williams slowly steps back and rises to his feet, pressing to the side to allow me passage, holding his hand against the leftmost door.

I exit without a word, and he picks up the pad before retrieving the key, pressing the button marked for the lobby before joining me outside.

“What does the Dominion plan to do with this knowledge? ‘Cure’ us?”

“It is too early to say,” he admits, gesturing me to follow as he begins to walk towards a set of double doors. “If word of this were to get out to the common folk, there would be much unrest, especially after the Federation’s… less than stellar support of Venlil Prime during the fighting.”

“But wouldn’t this benefit you? If the venlil were to know we were betrayed by the Federation, it would more easily allow you to sway them to your side,” I point out.

Williams offers a small smile. “Maybe, but right now, your people’s efforts should be oriented towards rebuilding, not revenge. They will be told in due time, I assure you.”

I hum and nod in acknowledgement, turning my gaze ahead as the doors open. We reach another lobby, this one smaller compared to the one on the ground floor. There are a couple of nurses behind a desk, looking warily towards Williams as he approaches the counter.

The place feels familiar, and looking around, it takes me just a moment before placing the memory: this is where the hospital’s VIP suites are located. I remember being brought here when Stynek was born, back when I was just the Director of Education.

“Room number three. Ex-governor Tarva will accompany me,” he informs them, standing up straight. One of the venlil nods, retrieving a keycard and sliding it over the counter. He takes it and gestures me to follow. Outside the room, a pair of peacekeepers stand guard, a human and an arxur. They both stand still and salute when we approach.

“At ease,” Williams says, his voice firm but without any edge in it. He looks at his watch, then to the guards. “You boys go get yourselves something to eat at the cafeteria, be back here in an hour sharp. We are not to be disturbed.”

The both of them salute again before leaving their post, allowing him to get close to the card reader. When they’re out of earshot, he looks my way, making my body shiver.

“What we spoke of in the elevator is only half the reason I summoned you here today, Miss Tarva,” he begins, moving his hands behind his back. “We found someone who might want to see you. They are waiting behind this door.”

I blink a couple times at that. Who could possibly be waiting for me? Rellin and Stynek are both gone, my parents do not return my calls, nor do my siblings. Even my own former secretary chose to distance himself from me after our surrender.

Williams offers me the keycard with one hand, holding it between two clawed fingers. I hesitate a moment, thinking this might be just some clever ruse, a cruel game to play before he decides he is done toying with his prey. Regardless, I take the card and step forward, swiping it over the reader.

The light switches from red to green, and the door hisses as it slides open, welcoming us inside.

Inside, the suite is larger than expected, easily over twice the size of a regular room. A large double bed rests against the far wall. The bedsheets look clean, but are unfolded and strewn over the bed messily. To the side, I see who Williams meant for me to see.

On a wheelchair, facing the window, sits Stynek.

My Stynek.

The world stops.

All sound is drowned in this moment, only the beat of my heart drums in my ears.

My breathing grows rapid, frantic. My fingers twitch at my sides as tears well in the corner of my eyes. I had thought for sure she would be dead by now. Or worse, a breeding slave in a cattle farm.

But here she sits, looking out the window serenely, her eyes blinking every so often, inhaling and exhaling.

Whole.

Awake.

Alive.

My paws move on their own, my body hurtling towards her as hot tears streak down my face.

“Sty…? Darling?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder. I feel like I am seeing a ghost, some trick of my grieving mind, but I can feel her warmth in my hand.

I look at her face, wondering a moment if this is really her. Rellin’s eyes, the tuft on her head just the same as mine. It is her. My Stynek. My baby. My knees buckle under me as I wrap my arms and tail around her.

“I’m here… Momma is here…”

I slump against her, the chair moving back slightly under our combined weight. I put my head against her shoulder and let a sob tear through me as my tears flow freely. I bring a hand to her head, softly stroking the tuft of wool on top of it. I can make out some scars on her scalp under my fingers, small cuts the have long since healed.

My daughter is alive.

Despite everything I have lost, I am not alone.

I take a breath as I try to regain my composure, taking a good look at her face. She’s still looking calm, unflinching, her eyes fixated on something on the distant horizon.

Something that isn’t me.

“Stynek?” I ask, moving back to kneel in front of her. “It’s me, darling… your mother…”

My hands move away from her shoulders and down to her arms. She has cuts and bruises that have begun to heal as well, her wool patchy in some places where it has started to regrow. I lean back to give her some room, noticing her posture is slightly crooked from when I hugged her.

I blink, my vision blurry from the tears clinging to my eyelashes. I wipe them away with my palms, noticing movement on the corner of my vision. Williams is standing straight, taking his cap off as he looks our way somberly.

I have only seen him this way once. In one of his visits to the city hall. That time when he cried, looking at his own claws.

The Federation had told us predators were beyond reason. That they could not feel, only obeying to their base instincts. Monsters of hunger who would eat anything before them without a thought.

Yet here was the one responsible for my homeworld’s subjugation, standing in quiet solidarity.

Our eyes cross a moment, and that seems to be his cue to speak. “We found her in sector MK-21-731. In one of the cattle worlds under control by Chief-Hunter Shaza.”

My heart sinks into my stomach, a shiver running down my spine all the way to the tip of my tail. “Do you mean… was she…?” my mouth runs dry.

I can’t bring myself to say it.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “We ran tests upon her retrieval. Though she showed signs of malnourishment and superficial physical torture, the doctors assured me she was not… abused. She was still far too young to become breeding stock by the time we found her.”

I let out a sigh of relief, clenching my eyes shut a moment before looking at her again. Still looking past me, breathing and blinking, holding that awkward position my hug left her in. “Then… what is wrong?”

Williams takes a deep breath, looking to the floor a moment. “From what our medics could ascertain, it seems she is experiencing Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, manifesting in a form of Catatonia.”

Those words mean nothing to me. Up until the United Dominion’s arrival, all maladies of the mind were attributed to Predator Disease. One of the Dominion medics that examined me after the fighting was done had said something about ‘depression’.

“Speak plainly, Williams,” I bleat, my hands resting on top of Stynek’s.

He hums a moment, his eyes darting to the side as he seems to search for less technical words. “The things your daughter witnessed and experienced after her capture, they… likely drove her mind to ‘disconnect’ in order to protect itself from what was going on around her.”

Williams breathes a heavy sigh before looking in Stynek’s direction. “She is conscious and aware of us: she can see you, listen to you, and feel your touch, but she will not react to it. She can feed herself if presented with food, and can move on her own accord when she feels like it. But her ‘self’ is…” he trails off, closing his mouth a moment before finishing his thought, “it’s not gone. Just trapped, behind several mental locks.”

I breathe shakily, my eyes jumping between the commander and my daughter; her gaze is still lost, fixated on that invisible dot on the horizon I cannot see. I wrap my arms around her again holding her tightly; hoping for something, anything. Any sign that my daughter is still somewhere inside this empty shell, while Williams turns his gaze elsewhere.

But reality is often disappointing.

After what feels like an eternity, I release her anew, trying to control my sobbing. Williams has not moved from his spot, his face turned away so I cannot see it. His breathing is hitched, I can notice it even under all his garments.

How pathetic must I look to make a predator cry?

“Can she be cured?” I ask, my voice hoarse from all the strain as I sit on the floor in front of her, holding a hand over one of her own, trying to curl my fingers around hers.

He brings a hand to his face, wiping his cheek with his thumb before looking my way. “It’s… possible. Back on Earth, Terra as you know it, we studied the human mind to cure many illnesses that had plagued us. Cases such as these had their own treatments…”

I sigh, looking at him through blurred eyes. He’s holding something back, trying to give me hope even though he knows something that will take it away.

“But?”

His lips tighten, making a gesture I cannot place. After a moment, he speaks again. “Those treatments were developed to alleviate the symptoms of the condition in humans only. We don’t know if they would be effective on venlil. What would cure a human of a headache, could very well poison and kill a venlil. Your anatomy is too different from our own to apply them without proper research.”

My eyes drop at that, turning my head back to Stynek. Or what remains of her.

“I see…”

He opens his mouth a moment, closing it briefly before breathing in deep and speaking. “There is a possibility she might recover on her own… with time and care.”

‘Might’, ‘maybe’, ‘hopefully’.

Those words hold no weight for me anymore. I cannot hold on to something so fleeting as hope.

“If it’s any consolation, the one responsible for Stynek’s capture, Chief-Hunter Shaza, was killed in a mutiny recently.”

I furrow my brow and look at Williams through squinting eyes. “Is that… supposed to make me feel better?” I ask incredulously. “Is that going to bring my daughter back?”

He holds my gaze a moment, moving his mouth as if to speak before looking away in what I can recognize as shame.

My hand closes tightly over Stynek’s, gripping her tiny fingers in mine as my body shakes. Joy gave way to grief, and grief now gives way to something darker. “It’s all because of you…”

“Pardon?”

“This is all your fault!” I bleat, standing up and taking a couple steps towards him, my hands closed into fists as my tail stands stiff behind me. His eyes open wide at my outburst, but he does not retreat.

I bring an accusatory finger up and point at him. “None of this would have happened if not for you humans! We were fine before you came! We were happy before you brought war upon our planet! Before you helped the arxur do this,” I gesture to Stynek, “to us!”

His brow furrows at that, lightly turning as he takes one step closer. “With all due respect, miss Tarva,” he starts, his voice carrying the barest hint of a growl, “your people actively helped in the Federation’s attempt at extermination of a sapient species that, up until that point, didn’t even know you existed.”

Another step brings him closer, those eyes of his glowing in the shade the raised blinds provide. “An extermination attempt that ended with over 60% of our population dead, whole ecosystems destroyed, the extinction of several unique species of native flora and fauna, not to mention the wanton erasure of millennia of human history and culture.”

He stops walking when he is right in front of me, leaning forward to bring his face down to my own eye level. Part of me worries he might let himself fall on top of me and crush me.

“And all because of what? The way we looked? Our diet?”

There is no venom in his words, just very restrained indignation.

“We cried. We pleaded. We surrendered. And you gave us flame and death.” He holds my gaze as our faces are but a few inches apart. “The difference between you and us is that, when you surrendered, we honored it.”

I clench my teeth, my ears flat over the back of my skull, hands trembling beside me as I hold his gaze for as long as I can.

But eventually, my will fails me, and I look away.

I know everything he just said is not wrong.

“So this is your revenge, then?” I ask dejectedly, my eyes lingering on the silhouette of Stynek in her seat. “We broke your planets, and now you will break ours in return?”

He stands up straight and scoffs, looking aside. “No. God, no. Revenge is a fool’s game, an endless cycle. It only stops when everyone playing is dead,” he says, walking towards the window, joining Stynek in contemplation.

I shake my head, looking in his direction. “Then why do this? All of this?” I ask, my eyes puffy from all the crying. “You already have our planet, what more could you want from me? Why would you bother with bringing back my child as an empty husk?”

Williams looks my way from over his shoulder, standing quietly a moment. He wordlessly gestures to his side with a claw before turning his attention back to the view. It takes me a few moments before I join the offered spot.

“I did not join the army to kill Federation members, or to sate some lust for glory,” he starts, his tone calm and even. “I did it to protect my planet. To prevent more suffering from ever visiting it again. I did so, knowing I would have to fight and kill, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.”

He raises a clawed hand, looking down to it as he opens it and closes it before him. “In truth, I have always hated fighting, but it was what was demanded of me. I fought in order to climb the ranks. To get to a position where I could do more than just point a gun at enemies on the other side of the line.”

As he brings down his hand, my gaze wanders to the skyline ahead, over to the mountains where the observatory lies. “If I can alleviate the pain we may have caused you and your kind, it is my responsibility to do so. It is my duty to be better than what came before me, so that such atrocities will not happen again. Not on my watch.”

He speaks with so much certainty in his voice, I almost believe his words. A part of me wants to believe in them with all my heart.

The other half of me, however, sees Stynek in the corner of my vision, and is reminded of the grim reality.

“That does not answer my question,” I say plainly. I’m too tired to argue anymore.

He looks down and places a hand on my shoulder as he kneels. I would have normally shied away from it, but now…

“I do not condone or justify the actions that some Chief-Hunters choose to perform. I couldn’t be there to stop what happened to Stynek. That is my failing,” he says softly, looking into my eyes. “I just don’t believe a mother should have to lose her only child. So if I can help to reunite them, then it’s my obligation to do so. Simple as that.”

He pats my shoulder gently before standing up, putting his cap back on his head, lightly obscuring his eyes. “I will personally sponsor Stynek’s stay and expenses while our researchers look into the matter. The United Dominion’s high command has given me an accommodating budget to allocate as I see fit. Medical research falls well within its intended purpose. You will not have to spend a single credit, as long as she remains under your care.”

I blink several times at that. “That’s…” my mouth hangs agape, words failing me.

A small smile forms on his lips as he closes his eyes a moment. “Think nothing of it. It’s just what I feel is the right thing to do,” he says simply, offering a small bow before he starts making for the door. “The staff and guards outside this door have already been made aware of this arrangement. Whatever you may need: food, hygiene products, garments, entertainment, you need only ask and they will bring it to you.”

His stride is slow but confident, his footsteps echoing in the large room as he reaches the door. It is only when he sets one foot outside that I can speak up.

“Commander Williams.”

He stops and looks my way, raising an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, giving him a small bow of my own head. He smiles at that, before leaving the room, letting the door close behind him.

Now that it is just the two of us alone, I turn back to Stynek. She’s returned to a more natural sitting position, her left fingers absentmindedly kneading the wheelchair’s padded armrest.

I don’t think I have any tears left to cry anymore.

But, if what Williams said is true…

If there is a chance for Stynek to come back to me…

Then maybe I owe it to Noah to not give up yet.

______________
A/N 2: Hope you like, sorry it took so long.

We have a thread in the official NoP server too!. Chapter brought to you by itsunos_vision.

This is a fic from the main Scorch Directive AU. There's many fics written by other people with their own take on it, for more you can take a look here.

Canon Sidestories:

Children of the Serum (finished)

Slanek Intermission

Private Journals of Vehla of Imenta (finished)

Vehla's Misadventures and the sequel (oneshot)

The Wildchild (Finished)

Meat Matryoshka (Finished)

Crossing the Rubicon (oneshot)

Crossovers:

Scorched Threads (SD x Threads in the Fabric by u/Quinn_The_Fox)

Cool Ficnaps that make the setting so much better!:

Balance of Vengeance and its sequel and third act by u/blackomegapsi

Memories Not Mine by u/Quinn_The_Fox

Embers in the Ashes by u/ErinRF

Hellion Squad by cowriter

Scorched Earth by u/Puzzleheaded_Buy6590

Hunters of the Void by u/Competitive_Koala_93

Pictures by u/Jollyreflection75

Parenting from the Trenches by Zoé Selardi

Black Sheep in the Wolves Den by u/Barcod123 but the second part was taken down :c

If you, for some reason feel like ficnapping feel free!

A song I commissioned from Hyper Strident on YT!

^(links on my comment below since reddit kept deleting my post because of a link >:c)

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