An Affini breaks down the door to doctor's office, her Terran cotyledon in tow.
"Doctor!" She shouts. "Something's wrong with the Terran, you have to help him!"
"I have the snif-" Started the Terran.
"What could it be?" Asked the Doctor. "I know I ask this every time but-"
"Of course I ran my own scans before coming here, do I look like a youngbloom to you?!"
"I have the snif-" Started the Terran, again.
"It seems to be perspiring from one of it's airways, this could be bad." Said the Doctor. "There's no time to waste; we haven't lost a Terran yet and by the Everbloom we aren't going to now, lay him on the operating table!"
"I have the sniffles." Said the Terran.
The two Affini look at each other for a silent moment until finally the Doctor speaks up.
"Stars... it's worse than I thought."
The Terran groaned, rubbing his temple.
"Why couldn't you motherfuckers be like... Terran eating xenos or something, stars above."
"Don't you think this is all a bit dramatic, petal?" The warbling song of the weeds voice is all wrong. Too harmonic, too rich, too pretty?
"Fuck off," You yell in half-hearted defiance. "Leave me alone weed."
Petal, you're hiding in the ship's trash compacter. Please come out."
"No! Piss off! I'm fine here, I've got supplies and everything!"
"Really, petal?" The monstrous plant sighs, a curiously human sound. "There's raw sewage dripping from the ceiling. It doesn't exactly scream holiday getaway now, does it?"
"Yeah, well," You huff. "Up until five minutes ago I was safe, happy and alone! Now get tae fuck you interfering shrub!"
"Awwwwww! Someone's a spicy little kitty!"
"What!? No!" The plant is really starting to grind your gears, "I'm not a cat! I'm a person!"
"Awwwwwwww Kitty," The plant coos. "If you're not a cat, why are you hiding behind a dumpster in the rain?" The weed's strange warbling voice is filled with an alluring song. One that you can't help but focus on despite your best efforts. "Come now Kitty, I've got food for you. Your favourite in fact!"
The plant pulls a strange box out of its foliage, pulling the lid of with a crisp pop. Familiar odors waft out, carried by the rising clouds of steam.
"Is that—"
"Your Nani's chicken curry?" The plant smiles at you, "As well as chana dal, and roti. I made it myself actually."
The smug satisfaction in the weed's voice is grating, and you want to say no. You have more than enough synth cubes to survive. Unfortunately, your traitorous stomach growls like a ravenous animal.
"Would you like some?" The grinning plant pushes a bowl loaded with delicious memories towards you, "You're far too skinny, a nice hot meal will do you the world of good, Kitty."
You snatch up the offered plate and start digging in. It really is Nani's cooking: The excess of jeera because it was always her favourite spice, the married man pork that just elevated her green seasoning. Are there grated carrots in the dal? Nani always put carrots in her dal because you loved them so much. Tearing one of the buttery roti apart, you load up a portion of dal and curried potato, shoving the too large mouthful into your mouth.
It's perfect. Just like you remember, you can't help the little moan that escapes you, though hopefully the fact your face is stuffed with delicious curry and dal means the weed didn't hear it.
"Awwwww, does some Kitty like her din-dins?" You'd curse, but you're too busy eating, stuffing more of the heavenly meal into your mouth. "Slow down Kitty, remember to breath."
You're brain catches up with what the damn plant just said, and you take a deep breath to tell the presumptious weed that you're not a girl. Unfortunately for you, your mouth is full of the curried potato you just shoved in it, and suddenly breathing is high on the list of things that you'd like to be able to do.
"Kitty, are you okay?" You frantically nod your head, despite the iron band tightening round your chest. The plant's knowing grin does nothing to comfort you, "Really Kitty? You seem to be choking, are you sure you don't want help?"
You look around, desperately searching for a way out, as you repeatedly punch your sternum. You'd never really thought about it before, but the fact your chest is so flat is now deeply uncomfortable. Your eyes pop out of your face, as you frantically try to draw breath. You frenzied gaze searches your filthy hidey-hole, hoping against hope there's something that can get you out of your predicament.
You look up at the the grinning affini. Maybe the damn weed drugged you. Maybe is just the fact that your vision is dimming at the edges, but they look far friendlier than they did seconds ago. You reach up a tentative hand towards them, pleading.
"Awwwww, Kitty! You do want help." The plants grin is so wide it's a wonder the top of their head doesn't fall off. "Just nod if you want me to rescue you."
You nod, its not like you have any choice at this point.
Before you realise what's happening, you're wrapped in their vines, the errant potato pulled from your airway and tossed aside. You draw in desperate, gasping lungfuls, the stale air of the ship tasting refreshing and crisp, despite the lingering odour of sewage. It takes a couple of minutes for your eyes to stop watering, but when they do, you realise that you are held very firmly in the vines of your captor.
"Do you… think you could let me down?" You mumble in a meek voice, "I'm feeling a lot better now."
"Now what would I do that?" The plant giggles, "Left to your own devices, you'd just find another way to get yourself in trouble. I'd have to rescue you all over again."
"Put me down this instant—"
"Now now, Kitty," Your saviour shushes you with a vine to the lips. "Good girls say thank you to the kind affini that saved them."
"I'm not a girl boy! I'm a boy girl" Your protest crashes to a halt as you brain registers what you just said. "No! That's wrong! I'm a boy girl! A boy girl!"
"Yes! You're Mommy's goodest little girl!" You squirm, overwhelmed by embarrassment, as the damn weed pretty affini, tickles you under the chin. "Come on Kitty, it's time to take you home."
"Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" You yowl, "Let me goooooooooooooooooo!"
"Kitty," Your captor Mommy sighs. "If you don't start behaving I'll have to take steps."
You continue your futile struggle, but the vines that bind you are stronger than steel. You know you will never escape them, but that doesn't stop you putting up a fight. Even if that fight is more akin to wiggling like the needy little kitty you truly are.
"Have it your way Kitty." Mommy sighs again and you feel a pinch in your neck before the world goes dark.
—
"You were right, my dear flower, ferals do make the cuddliest lap pets." The musical sound of Mommy's beautiful voice washes over you. Its your favourite sound in the world. You could listen to her talk all day, but mostly you just spend your time on her lap, purring and making biscuits.
The other affini, Mommy's friend, giggles, and scritches you behind your ears. You let yourself be carried away on clouds of blissful sensation. Though of course, when Mommy does it, its somehow even better.
"She really is the cutest little kitty!" The other affini's voice is pleasant and musical, but not as good as Mommy's voice.
"I know, right!" Mommy giggles, sending electric jolts of pure affection throughout your nervous system, "And to think it was all thanks to a simple potato!"
"Shhhh...there we are, sweet pea~ let Nurse Mommy take care of it for you~"
*Beep! Beep! Beepbeep!*
You had grimaced at the thermometer, hoping your annoyance would somehow lower your temperature back to healthy levels.
Unfortunately, it remained resolute: you had a fever.
Helpfully, your tablet had immediately pulled up a list of recommended medications to take, provided by your (ugh) Vet.
Unhelpfully, it also voluntold you to visit the nearest hospital. Not that you would have had to walk, of course. An affini would be arriving in less than five minutes to carry you the half-kilometer journey.
"Are we nice and snuggled in? Here, do Nurse Mommy a biiiig favor and squeeze lots of love into Miss Kitty Cat, okay?"
With a sigh, you had gathered a few things and placed them in a bag, then slung the ensemble over your shoulder.
Thankfully, the affini who arrived was rather professional (almost too professional, honestly; she barely spoke, other than to inform you that her name was Marsha.)
Unthankfully, the plant had dropped you off at the floret wing of the hospital. Emblazoned above the door way in a variety of languages were the words:
Sniffles Ward
You frowned, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand. You were barely even sick, for starssakes! You didn't need to be here, you just needed a day or two to rest at home and you'd be fine.
"Oh dearie me, I think that fever is getting a touch worse~ any higher and I'm afraid the best option will be for Nurse Mommy to snuggle in next to you, cutiepie~!"
The receptionist checked you in with a gleaming smile, then led you down the hall and to a...surprisingly comfortable and homey room. Rather than the uncomfortable beds or medical equipment, it looked like the interior of a bedroom...albeit one you might have had at the age of 5 or 7.
You groaned slightly as you relaxed into the bed and under the covers, letting your eyes flutter shut in relief. The blanket felt thick and heavy, creating that kind of warmth that felt incredible to sleep in, without getting sweaty or uncomfortable.
Then a few minutes later the door had opened, and She walked in.
"Good Morning, sweetheart~! My name is Motzie Solatia. I'm here helping fill in while I look after my ward! If that name is a bit too Big for you though, you are free to call me Nurse, or Mommy...or both~!"
You were half delirious by that point, apparently. She told you as such, and She didn't have a reason to lie. She laid a cool wet cloth on your head and gently stroked your cheek, humming a soothing song that reminded you of brighter days.
With a yawn, you let your eyes close comfortably, letting the Nurse handle things. It was all so...easy. So comfortable. Your body didn't want to move, not really. You just wanted to exist and float and be cared for, to be spoonfed bite after bite of soup.
"There we go~ You're looking much better now that we've broken that fera...after we've broken that fever~"
You twitched slightly in your sleep, curled up in the affini's vines as she gently rocked you back and forth.
"Such a brave patient we have today~ don't worry, petal. Nurse Mommy isn't going anywhere for a few hours. Rest, now. You've earned it~"
An introductory feralbreaking lecture in which one common strategy to mollify a feral's resistance is demonstrated for the class.
This story uses ‹single angle quotes› for dialogue spoken in the local affini dialect and "double quotes" for dialogue spoken in Terran languages.
The following contains extremely non-consensual touching and intoxication, psychological manipulation, needle play, and internalized imperialist attitudes. Reader discretion is advised.
"Wakey wakey, cutie~"
Something pulls me out of a deep, dark sleep. A gentle touch at the back of my neck. A feminine voice, gentle, patient, and soaked through with undertones and reverberations like a mesmerizing, alien chorus behind a singer.
I float up with concerning ease from the sea of syrupy, languorous sleep, a sleep deeper than any I can remember.
My eyes open to see a dark room, small, lit warmly by lamps in the corners. The space around me is very brightly lit by something behind me. The floor angles up ahead of me, and that space is filled with dim shapes squirming in the dark, dotted with colored points of light–
The weeds–
I turn around.
"Oh! I see our little helper has woken up~!"
There's a weed close to me, reaching for me.
I push away with my feet, but the creature's vines grab my limbs and pin me before I can even think of standing. The tendrils pull me back toward the xeno, back onto a soft surface that I realize with horror is a pet's bed.
The vines turn me back around to face the others.
‹Now that our subject is conscious, permit me to begin my demonstration!› the creature says, I think. The polyphonic wall of sound is nothing like any language I've seen, and it makes it hard to think.
‹Today, I will demonstrate a basic comfort-based approach to breaking in your little cutie. For those not in attendance or who do not have the lecture notes, the human I have in my vines is small, and her skin's pigmentation falls near the middle of her species's typical range. She was abducted by her superorganism's 'military' in 2552 by the Terran calendar.›
The creature's vines coil around me, touching me much more directly than they should be able to.
I look down.
I'm in a dress. A short dress, with flimsy fabric that does nothing to stand between me and the creature's touch.
I struggle. "Let me go! Fuck off!"
The creature speaks again, ‹the file our lovely, hardworking clerks put together on her suggests an independent streak. Her prospects for independence were determined when the Coccinea's boarding party rescued her. Her attitude, as demonstrated by her propensity for deragotory terms for people and their precious florets as well as her willingness to use violence, shows significant radicalization since her data footprint trailed off.›
Its vines squeeze. ‹Our little subject is not a problem case, but neither is she fit to be an independent. Her profile indicates that she should break easily and beautifully with the proper application of basic techniques.› A vine squirms into my vision, tipped with a thorn– no, a needle. ‹Any questions before I begin?›
I thrash and shake my head. "No, please, please no!"
‹Why have you not given her any Class-E's?› says something in the writhing crowd.
‹Excellent question,› says the thing behind me. ‹I've omitted any mood stabilizing drugs by design. I hope to fill my starshine's future days with nothing but bliss, but today, her acute stress response is an asset~.›
The alien drags the needle along my shoulder. "Don't worry, little blossom. This won't hurt a bit~"
The needle sinks into my flesh. Something squirts inside me, and then it pulls back out.
‹I've dosed our little subject with a Class-A/C cocktail. It's very basic – the Class-A stokes her touch hunger, and the Class-C floods her system with bonding hormones that make her clingy. The precise names and the proper ratio are all in your notes. It's very important not to overdo it with Class-C's – as I'm sure you learned, the standard suite of xenodrugs for humans does not include them, because they barely need the push.›
My body feels hot. My breath quickens, and the movement of air against my skin feels like a mosaic of sensation. I feel blissful heat where its vines touch my skin, and aching, burning hunger where they don't.
I thrash harder. "Please don't, please don't, please!"
The weed turns me around to face it. Its two eyes glow purple like luminous spheres of glass assembled from little tiles. A third "eye" sits where its neck meets its torso, rippling and pulsing. I look away from the lights on instinct, but something in me tells me to look deeper.
A vine strokes down the back of my head. "Ssh, I know petal. This is scary for you, but I promise you that it's for your own good."
"What the fuck does that mean!?" I shout.
The vine strokes through my hair, and I struggle harder. I hate how good it feels.
‹It's very important that you do not rise to your little feral's provocations. Validate their feelings, make them understand that you're here for them, and be as roots holding fast within the soil. Your little human wants stability, ferals especially, no matter how much they claim to want otherwise.›
Its face turns down to me. Something stirs in my chest, fluttery, electric. I feel cold and isolated, like I need–
It caresses my cheek.
Against my will, I press into the touch, energy stolen from my desperate struggling. Tears form in my eye.
"Please, I don't want this, just let me go I don't want this I don't–"
"I know petal, I know. I'm here for you. Would you like me to hold you closer?"
I hate the way my heart says 'yes.'
‹Different ferals call for different theatrical framings,› the thing says, turning its 'face' up to its audience. ‹Suppressing your little one's physical resistance might be advantageous, or it might not be, but you want them to struggle. The typical human response to acute stress is characterized by the activation of their sympathetic nervous system – faster heartbeat and breathing, tendency to think more quickly but less deeply, optimized for responding to danger.›
My clothes start to feel scratchy under my dress. I struggle anyway, but the horrible texture and the touch hunger feel like hell.
‹In most feralbreaking scenarios, you will trigger this response one way or another. For today's purposes, its purpose is to happen hard and fast, so that we can utilize the response that comes next.›
"Fuck off!" I shout, "Fuck off fuck off fuck off!" My skin burns with the craving for touch and my heart freezes with longing for something I refuse to name. I fight with everything I have.
‹Once her body's stamina for acute stress has been depleted, she will be in a precipice point. She will seek an end to the danger at a cost she would not normally accept. Her values and consciously held beliefs will fall away for the raw and primal desire for relief – relief that only you can provide.›
It worms a vine down my back, under the dress. Her touch is heaven. I know if she held me close, it would complete something in me. Holding back my traitorous body saps my strength.
I try very hard not to think about how little difference it makes.
The vine lifts away from my back. The fabric of my awful dress rips and tears.
"No, please no nononononono!"
The dress comes apart. Cool air kisses all over my back. My brain fizzes out for a moment.
‹Once her body has accepted that the danger has passed, her parasympathetic nervous system will alter her physiological state once more in an attempt to return her to homeostasis. Adrenaline and cortisol will be replaced by endorphins and other chemicals related to the bonding and reward mechanisms in her brain.›
"Please, I give up, I'll do what you want, just please stop please!"
"Ssh, it's okay," the thing coos. I want so badly to believe it. If I give it what it wants, maybe it will be okay. I try to bury the thought.
‹It's very important not to let your little one dictate the terms of her relief. Among other things, we are conditioning her to behave. She doesn't get to make decisions anymore, after all, no matter how adorably she pleads. Compromising with your little one will only undo your hard work.›
The willpower holding back my tears fails, and they fall freely. "I just wanna go home, I just wanna go home, please I don't want this I just wanna go home!"
‹That said, it's crucial to recognize when your spicy little feral is bargaining with you, and when they're bargaining abstractly as a defense mechanism. This sweet little one knows she isn't going home. She isn't making a deal with me, she's spilling forth her desires as her need for comfort drowns out reason.›
It looks down at me, and I meet its placid violet eyes.
"Would you like me to hold you, little blossom?"
I– I can't–
"...please..."
It pulls me in tight and encases me in vines. "It's okay, little one, it's okay. I have you."
The fight in me melts away.
I clutch the vines of its chest and sob into it.
‹Baseline humans are comfort seeking little things. The purpose of this exercise is to teach them how they can get that comfort, and from whom. Our subject's trainable little brain will learn much more quickly in the neurochemical environment we've cultivated, and her bonding hormones, magnified several-fold in their effect by the Class-C, will attach her to me in very little time at all.›
One of its vines tips my face up to look at its own.
"Do you think you could say 'Thank you, Mistress' for me?"
I don't want to. I don't want to. But I feel too burned out to argue.
"Thank you, Mistress," I say through tears. The words make my heart flutter. Its vines on my skin feel like heavenly light and the way it holds me close fills an icy chasm in my heart. I shouldn't like the way this feels. I'm too tired not to.
"Good girl," it says.
My heart soars.
I realize, as it squeezes me gently, how fucked I am. If I ran now, and if it let me, I don't think I would surive the separation. An inch of distance would kill me. Another horrible thought bubbles up from my traitorous heart, and I don't fight it.
‹That's all for today's lecture! And do remember – my little subject may look compliant now, but you should expect a few more repetitions of this process before the results are permanent. If you will excuse me, my little starshine needs some aftercare~›
“Now! Without further delay, onto our lesson on caretaking!
You awake to find yourself - not at the helm of your seat, but somewhere new. Soft lighting replacing the screams of your fighter, of the ship you were one with.
“Awwww, look who’s just waking back up! This is one of the most vulnerable times in a terrans mental state, so make sure to be careful with yours!”
Whats… going on? The voice bounces around in your skull, seemingly reverberated and enhanced by this rhythm you can feel vibrating through you. This is not the warnings of the ships’ systems, this is not the notifications of…
This is the Affini.
You’re surrounded by them. All sides. All of various colors, sizes and shapes, all of them focused on you.
Moments ago you were a shot away from finally taking one out, from being the victor your family and your sergeant saw in you.
Now, look at yourself. Little more than a plaything in the monsters clutches.
No weapons, nothing to defend yourself. You’re stuck alone, sitting on some oversized… desk, of some kind?
“Now class, notice the increased motions in their eye, the rising feeling of dread in their biorhythms - can anyone here tell me what may be going on in their head at this moment?”
One of them, some lanky thing you could tear apart raises its vine in a mockery of the beauty of the human hand.
“Fight or flight, wouldn’t it be? Prey instincts?”
“Very good~! Yes, our lovely little one here is still so startled by the change in scenery that they’re considering trying to run. This is common for nearly all feralists, but some may vary in their feistiness~”
The largest one, behind the desk you’re sitting on, the one that seems to almost be talking - regal looking, possibly a leader? It gracefully walks towards you, scratching you on the head, giggling to itself as you try to bite.
If only you had a weapon. You could show these xeno scum what the might of the terrans can really do.
These disgusting—
…Strangely beautiful creatures.
“Let me give you all a bit of a demonstration on working with one who’s desiring a bit more of a fight, just relaxxx darling~”
Their gaze sharpens to a pinprick on your pupils, shimmering and oscillating in these mesmerizing golden and purple swirls, that rhythm sending flutters down to your heartbeat.
You watch, you try to parse the symbols and substance from the patterns, and they only sink you deeper and deeper and deeper…
“It’s alright, petal~”
The light, the swirling colors speaks - each syllable flooding your senses in warmth and color and a yearning for more that leaves you begging.
“Just relax, it’ll only hurt a little~”
A soft pressure rises against your shoulder for just a moment, a cool tingling consuming the surrounding skin.
The outside world is nothing to the lights, the stars and planets and wars and accord little more than an afterthought to these most prized gems.
The lights close, blinking for a moment - again, returning back to the green I first witnessed within those sockets, the dozens of other Affini watching in awe returning to view.
Each and every single one of their faces is split in half with a starved grin.
“Alright class, who would like to try taking care of a feralist themselves?”
Written for HDG Microfic Monday based on the prompt:
Floret fun time: floret shenanigans when there isn't an affini present.
--
“And go!”
“Your win streak ends today!”
“You three don’t know what you’re up against.”
“You still haven’t told me the rules.”
“I think I know exactly what I’m up against”
“Just don’t think about your owner and you won’t get dosed.”
“Who should I not be thinking about?”
“Um, your owner I thiinnnnn...”
“Hab, could you give us an instant replay on that?”
“I’m sharing this to my group.”
“She clearly just wanted the Class A’s”
“Alright, three remain.”
“I bet you two won’t last 5 minutes”
“Nuh uh, last time we played for 30 minutes before I thought abouuuuuu....”
“Down to us two again, huh?”
“Seems like it. Scared Potter?”
“You wish.”
“By the way, there’s this ice cream place that an indie friend of mine recently opened.”
“Really? Where’s it at?”
“Let me show you on my tablet, it’s right around here.”
“Hm? Show me; why is there a picture of Missttttr...”
“Hah, too easy, wait who’s calling me? Oh hi Missssss...”
TWs: Mentions of guns (no actual use), Internalized xenophobia/authoritarianism, Mentions of brainwashing
Word Count: 1335 (no idea if this is a microfic but it's fun to write so yay)
Prompt: Terrans Are Adorable 102: Ferals and You
(This one is 3 weeks late oops, but we finally got inspiration!)
Everything was in place.
Breathe.
Clambering my way through the ventilation ducts that serviced this mayoral-building-turned-xeno-educational-center, I was keenly aware of every little scrape, rustle, and clang our group generated. Fern was at the front, silently navigating us towards our captive friend. The tracker we'd given her, injected under her forearm, was steadily blinking away on their screen, and we were going to get to it if it killed us. Not that dying was the worst thing that could happen to us here.
Sam, Vivaan, and Marcia took up our flank, although only Marcia was actually facing behind us. The light sidearms we carried wouldn't do shit against the xenos, but the vents were too small to easily carry heavy weaponry, and explosives were a no-go. Even if Sam argued we could hold ourselves hostage with them, the risk of detonations in a building that had Terrans (even weak, brainwashed, collaborating Terrans) was too great. Besides, the sidearms were just for comfort. The real weapon was secured against my chest.
Experimental tech, the agent had said. We never got her name, but she said she was the last active OCNI member on the planet, and both Riley and Vivaan vouched for her.
The same Riley that we knew was hours away from a live implantation, where the weeds would break her and then puppet her husk into betraying us all.
Remembering our conversations since she got taken made my stomach churn.
At first she'd been her normal, fiery self, enraged at the indignities her captor was putting her through. We'd been cautious about spending time with her again, but when Fern spent time shit-talking the Compact with her and didn't wind up with a collar around their neck the next day, we knew the weeds didn't have her under surveillance. The Affini had decided to keep her on a long leash, and so that meant we got to see her. Chat in the privacy of our own homes, plan ways to get her out, look at back-market ships we could buy to get us all away. Laugh at the times she accidentally called her captor Mistress, or Owner, until the point where she couldn't call it anything else.
Scoff at the ways she was being treated, until notes of genuine hurt entered her eyes when we disparaged her jailer.
Listen in outrage and quiet horror as she described being used as a lab rat, being broken and manipulated and toyed with in front of a crowd of eager alien students.
She was losing herself, a quiet contentment entering her features. Becoming softer. Weaker. A pet.
She knew she was losing herself too, and there would have been nothing any of us could do. If not for that agent and the lifeline she handed us. A volatile gas, harmless to humans, but violently corrosive to plant matter. The agent showed us research notes, testing footage, and even demonstrated on a cutting of an Affini their cell had sourced before its collapse. The timing was suspicious, coming days after Riley learnt the date of her implantation, but the agent claimed they'd been monitoring her situation and had to wait until the time was right. And stars, we needed a win. Terra did. And so we believed her.
Apparently the OCNI network was wiped out before her team could the substance off-world, but this, she had said, was our chance to finally strike back at the weeds. Wound them, kill them, and save our friend.
And so here we were, hours before the surgery that would irreversibly break Riley's mind, moving into position.
Fern brought us to a halt, signalling there were voices ahead and that we were almost there. I felt a thrill go through my body. This was it. Get in, get Riley, get out.
"< -it's been a long semester, and you've all done wonderfully.>" An alien voice, speaking in a strange tongue and with a sub-aural hum that left me feeling slightly off-balance.
"<Could we please give an ovation for our wonderful subjects for this unit, 'Riley' and Penelope'!>" Sam let out a low growl as the applause and cheers echoed through the duct. I gritted my teeth too. The weed had definitely mentioned Riley. Fern stopped at a wide vent, skirting its edges to cross to the other side. This section of the duct was wider and taller, having seemingly been adjusted to account for Affini technicians. A fortunate side-effect of that was that our whole squad could comfortably surround the vent and peek down.
The floor below us looked empty of aliens or dangerous objects, and had a soft carpet that would cushion our landing. While the authoritative one attempted to organize its class into a semblance of order, we began our final checks. Marcia secured our harnesses to the duct's surface, making sure the adhesive set properly so she could pull us up, then retreated back to keep our escape path clear. Sam began setting up her handheld battering ram, ready to break the vent below us off its hinges. Vivaan confirmed radio chatter was steady, and no alerts had been triggered by our passage. Fern readied their adrenaline injectors to help snap Riley back into consciousness (depending on how drugged she was), while I primed our weapon. Twist the upper hemisphere of the orb 90 degrees clockwise, indent the buttons on its poles, and then apply an even pressure around the equator, and… ding. I was rewarded with the two halves lifting to reveal a vial filled with swirling purple gas, ready to be unleashed. It was time.
"<And now my dears, it is time to give you one last test. You've all proven your knowledge, demonstrated care with our little… volunteers, and shown you are ready for a practical assignment.>"
Sam began counting down.
"5." | "<And now- >"
"4." | "<I present- >"
"3." | "<A surprise- >"
"2." "<Exercise.>"
"1."
Sam shattered the vent and we jumped down with a cry. I had time to register Riley and a strangely familiar Terran, their captor wearing a smug expression, and a shocked array of students before I hit the ground.
"FREE TERRA!" I roared, and smashed the grenade to the floor-
Which erupted into a harmless cloud of purple sparkles and the sound like a party popper.
There was a beat of silence, then Riley and her fellow captive burst into giggles. Her fellow…
My eyes widened. The OCNI agent, dazed look in her eyes, wearing a pink dress with a glazed look in her eyes, nuzzling up against Riley and her captor.
Oh.
A tinny yelp echoed above us, and Marcia came tumbling out of her hiding place and onto the ground. A series of vines oozed out of the duct work, severed our ropes, and pulled the vent cover up behind them. The five of us stood frozen in the center of the classroom, watching the monstrous students' faces shift from surprise to curiosity, excitement, and hunger.
"<Now class, you'll be in your assigned pairs for this exercise. These cuties haven't gotten any care yet, so you'll need to guide them through the initial stage of domestication. Their little weapons have been disabled, but they still could hurt themselves with their attempts to fight back. Your task is to pacify them, choosing the correct mixture of xenodrugs, and show them there is nothing to fear from the Compact. I will be available to provide assistance if required, but otherwise good luck, have fun, and remember that this is all about learning.>"
"Guns don't work," Marcia whispered as the plants put their datapads down and began to slowly approach us.
"What?" Sam hissed back.
"Guns don't work. Someone sabotaged them."
As one we turned to look at Riley, who was completely distracted by a vine stroking her cheek.
"…5 bucks say I beat you to all to the door," Sam said, face pale.
"The door behind 10 hungry nightmare plants? Fucking bet," Fern replied.
But in the end, none of us made it more than a meter.
It's another Microfic Monday! (Ignore that it's now Tuesday) So I guess it's time for some micro-y fiction, I think!
What goes into a chance encounter anyway? In the Compact, it could be quite a lot more effort than any given independent might actually think about!
CW for: stalking
It had only been a fleeting encounter, one of a dozen little interactions that naturally occur over the course of a day. Any other time it would have been, should have been a passing moment that faded from memory with the end of the day, but I had special plans on this day.
Keeping tabs on my adorable little pet in the making was trivially easy, of course. She kept herself to such a consistent schedule that I barely even needed to make use of the various resources the Compact offered an owner to keep track of their floret. Not that I didn't use those too. I don't know how I could possibly make it through a day without being able to watch her precious sleeping form.
So when she shifted forward in the line for her special-once-a-week milkshake from her favorite local spot - she always got the kind with little pieces of chocolate cookie crushed down into it - it wasn't really any challenge to arrange things so that I was right ahead of her, moving just little enough that she accidentally bumped into me.
Just one of those little moments, the slightest little moment of barely-there friction that comes from interacting with other sophonts. She brushed up against the broad leaves I had arrayed along my back - her skin was so soft since I'd started having her hab AI slip Class-Gs into her food - and the dozens of almost invisible little xenodrug fibers delivered a potent combination of various different classes alongside my phytotoxin.
I made a quick apology to her, doing my best to keep the open hunger for her out of my voice, and stepped out of the line, making my way over to one of the nearby tables and watching as she placed her order and grabbed her milkshake. Normally she would drink it on her way to her next location - either the library or the nearby board game cafe, she alternated weeks - but today she found a seat to drink her milkshake here, seeming surprised by her decision.
She was feeling it now - there was no way she couldn't - as my love given injectable form coursed through her veins. Her eyes dilated and she shivered, taking a slow sip of her drink that was becoming ever more pleasurable by the moment. Every so often, she would glance over in my direction, her attention stolen by some intangible quality of my presence. I could hardly blame her for it, she'd spent enough nights bathing in my biorhythm broadcasted through her hab's speakers that she probably recognized it by instinct if nothing else, but the way she kept stealing furtive glances like she thought I wouldn't notice made my core melt for her all over again.
Another sip at her milkshake, the Class-Cs I'd had the girl at the counter put in reinforcing her fixation with every glance, and my wondrous floret seemed to make a decision. She stood from her table and began making her way over to me, her steps unsteady as she grappled with a dosage she was entirely unprepared for.
As she arrived at my table, I did my best to appear unbothered and not like we were arriving to the final act of a play I had been arranging for her for weeks now. She looked up at me, naked adoration in her eyes as she felt the effects of all the xenodrugs in her system flaring up higher. My phytotoxin was peculiar in that way, not doing much on its own but making any xenodrug it mixed with that much more potent as it lingered in one's bloodstream.
She took another moment, steeling herself against her nerves with a few deep breaths before she spoke, "Hey there. I promise I don't generally do this but I've been unable to take my eyes off of you since you sat down and I was just wondering if you wanted to make me your floret?"
I kept my expression neutral as I raised a facsimile of an eyebrow a fraction, in spite of the way that I was internally cheering to hear her ask such a thing already - even if it had been drawn out by the Class-W I'd injected her with. Her hand flew up to her mouth, shocked at her own slip of the tongue, before she tried again. "I'm so sorry! I don't know why I said that, what I meant was, would you please take me as yours?"
I couldn't keep the grin off of my simulated face as she spluttered again, growing ever more flustered by her slips, arms flailing as she tried once more, "Agh, no that's not what I'm trying to say! Something's up with me saying things I don't actually mean, I'm sorry Mistress. I mean Owner! I mean Mommy! Augh!"
The inability to conceal from me what I knew we both wanted deep down had clearly started to embarrass her even more, so I reached out and placed my hand atop her head. She calmed down immediately, tension flooding from her as the Class-As mixed with the bonding enhancers to ensure that my touch was all she'd ever wanted from physical contact and more. I gave her a gentle pet on the head, relishing as she moaned aloud at my touch.
After another moment, I pulled my hand back and leaned forward to place my face near to hers. She looked thoroughly dazed after my touch, and she went practically glaze-eyed as I drew close to her, though not without the faintest spark of fear present. "Oh, my most precious darling," I said, finally free to make my emotions known without restraint, "I thought you'd never ask."
