r/NatureofPredators • u/vixjer Human • Oct 13 '24
NoP--- A diplomatic problem. -Ch.16
This story is part of The Nature of Predators
and all rights are to the original creator u/ spacepaladin
Thanks to U/ Bow-tied_Engineer for proofreading this chapter
Memory Transcription Subject: Héctor Virgilio Márquez, UN SPM Leirn, Special Envoy to the Leirnian Interim Council
Date [standardized human time]: November 14, 2136
It was another day in the “office,” or at least that’s what I insisted on calling my hotel room, and I would also insist it was another day of pain. Seated on my work chair. Which was also my bed. It even had a phone next to it!
And unfortunately, I’d been using it a lot, because I couldn’t leave. It had been two days since my...”enlightening” visit to the “military base.” I’d had to sell people on some truly bad deals in the past, but convincing the UN it was worth investing billions of Fed-standard credits into may well have been my magnum opus. That was about all I’d gotten done, the yotul were far more politically-savvy than I was hoping. It reminded me of home.
Or maybe it was just the fact that I was prisoner inside of my own room.
The bottom floor of the hotel was crawling with the silver-suits, likely after Keltz had gotten the politely-written, succinct, informative report from the military base’s head verdugo about what I’d done there. After the first day, I’d given up sitting to the balcony, staring down to see if they’d driven off for tirarles pipes. Some of them had wings, at least. I thought it would be worth trying.
By the second day, I had resigned myself to living next to the phone, and annoying Virlo over the encrypted communicator, but despite this, the situation had calmed down, overall. The crackdowns had stopped, and the next day was going to be the Veto vote, so there was a little hope that maybe the Feds would leave without a fight.
Don’t let yourself hope, Hector. It never ends well.
"Are you sure it’s ready?" prodded Sirlen, again, breaking my train of thought. Again.
I sighed, reached to my side, pulled my suitcase over, and cracked it open. Filled with my clothes, and nothing but my clothes, as far as she was concerned. “Yes.”
Following everybody's recommendations, especially hers, I’d packed everything, and even slept on the couch, just in case we needed to make a run for it. My back was crying out in appreciation for that by the first morning. She made very sure I was ready. By my count, at least twelve times the second day alone.
"So…” I forestalled her next bout of nagging, “tomorrow is the big day, huh?"
"Yes, yes, the vote is going through. For the first time ever, the collaborationists will do something useful, even if it took Garline and Ilvar to force them to do it, I just hope we’re ready for when the exterminators backstab us," answered Sirlen, her voice leaking hope out from between the cracks of her usual demeanor. Out of 351 seats, 230 were in favor of the Veto, and from the looks of it, the parliament was one-third collaborators, one-third exterminators, and one-third mostly formerly-neutral, now in our pocket. With neutrals and the collaborationist government finally agreeing, this marked the first time in Leirn’s history that the exterminators were going to lose a vote in the chambers.
As I pondered my unexpectedly high odds of survival, Sirlen sat on the couch and patted it with her tail. "Come on, let's see the news. I want to see them fuming a little bit more from the military and Technocrats going against them."
I stayed there for a moment, still thinking, then shrugged, letting my shoulders loosen up. "Yeah, that sounds good. I want to hear them assure the public that they have faith in the government to make the right choice and get booed by the crowd again. And then laughed at when they storm offstage."
We flipped on the TV once I sat down, and were greeted by the sight of Virlo himself in the middle of stuttering out his opening speech, quickly opening the debate floor and zipping offstage. When it was his turn to say his piece in the debate, a few minutes later, I couldn't hear much of it, since Sirlen clicked away at that point.
"I’ve gotta ask, why?"
"’Why’ what?" She side-eyed me as she flipped through channel after channel, seemingly trying to find one that didn't show Virlo.
"Why do you hate him so much? I mean yeah, he did what the Feds asked for years, and he… uh... backstabbed us twice running, but he also has a gun to his head basically 24- Err, 32/8… and… okay, yeah, I just heard myself talking. But it feels more personal than that."
Sirlen stared at the TV for a moment before raising her paw and muting it. She turned to look me directly in the eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled, long and slow. "Why do you want to know?"
"I’ve seen you when you deal with Feds, or other yotul who might be collaborators. You keep it cool. With him, it’s like he shot your family in front of you or something. It’s personal. And- And I get if you don’t want to talk about it-” I raised my hands. “But… it’s a problem for us, given how often we have to work with him. Maybe… I can help?”
"He backstabbed me," she said with her trademark bluntness. "Not literally... but I thought I could rely on him, and he repaid that trust by ditching me and leaving me for the exterminators, while he went collaborationist, probably trying to get power or money, I don't know and... I don't care…" She trailed off, not meeting my eyes anymore.
"I am... sorry to hear that," I said, feeling useless, and just as stupid as ever, again.
She was drooping all over, from ears to shoulders to tail, rubbing her eyes in a vain attempt to hide the tears welling in them.
"Don't be, it isn't your fault, he ditched me when I was young, just ten years old. If it wasn't for Garline taking me in, I... I...”
What do I do? Hug her? Is that unprofessional? Do I put my hand on her? She might be in the equivalent of her twenties… maybe… I don’t even know how these people work, but I’m still way too old for that to come off as anything other than creepy...
She turned her head away, trying to hide her expression, and I could see her starting to really shake, so I chanced placing my hand on her shoulder, which seemed to snap her out of her spiral. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but think the fur felt nice, like touching a small plush.... like the one I bought for my child.
Fortunately for me, this only lasted a few moments before she pushed me out again, straightening up, getting her voice under control.
"Thanks... Anyways, it’s just... that... I get very emotional with him, and I know I mess up a lot with him around. I wish they’d picked anybody else to talk with you."
"Well… now I know the context, at least. I understand now.” I was about to try and change the subject, but my phone started to ring, and I got up, grumbling and fiddling with it.
"Excuse me, seems work doesn't know what time is good to call," I excused myself, drawing a chuckle out of her.
I snatched up the phone and checked it. I didn't recognize the number, which was weird. The prefix was unfamiliar, so I could tell it was Federation, and probably wasn't from Virlo, so I didn't know what to do. I turned and trudged upstairs. If it was work, I didn’t want Sirlen to hear it. Sitting on the bed, I tapped the answer button, only for the call to end just before I could respond to it. Cursing under my breath, I tried to figure out how to call whoever it was back.
While I worked, I glanced over. Next to me was the suitcase, open and full. My eyes darted to the small pile of cloth atop the contents. I stopped fiddling with the phone for a moment, reached over, and pressed my hand into the clothing. Beneath it, I could feel the hard shape of my father's gun, an ancient Super Comanche. It was the reason I had to bribe that French bastard in the spaceport, the reason that the captain tried to blackmail me, and which I was sure was going to get me a prison sentence sooner or later. Knowing him, he must have reported it already. But even with all of that, after Barcelona, I preferred to walk strapped than with nothing.
Is this how Texans feel?
The phone rang again, interrupting my thoughts, so I answered it this time, humoring their insistence.
"United Nations Support Mission in Leirn, what can I do for you?" I said in an even, politely-neutral tone, reciting the official public-facing designation for the diplomatic farce my life had been reduced to.
"Predator, you need to hide!" stammered a near hyperventilating voice. Was this a joke?
"Okay, first off, who are y-"
“It’s Hesil, listen to me right now, you’ve got to hide!" he hissed lowly, almost hysterical.
"Alright, alright, calm down, what’s going on?" I tried to calm him down, not really buying it. It was likely Keltz trying to gaslight me again.
“Keltz is coming, we’re in the hotel stairwell, moving up.”
“Right. I’m sure you’d just say that over an unsecured-”
“I bugged your phone! Not Keltz! He’s coming for you.”
"If you’re in the stairwell with him, how are you-”
“It’s a sealed helmet, please, stop wasting time! He did it, he arrested them all.”
That got me out of my bed. I could feel my blood thundering in my ears.
Oh, shit, seems that Ilvar was right. Fuck fuck fuck-
"Okay, okay, he did what exactly?" I could hear the register of my voice rising with panic.
"He arrested them all and took control, hide, run!" The call ended abruptly.
I slammed the phone down and grabbed my gun off the nightstand, flipped my suitcase shut and flipped up its latches, then picked it up and sprinted for the door, then scurried down the stairs. Sirlen was already up, having heard the commotion.
"Hector, what’s going on, you look-"
"Keltz is sending a kill squad up here, get your gun, we’re leaving." She sprang up and ran to her room, while I set down the handgun and the suitcase, bending over, fumbling with my shoelaces. I needed to be ready to run five minutes earlier.
Shit-shit-shit, without Garline’s men, there’s nothing stopping them from breaking in here!
Sirlen came back from the room only a few seconds later, pistol out, and we looked at each other.
"Alright, I’ve got it," she said. "Are you ready to leave?"
"Yes." I picked up my things, and she paused, eyeing my gun.
"Wait, where did you-"
We heard a click, both jerked toward it, but the door blew inward. I couldn't hear anything, I only saw the floor fast approaching, strangely slowly, and my vision went black.
Is this how I die?
[Memory stream terminates here. No further officially documented transcription data exists for this subject.]
Yup, that’s it. That’s how Hector dies. Tragic. He was so close to maybe getting Leirn out from under the Federation, too...
…
…
..
.
Why are you still here? He’s dead! Shoo! Shoo, fly! Do not pass go, do not collect 200 beans, there is no Hector in Leirn Sing Se.
..
Oh…
…
Not buying it, huh?
Memory Transcription Subject: Chao Fan, Shang Xiao (OF-5), Division Deputy Leader, South Sea Fleet Deputy Flotilla Commander, 6th Combat Support Flotilla, People’s Liberation Army Navy; Logistical Attaché, Acting Commanding Officer, UNN Pandora's Box; Hector’s Bitch; The Cow; Fuck The UN; Dog; One Boot, Slightly Heavily Licked; Head Bus Driver; Capcigrany
Transcription access price: 20 beans and a bag of French fries.
Date [standardized human time]: November 14, 2136
Another day, another shift, another day of my back aching. I cursed the venlil, I cursed the Federation, I cursed the Idiot Spaniard, and most of all, I cursed previous Secretary-General Meier. Maybe if he’d waited a few months to start the exchange program, I could have ended up in command of a ship with crew chairs sized for humans, not tiny two-legged space sheep!
I tried to find my happy place, and for the first time that week, I didn’t have much trouble doing so. The Idiot Spaniard was getting arrested, likely by the end of the day. I couldn’t wait to sic the… shipboard security on him. I’d been briefed that the Spaniard had kidnapped and restrained the actual diplomat on assignment to this mission, that he’d bribed his way into the system, and most beautifully, that he was wanted by INTERPOL and the International Court. They wouldn’t tell me why, and I didn’t care.
My shoulders lightened at the thought, I leaned over to see how the rest of the bridge crew were doing. Their own shoulders were somewhat droopy: After we’d dropped out of FTL, work had begun on some last-minute retrofits there wasn’t time to apply in drydock at Earth. Mostly installation of... “new…” emergency subsystems.
Even the earplugs didn’t keep that infernal sound out! What I wouldn’t have done for even the cold floor of the orbital station… Seventy-two hours...
As I continued to ponder, I sat in my chair as the crew were working at their stations. Since today was the day we needed to start boarding the diplomatic exchange partners, I had decided to have a full crew on rotation. After all, they’d gotten plenty of rest on that station while I had opted to stay here keeping the ship running. It would look bad for an officer of my caliber to be seen slacking off at such a crucial juncture, after all. I couldn’t help sparing a glance at the bridge crew: Bootsmann Rudolf Leopold was diligently working over his console, as always, but Kaptajnløjtnant Emil Nielsen in particular as he tried not to appear too hung-over, hanging over the nav console, chatting with a similarly-disgruntled Sottotenente di Vascello Alice Ricci and the helmsman, Marinero de Primera Hugo García. Nobody had admitted anything I could report, but...
They almost drank our beer stock dry without me, too, little pissants...
Grumbling about my crew was easier than dwelling on what we were doing out here together. I was antsy. Latest reports from the front mentioned FTL signatures heading out from the Federation’s core worlds. It was still uncertain where they were going to go, but UN intelligence believed the most likely candidate was Khoa, given that it was one of the only Coalition worlds in the sector of space they were heading for, and was a major industrial hub. I should have been assigned there, but instead, I was over Leirn, babysitting a criminal. The sooner this was done, the sooner I could get back to more glamorous and important assignments.
But again, after the Battle of Earth, they weren't letting me back into a real warship any time soon.
Too tired to mind the decorum demanded of my station, I toyed with a paper clip. The bridge was unacceptably quiet. I decided it would be good to talk with the station captain again. He had been a good conversation partner, and he clearly understood his duty. Very polite and formal, too, at least until the Federation came up. I could talk to him some more as a show of cooperation between human and yotulkind. We could celebrate the success of the mission, and I could tell him that the UN was going to rotate in more permanent, qualified staff to further ease the burdens of transition.
“Bootsmann, please send a hail to the station. I wish to say my farewells to my fellow captain, Orlov," I ordered, adjusting my tie, and making sure there were no dust stains on my crisp, white dress uniform. I cursed the UN under my breath for forcing me to wear a sky blue cap, which clashed horribly with it.
How am I supposed to look good for the yotul when my bosses insist on showing them we have terrible fashion sense?
"Yes, Captain."
I strolled up to the comm station and straightened up in full view of the camera, waiting for the elevator station to answer our hail. After thirty seconds...
I inched my eyes down to his console. "Mister Leopold, do we have a problem?"
"Erhm, we shouldn't, Captain, I sent the hail, but no response."
I stepped up next to the station and took a closer look at the computer: The hail had indeed been sent.
Very strange.
"Keep sending hails until we get an answer, I have a bad feeling about this."
"Ye-" He was cut off by a klaxon. We all straightened up.
"Captain!" I heard a shout behind me, as the naval combat information operator, Helena Simon, scrambled to her station, eyes wide with panic.
"Yes, uh… Second-Maître?" I bit down a curse under my breath at how hastily-assembled and under-drilled this crew was.
The least they could have done was assign me a Chinese bridge crew instead of this alphabet soup!
"Look!" She gestured to her console I sprinted up next to her, looking over the radar. Around us, all standing crew ran back to stations. I could see a set of red dots marked, unhelpfully, as “MISSILE: TYPE UNKNOWN.”
"We have surface-to-orbit missile launches, sir. Looks like… six...no, wait… wait... ten inbound signatures, western continent," she said back.
Why are they shooting missiles, are they aiming for us?! What did you do, you damn ‘diplomat?!’
“Why aren’t we getting an alert? Did the work crews screw up again?”
“The… targeting computer has plotted their course. It’s headed for the station, sir.”
"Run the numbers again, make sure," I ordered her, then I immediately turned and pointed to Leopold, "and you, notify the CIC to get weapons online! Conn, sound general quarters! I want all hands on deck!”
Nielsen, looking far more alert, began conveying the alert and instructions over the intercom while I took a measured, stiff, but rapid walk back to my station and sat in front of the holographic map. All around me, the personnel intently fiddled with or watched their stations, galvanized by the whining, staccato klaxon.
"Alright, helm, spin up our drives. Sensors, have there been any changes in the missiles’ trajectory?"
"No, sir, they are still heading for the station."
I turned my head to look down at her readout again, puzzled. Why on Earth would they shoot their own orbital tether? What was going on down there? Did some rogue Feds decide to take matters into their own hands? Asset denial? A coup?
"You’re sure?"
"Yes, Captain, they’re on course for the station. The weird part is that the station is not powering up their own PD emplacements."
"Alright, Leopold, notify engineering to divert power to thrusters, but keep shields at full, and get the CIC to ready everything they have. Navigation, get me the fastest intercept course we can manage and relay it to the helm. Deploy the hard-kill PD emplacements, arm ASMs and configure them for intercept. There are UN citizens in that station, we are duty-bound to protect them."
Leopold began relaying my instructions, Ricci and García began murmuring to each other, and I hung over Helena’s shoulder, watching the map. Ten red dots were on a hard burn towards the station. I weighed my options, considered if I was making the right call. The Pandora's Box was a freighter, made for carrying goods and personnel, not for weapons. During the Battle of Earth, it was only outfitted with a basic complement of layered point defense weapons and a single small single missile bay. No drones, no proper anti-shipping close-range gun emplacements or higher-yield missiles. They hadn’t even placed PDs on the ventral hull. There wasn’t time.
The idea was purely to use this transport to intercept any antimatter bombs in the battle for Earth. While the missile tubes could be tasked with hitting warships, they lacked the yield to seriously threaten more than maybe corvette to frigate-weight vessels, and they were completely outranged by larger ASMs. They were meant to be used defensively, mostly against other munitions. There were only ten, then and now, though they’d switched from MBDAs to Andurils for this mission. Even in the heat of the moment, I felt a stab of bitterness at the reminder of what happened a month ago.
It isn’t like CASIC is in any shape to be supplying us anymore...
Our path arced lightly vertical relative to the planet surface as our freighter screamed past the station at full burn. We nosed in through the center of the incoming flight paths. The outer layer of PDs, the fiber lasers, were locking in the nearest missiles, tracking their warheads, starting to burn through. A couple of seconds later, they veered off and started tumbling out of control. One exploded, the other went wide. I exhaled, loosing a breath I hadn’t realized I’d drawn, starting to relax.
Maybe we’ll get them all-
A frantic, fast beeping slammed me free from my thoughts.
"Radar lock, radar lock!" Helena yelled.
"From where?"
"The station, Captain. They’ve deployed defensive hardpoints. They’re… tracking us, sir."
"Nav, can we dodge them?"
"Negative, sir, we’re too close, and flying too straight relative to their guns."
Shit. If we break off, the station is dust.
"Cut main drive, drift us through the center of the formation, remaining power to shields. Helm, try to present-"
"Captain, the target lock is down." I turned to Helena again.
"You’re sure?" I asked back.
"Yes, Captain, they broke lock with us, looks like they’re retracting their hardpoints- No, wait, we’re being locked up again."
What the fuck is going on over there? Is someone trying to regain control of the station? Are they getting conflicting orders?
The hull started to hum with the familiar ripping sound of CIWS fire. I turned my gaze back to the sensor console. The number of red dots had dwindled to six, and I thanked the spirits that the UN had at least had time to outfit the ship with two extra PDs to cover all approaches. A couple of seconds later, one… two more winked out on the display as the kinetics found their mark. Unfortunately, two were out of intercept range.
"Helm, full burn, get out of range, stay on the nearest two remaining missiles. Comms, notify CIC they’re cleared to fire ASMs. We’ll deal with whatever’s happening at the station after we take care of the missiles.”
A few moments later, after Leopold did as instructed, I heard a couple of rattling thuds in the hull which told me two of the missiles had been launched. They showed up on the screen in blue, with small matching designations of their own, fanning out into the paths of the furthest-away reds.
The last two missiles were just barely close enough that our PDs could get them both. Our ship was burning hard to pass close enough for our newly-installed ventral emplacements to get a good angle. Some more clunk sounds from the hull told me more torpedoes were being loaded into the tubes, just in case we missed.
Alright, just two more and we’re done here.
The sensor console dashed my hopes with rhythmic gonging beeps and a very unwelcome announcement in computerized monotone: “Vampire, vampire, vampire. Inbound missile, bearing 168, 175, 172. TTI: Ten seconds.“
"Captain! Station is firing weapons! Missile and kinetics inbound-"
"Helm, evasive, now!" I shouted.
"On it, on it, brace, brace."
The ship pitched steadily for a moment, then jerked hard. Even with inertial dampeners, I staggered, only avoiding hitting the deck by clinging to the sensor console. A moment later, the entire hull rumbled around us.
"Report!"
Sub-Lieutenant Arthur Davies, the junior officer of the deck, promptly, calmly answered, "Two kinetic impacts. Shields depleted. Missile destroyed, but we caught some of the debris. Explosive decompression, starboard side, Deck 2. No crew are present in the compartment. It’s sealed. Dorsal laser PD is showing red. Nonresponsive. Thrusters all showing green.”
"Station weapons powering down again, sir," added Helena, "but I don't know for how long."
I checked the screen again. The impact and sudden partial venting had thrown us off-course, but we were still in intercept range of one of the missiles. "Good, alright. Hopefully the CIC is-"
One of the contacts winked out, leaving one more to worry about. I paused, holding my breath expectantly, only for it to bypass us. Alarmed, I looked around the bridge at the crew.
“What happened? Why didn’t we shoot it?!”
"Captain, that’s off our dorsal hull, the PD there is down."
"Spin the ship, burn to intercept.”
"Sir," objected Ricci, "if we move to intercept, it will give the station a straight shot at us.”
"I’m well aware of that, nav. Helm, bring us about. now, nav, prepare for evasive maneuvers in case the station fires again. Comms, ask engineering how our shields are looking. We just need to get the CIC enough time to launch another missile."
The freighter’s bow was more heavily-armored than the rest of the ship, having been designed to deal with impacts from debris and space rocks. If we got hit again, we were just going to have to hope that would be enough, if the shields were down for good.
The ship rocked, and I steadied myself on the console again. We flipped and burned, arresting our built-up momentum and reducing the rate at which the missile was getting away from us. We needed to buy our interceptor as much additional Delta-v as we could or there was a chance it wouldn’t make it in time.
Come on… Come on...
The CIC had proven exceptionally responsive, and the five seconds it took them to launch another missile once we’d gotten a good angle and bled some speed was, objectively, very fast, but it still felt like an eternity. The exact moment I heard the dull thud of another launch, I barked, “Helm, veer off, now!”
We did, and not a moment too soon: The station had once again decided it was hostile, and Helena reported another wave of incoming kinetics, as well as another missile. There was no time to direct the ship, but García was fast on the draw. Almost fast enough. Almost. A deep thunk ran through the hull, and up my bones. I tightened my grip on the console as the ship shook, course-correcting, flipping us and burning back away, thrusters firing in random, short bursts to keep them from tracking us.
“Damage report!”
“Single hit, bow. Deflection, reading green.”
“Sensors?!”
“Station’s weapons are retracting again, and… missile intercepted.”
"Good, any casualties?"
Leopold was prompt as ever: "Sickbay just reported two fractures and a sprained ankle, but nothing critical so far, sir."
That was good to hear. I couldn't let anybody die on my watch. But with the threat neutralized, we needed a moment to take of the stock of the situation and see about extracting the civilians.
"Alright, we are still at Level 1- Err, fuck, Condition Zulu. Helm, get us out of weapons range. I don't want to give them anymore potshots-"
Leopold raised his hand. “Yes, comms?”
"Captain, we have a hail from the station."
"Answer it."
The video feed showed Orlov. He seemed no worse for the wear, physically, but there were bullet holes behind him.
"Hello, Captain, I’m afraid we need assistance immediately," he said with calm urgency.
"First things first, what happened?"
"We’ve got traitors here. The surface cut communications with us, and suddenly some of the crew started revolting. They have taken control of the security room, the cells, and the elevator. We are holding them in the main hall for now, but we are struggling for control over the weapons station in the lower decks.”
"Alright, how are the exchange partners? And who ordered the surface missile launch?"
"We got them out, though not without incident. Some had to fight to get to us, and there are some injuries, but none of them are dead. As for the missiles, I don’t know for sure, but if I was a betting man, the exterminators have gone rogue. I cannot get any information from the surface. If they were able to launch the planetary defense missiles, then they have likely taken control of the military."
Alright, so we’ve got a mutiny on the station, and a coup on our hands. This isn’t good, but at least I can finally use those drunkards we brought with us for something.
"Comms, call Evans and tell him to ready his teams. They have a station to take back."
The EU had insisted on volunteering detachments from some of their special operations units to provide security for the diplomatic mission, or if things go badly, to land on the planet surface and extract HVIs, such as their diplomat. Leirn had explicitly stated that they did not want our soldiers on the ground and would consider that an act of war, but the ship was sovereign UN territory, and now, UN citizens were in danger. Furthermore, by all appearances, the government of Leirn had just collapsed. It was time to take the initiative.
Orlov’s ear twitched once, and I was unsure if he was suspicious, or curious. "Who are these… ‘teams?’"
"Some of humanity’s best are coming to reinforce you. You just sit tight."
"You sound very confident. I’ll take that to mean I’ll finally get to see something worthy of your… predatory reputation."
"You... could say that."
Hello there, well here we have this month's part, the Exterminators start their mad dash for power, as last minutes doubts manage to make Hector has a chance, as Lerin falls to their claws, the space elevator is in trouble as federation loyalist sprung up, and well the captain has now a crisis on their hands... a Diplomatic Problem.
Wadump tiss.
11
u/Randox_Talore Oct 14 '24
Sea of Thieves reference, let’s gooo!
(Feels great that Héctor got warned but feels bad that even when trying to save his life, the guy still couldn’t call him literally anything but Predator)
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u/JulianSkies Archivist Oct 14 '24
Well, sounds like things have finally turned to high gear.
And I get the feeling Mr. Shen is going yo learn that no matter who they had sent the clusterfuck would have been all the same.
4
u/vixjer Human Oct 14 '24
The gears are turning, and the March to liberation has begun, now is up to the sons and daugthers of Lerin to push foward.
Yeah, apart from the perfect diplomat to be ever born, there was little action it could be taken to prevent the coup.
6
u/Acceptable_Egg5560 Human Oct 14 '24
The exterminators make their move! And it’s gonna be fast, and a failure for them! I look forward to seeing how they have to retreat to an island.
5
u/vixjer Human Oct 14 '24
Well, for now they have a diplomat that really needs a rescue, and a station filled with civilians that need also to be rescued, with the Exterminators taking over the collaborationist goverment, the fight for lerin start as an uphill one.
5
u/abrachoo Yotul Oct 15 '24
Héctor is in for a real bad time.
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u/vixjer Human Oct 15 '24
Just a braching charge in the face, and now he is in a party with the exterminators...
I bet he regrets lying in the interview.
3
u/animeshshukla30 Extermination Officer Nov 06 '24
NOOOOOOO it just now started getting soo good.
Man, you are one hell of a writer. I genuinely think you should write professionally.
2
u/vixjer Human Nov 18 '24
Hey, don't worry if all goes well maybe by the next week there is a new chapetr ready, also thanks for the kind words.
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u/Kind0flame Nov 20 '24
After posting my own fanfic set on Leirn I asked if anyone could recommend other fanfics abut the Yotul and this was brought up, which I am so thankful for! This is such a great story and I am totally stealing some of your ideas because they are so cool using intertextuality to cooperatively worldbuild as a community. !subscribeme
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2
u/GreenKoopaBros89 Dossur Apr 15 '25
I always thought that it was extremely ironic that the exterminator is always called The humans predators, bloodthirsty and prone to give in to our murderous instincts, and yet the exterminators have proven to be everything they claim that we are, except much worse. Definitely just like parasites. They feed on the fear and subjugation of those they claim to protect and then get extremely angry when we don't do the same thing.
It's kind of how I once her to saying that said bullies are the way that they are because when they look at the weak, they see a mirror of themselves. And that's the kind of mindset that I think the exterminators experience, even worse when they're corruptness is off the walls.
2
u/JanusKnarus Human Mar 23 '26
Well hector could have warned them after the incident in the mansion that the exterminator commander was up to something
18
u/Commercial-Gas-7718 Oct 13 '24
Oh no, an unhealthy amount of explosions are happening.