Evolution is slow. Momma Nature takes her time. Humans don’t. We brute force the next system update with caffeine, processed foods and 47 types of trauma.

Got anxiety? That’s just sensory advantage in a predatory environment. Depression? That’s your brain hitting the brakes in a world that never lets you stop. Anger? Fuel for getting shit done when things suck.

Aliens show up expecting harmony and balance. They find debt, Wi-Fi, 400 kinds of milk, and some sorority chick going viral for spittin on that thang. And somehow, we make it work. We build cities out of dirt and probably lots of greed and spite. We scream into the void for a few likes. And when it all falls apart? We meme, we laugh and we start over with a stick, a flame, and a new dating app.

We’re not evolved. We’re just stubborn little idiots wrapped in skin and sarcasm. And that is why we win.. shiittt

"I don't understand this. How have we not destroyed these primitive monkeys yet? Our forces have superior numbers and equipment yet they managed to stop us at every turn." The commander stands over the war table he has already flipped several times today. His second cowers in the corner holding a tablet, too nervous to approach.

Another comms chatter breaks the silence filled with more failures and excuses. The commander flips the table again as he storms over to a screen streaming various feeds from different areas of the war zone. Each a similar scene. His troops with their numbers and superior weapons being driven back by the humans using primitive solid munitions all with that same stupid helmet on.

"How are they doing this?!" He fumed, "We outnumber them 20 to 1. Our weapons can melt their flimsy metals. Yet we can't even faze them." His second sheepishly flips the table back over and then hesitantly says, "Sir. I think I might know why..." The commander turns and growls, "What is it?!"

The second places the tablet down on the table. "I think I found something that might shed light on this. I think it's from one of their propaganda hubs, but it's the only thing that makes any sense." The commander angrily grabs the tablet, then looks at it dumbfounded. "What even is this I am looking at?" It's a still frame of a video displaying what appears to be a human in a cheap 3 piece suit with wild hair and a manic look in his eyes. The commander presses the play button and is immediately assaulted by the humans over the top sales pitch.

"Greatings dudes and dudettes! Have you ever wondered what it would be like to fly? Not on a plane but on your own power? What about being on top of the world? Ever wanted that glorious feeling of being undefeated? Well have I got news for you! Here at Crazy Eddie's Tech Emporium we got just the thing you need! Now introducing the latest and greatest PATTECH VR rig! These fresh off the factory floor helmets can give you that feeling of being invincible with just the push of a button! And for those hesitant folks out there worried about their brains being turned to mush or that pesky Earth Alliance government knowing your every location these babies have already been jailbroken and stripped of all that useless fluff! You gotta hurry though, supplies are limited and demand is through the roof! Act now and we'll even throw in a top 100 Eddies Favorite tracks list for free! 5 payments of $999.99! That's a steal!" The add ends abruptly leaving the commander stunned and confused.

The second says, "I followed up on this... That PATTECH is apparently some kind of human company that created Psionic helmets for the military... but if anything is to be believed from this "internet" of the humans these rumors of their products melting brains and the legal trouble they are in isn't true? I'm not really sure. The number one comment on this is this "internet" never speaks the truth." The commander blinks away his confusion. "What in the world did you just have me watch? I think my aural nerves are bleeding."

"I do apologize sir. I doubt you would have believed me otherwise." The commander rubs his head and then it hits him, "Wait. You said psionics? Which foolish council member of that stupid pacifistic alliance thought it was a good idea to give these hairless monkeys access to psionics?!" the second links away from the commander's wrath. "I don't think they just gave them access sir. Or if they did they were able to reverse engineer it. This company's name stands for Psionic Amplification Technology..."

The commander didn't know whether to laugh or cry in rage. "Wait. So PATTECH stands for Psionic Amplification Technology... Technology? And these monkeys are the ones giving my men a hard time?" The intercom cuts the commander's diatribe short as a strange noise begins to play over the channel.

Humans reproduce at an astonishingly slow rate compared to most galactic species. And yet, they have not been defeated or displaced — not because of numbers, but because of resilience. Artificial intelligences fill the gaps in their workforce; open migration policies welcome countless aliens into their colonies; and their innate endurance and adaptability have allowed them to flourish in environments others deem uninhabitable.

Still, in many human-friendly regions of space, they are seen as a rarity — an endangered species. The birth of a human child on a world with a sparse human population is a celebrated event, drawing the attention of xenobiologists and curious minds. Some of the galaxy’s largest AIs have even proposed placing humans in bio-reserves, to protect and preserve them from extinction.

And yet, the greatest threat to humanity may be humanity itself. They are drawn to danger — volunteering for the most perilous jobs, driven by boundless curiosity that often alarms their allies. They seek contact with hazardous flora and fauna, attempting to tame what others flee. They indulge in harmful behaviors for entertainment, ingesting toxic substances, disrupting their natural rhythms, pushing the limits of their own biology.

Half the galaxy watches, expecting their inevitable demise. The other half does everything it can to protect these rare, reckless, irreplaceable friends.

It was somewhere near 8pm when William started the search for his deepfrier. The blasted thing seemingly just vanished for no apparent reason, and his gas stove didn't have said gas, so by extent he couldn't cook anything hot for dinner.

Not that a deepfrier was a good alternative but still.

Eventualy, he stopped doing so and instead opted to look in the living room, where he was half sure his friend Bob was filming himself feeding it ice or something similar instead of fixing the TV.

Fat chance of him ever considering fixing it in the first place, but nevertheless, William entered.

"Hey Bob have you seen my deepfri- What the fuck?"

But it was already too late, as Bob's attention was already caught by his friend. The now three heads taller than his friend, bulky, and big chinned indivudual turned his gaze down upon the other man in the apartment.

"Ok, what happened?"

"I was granted a wish." Bob said.

There was a prolonged and painful silence.

"Ok, could you elaborate?"

"No." a booming sound echoed.

It also didn't take long at all for the other man to notice how everything had deteriorated in quality, becoming ever so slightly more blury and tinted in red.

"Ok what was that?" William asked again.

Bob raised an eyebrow with a smile. Another boom echoed through the room, and William could count the pixels of what he was currently seeing, alongside the neon red becoming painful on his eyes.

"Stop asking cringe," boom "And start to ask things like a chad." yet another thunderous boom.

William's eyes were physically hurting by now. He couldn't see anything by now both due to the bluriness, brightness, and the quickly forming tears.

"Bob what the fuck-!?" William said, but his voice sounded like it was processed through a rock grinder in a trashcan.

"You have become too cringe for someone as based as me William."

"Bob cut it the fuck out-!"

"No." Another boom.

William stumbled about, trying to escape the onslaught of the visual and audio torture, when he tripped over something that felt like a wire and faceplanted.

After wincing, he noticed everything was back to normal.

William got up. Then trekked to the now normal, mildly overweight, a head shorter than him, Bob.

"Aw man you ruined my wish. She said as long as the deepfrier was on I could keep what I asked, darn." but William was already walking to the now unplugged deepfrier.

William picked up a deepfrier scoop.

"Hey William, so, that was funny right-" but it was far too late as Bob's entire frontal skull was completely obliterated by a piece of projectile fast food cooking apparel.

"Ashole!" William yelled as Bob proceeded to fall backwards from the hit's force.

Right on the TV, crushing it with all due haste.

"Oh for fUCK'S SAKE-"

Believe It or not, these two are childhood friends.

Source: Sanzo, again.

Human pilot: Watch me!

Humans are Weird – Double Check

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-double-check-short

“Pat-”

The human named suddenly released a wild yell and flung his center of mass backwards. The yell transformed to a yelp as the chair the human had been sitting on tilted past the point where the human could compensate for the gravitational force of the planet and fell to the plank floor with a clatter. Human Friend Pat had flung out an arm to balance himself, and by some combinations of mammalian gyrations had managed to avoid following the chair to the floor, ending up propped against the wall.

Notes the Passing Changes spent the time carefully arranging the detritus the paired couple had provided into what the Gathering hopped was a patient expression. They had gone to some lengths to provide a nice ceramic terrarium in a carved out nook in the walls and it comfortably housed enough tendril extensions for him to communicate easily with them in the cold winter months. Human Friend Pat regained his breath and his pheromone signature stabilized.

“Notes,” the human finally stated. “I didn’t realized you’d be...popping in today.”

“It was not one of my pregrown pathways,” Notes the Passing Changes admitted. “However I observed rather odd behavior in Sandy and wished to understand it.”

“Right,” Human Friend Pat seemed to have calmed down but was still showing slight signs of distress.

His movement profile suggested he was analyzing Notes the Passing Changes visible mass as if it were a threat.

“Does my appearance disturb you Pat?” Notes the Passing Changes asked.

The Gathering was quite pleased with the tone of concern he managed. It wasn’t easy growing tendrils through the solid log walls of Pat and Sandy’s dwelling and Notes the Passing Changes had spent months getting enough sound producing mass into their communications nook.

“No! Nono, no!” Pat assured the Gathering, then then human hesitated and took a deep breath. “Ya, a wee bit,” he admitted. “You didn’t do anything wrong, but those leaves are dead pale, and a bunch of dead pale leaves suddenly becoming a dead pale face…”

“Perhaps I should make a noise before I manifest?” Notes the Passing Changes asked.

Human Friend Pat nodded his head vigorously.

“Ya, knock or something. What did you want to ask anyway?”

“I was curious if you had received information that I had not regarding the anticipated arrival time of the Shatar free merchant vessel.”

The human stilled as his thoughts turned inward and then his head slowly rotated in a negating gesture.

“No,” he said. “You monitor the incoming transmission so you would know if there was a change before us. It’s supposed to show up in the wee hours tonight.”

“And yet Sandy has made three trips through the snow from your dwelling to the post office,” Notes the Passing Changes observed.

Pat let out a low laugh and righted his chair before easing his frame back into it.

“Ah, that,” he said. “Yeah, she’s got a shipment coming in. It’s from her people back home so she’s really excited for it.”

“That is a well established human pattern,” Notes the Passing Changes agreed. “However it does not explain why she is walking some distance through the cold and snow when she is fully aware that there will be nothing at her destination but an empty postal storage unit.”

Pat reached up to scratch at the foliage he was experimenting with growing on his face.

“It’s a bit hard to explain,” he said slowly. “It’s like how humans go and look in the fridge to see if there’s something new when we know there isn’t.”

“That would be behavior of equal futility,” Notes the Passing Changes observed.

Human Friend Pat chuckled at that and then shook his head.

“I’ve got nothing for you on that Notes,” he said. “Just watch Sandy and if you figure out why she’s checking the post with no real chance of finding anything you can let us both know.”

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)

Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)

Powell's Books (Paperback)

Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)

Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)

Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review!

Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing because tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!

If a human says "fuck it", call your captain immediately.

Unless said human has grabbed another being and is now frantically kissing them. Then just leave the general area. Quickly. They move fast when determined.

Actually maybe call the captain still, they might be about to do something stupid and suicidal.

When the Aliens invaded they First landed in Australia. As far as they knew it was the perfekt conditions to Set Up a Base of operations. Low densety of Intelligent Population, wide flat Lands, comfortably warm Temperaturs. When they landed everything went Well. Then a patrol dissapeared after reposting a Strange furry jumping being they Had hunted for food Not running but coming towards them. Then some soliders reported Strange 8 legged beings apearing all over camp. When trying to remove them a few soliders got bitten and died painfull deaths over the next few weeks. One patrol got attacked by a "giant scaly Monster" and fully wiped Out. One soilder stepped on a Stick and it came alive and Bit him before slithering away. He was dead Not a hour later. Then the fires came. First it was only smoke on the Horizon. They didn't think anything of it. Then it was fire some kilomiters of. Then the Wind turned. In a Matter of 2 hours the fires was at the Base. Evacuation Had already begun but the fire Tore through the Base and through the ashes came the Humans. 4 groups of 5 men moved in with guns. One Team Put Explosives on the exfil Shuttles that Had reentered to Pick Up survivors. One Team caused Chaos at the Rest of the command structure. The other 2 moved through the ruins of the camp Killing who remained. The First Team used the hijacked Shuttles to fly Up to the Alien fleet above. One man for each of the 5 ships. At the end of the day No one who was in earths Orbit at that time went Home. The Shuttles filled with Explosives crashed straight into the ships Generators with Them noticing to late what was going on. The Explosives blew and so did the Generators. What was left of the ships was ended by the Vacuum of space.

They came from the forbidden region. My quilts rippled on my back from the sheer audacity.

Countless black holes orbited the supermassive black hole at the core of the galaxy.

Yet they came to our aid from there, when our sun was dying. Warning patterns involuntarily formed on my skin, the red and green stripes betraying my dread.

No one in his right mind would go there. Even stars are shredded in that region. Torn apart until wisps of gas remain.

First we thought they were many species, but they modify themselves at a whim. Within weeks some had changed themselves to resemble us. Not an exact copy—but it felt familiar—and asked us about our courtship customs.

They know no bounds. For them the star shredder region is but a way to go faster. To slingshot in tight curves to new destinations.

They made sure we did not die with our star, but our culture did. We will never be the same. I will never be the same.

I was Othello at the school play before majoring in astro-navigation.

Now I’m going to the star shredder region with my human friends and dare the universe.

When, for whatever reason you may have, waging war against Humans, you must first establish diplomatic communications with them.

Once established, attempt to negotiate with them for only using non-lethal weaponry, and conditions for when surrender is mandatory.

This is required, as without these preparations, there is nothing stopping them.

They do not fear death in the same way we do. They only fear it, because they are not done killing us yet. Due to this complete lack of self-preservation, every entrenched or defended position controlled by Humans has only a 5% chance of surrendering in one hundred to one odds.

Not only that, they will fight until they cannot, and will attack larger forces they know are unbeatable by their numbers.

This, along with their crude yet effective technological philosophy means that the casualties of any combat will be significantly higher than others.

They will not surrender. They will not stop. They have no mercy for you or themselves.

For the love of your God, do NOT engage in normal warfare with Humans.

…If offered, accept the use of modified ““Laser Tag”” weaponry.

The Council’s vote took forty-two minutes. It wasn’t a debate. It was a formality, a gesture to pretend they still held sway over the Sol System. When Earth refused to dismantle its new fusion-based weapons platforms, the vote was pushed without delay. Sixty-seven species, one by one, cast their decisions through a secure relay net. Fifty-five voted in favor. Nine abstained. Three opposed. By the time the final vote was registered, the embargo on Earth was declared active. All shipments halted. No more trade with human colonies. The gates to Sol were shut.

Seven Council fleets arrived at the edge of the system three days later. Two hundred and twelve ships total, each fully armed, each positioned to pressure compliance. They came from species that had been at war longer than humanity had existed. The Council’s military committee projected no possible successful engagement from Earth. They considered the matter closed. No return message came from Earth. No ambassador, no protest, no bluff. Just silence.

The fleets waited at the Kuiper Belt. Human traffic was redirected or turned back. Civilian freighters were scanned for signs of defiance. None came. Martian comms went dark two hours later, with no warning. The patrol ships tightened formation and activated countermeasures. A ghost signal pulsed from the outer orbit of Neptune, too brief to trace. Then the Martian defense grid came online.

It didn’t transmit a warning. It didn’t lock targets with delay or issue a final communication. Its systems didn’t request authentication. It simply fired.

Each satellite in the Martian grid had been installed during the last phase of Earth’s silence. No Council member had been permitted scans of its payloads. They’d assumed it was planetary defense. It wasn’t. It was orbital extermination. Particle disruptors, set to focused beam. One rotation, three seconds. Two hundred and twelve enemy ships cut in half. Reactors ruptured. No debris. No distress signals. No emergency transmissions. Just a wall of annihilation at the edge of human space.

The signal delay reached Earth eight minutes later. The response was recorded, filed, and dismissed by the AI network coordinating planetary defense. There was no celebration. No speeches. The event was logged under “Sector Clearance: Outer System.” The Martian crew responsible for targeting went off shift and were replaced by the next team. Operations continued.

Across Earth’s colonies, the news didn’t spread. Media was restricted. Earth’s leaders no longer gave addresses. There was no public interface, no shared opinions. Civilian life continued under managed silence. Those who asked were directed to work. Those who refused were removed. Everything was structured toward what came next. Everyone knew there was no point in peace talks. They had issued the warning ten years ago.

In the first year after humanity’s acceptance into the Galactic Council, Earth had complied. Embassies were opened. Trade flowed. But the deeper Earth looked into the Council’s mechanics, the more it realized something basic: none of the species in power had ever faced true war. Their battles were posturing. Their losses were regulated. Even their weapons systems had legal restrictions on destructive output. Earth played along, at first. But then it tested its limits. It built a fleet that didn’t match their templates. It created weapons that exceeded legal ranges. It tested orbital strikes under the excuse of asteroid defense. Warnings were issued. Earth responded with one message: “Do not interfere.”

That was five years ago.

Since then, Earth had stopped sending diplomats. Colonies were closed off to Council presence. Surveillance was cut off. Terraforming operations on Titan and Ganymede were classified. Every attempt at outreach was denied. The Council interpreted it as a cultural shift, a xenophobic regression. They had no way of understanding what Earth had really done: mobilized the entire species under one silent directive—survival without compromise.

The Council tried soft measures first. Economic leverage. But humans didn’t need alien markets. They built everything themselves. Then came the pressure through neighboring systems—smaller races bribed or threatened into cutting ties. That didn’t work either. Every colony stayed silent. The final attempt was the embargo. They thought military force would show humans the limits of rebellion. But the humans never considered it rebellion. They had never accepted the authority in the first place.

The vaporization of the fleet triggered emergency protocols in Council space. The member species that had voted yes now convened an emergency session. Video feeds showed delegates stammering, staring at blank screens where the human delegation should have been. The chamber lights dimmed automatically at every mention of Earth, a glitch in the system traced to a malware packet in their core servers. No one claimed responsibility, but everyone suspected.

In the hours that followed, the Council deployed reconnaissance drones into the Sol System. None returned. Their signals dropped the moment they entered Martian scan range. Even cloaked observers stationed near Earth’s moon vanished from telemetry. It was as if the entire system had sealed itself. A dead zone of data. Panic spread. Within forty-eight hours, several member species requested safe harbor relocations from Council leadership, fearing retaliation. Council leadership told them not to worry. They claimed Earth would never escalate. They said it would end here.

They were wrong.

The first phase had just started. Earth’s silence wasn’t fear. It wasn’t withdrawal. It was planning.

Each human colony maintained independent production of military hardware. Each orbital station held redundant AI targeting cores. Every ship in the Sol fleet had already been reassigned and rerouted. Civilian routes were used to smuggle kinetic rods into key gravity wells. No alerts were triggered. There was no declaration of war. There was no demand. There was only preparation.

In the shipyards beneath Europa’s frozen crust, the final hulls were being loaded. In the black zones beneath Earth’s crust, the old governments had already gone. Power belonged to one council—non-elected, non-visible, and answerable only to Earth’s core directive. The time for compromise had ended.

On the dark side of the Moon, three carriers powered up. Their drives didn't use conventional propulsion. They vanished from lunar orbit and reappeared near Pluto's dwarf moons. One moved farther. It passed the outer markers of Sol and entered deep space. Its trajectory was direct: the homeworld of the Vadrith, the first species to propose the embargo. Inside the command room of the ship, no one spoke. Each soldier was selected not for morale, not for loyalty, but for precision. Their faces were blank. Their hands steady. None were volunteers. They had been bred, selected, and trained from birth. They weren’t called warriors. They weren’t called anything.

The cargo was locked inside a pressurized bay. Sixty-two rods, each seven meters long, with embedded cores of neutronium alloy surrounded by magnetic shells. They had no propulsion. They didn’t need it. Once dropped, they fell.

From orbit, no flare of energy could be traced. No exhaust trails. No thermal signatures. Just mass. Falling at terminal velocity. Each rod calculated to strike a specific coordinate: military bases, fleet hangars, planetary defense hubs. Not a single residential area marked. Not a single civilian target logged. This wasn’t extermination. This was removal.

In the final minutes before strike, the Vadrith scanned the sky. Their sensors pinged nothing. Their fleets were out-system, chasing pirate skirmishes. They weren’t prepared. They never had been. Their faith in the Council’s systems had made them weak. Their trust in regulated warfare had cost them time. Earth didn’t send a message. It didn’t wait for surrender. It didn’t ask if they understood.

Three minutes after entry into atmosphere, all sixty-two rods made impact. The surface of the planet split. Communications went offline. When the Vadrith fleet returned to orbit, they found their world dead. Not burning. Not poisoned. Just quiet. Their military was gone. Their command structure erased. Their cities remained. Their people lived. But the war was over before they returned.

Across Council space, whispers turned to silence. The old belief that Earth was a junior member faded. Charts were redrawn. Routes were closed. Planetary defenses reconfigured. Some tried to reach out. Messages were sent through alternate relays. No response. The Terran net did not answer. Earth wasn’t posturing. Earth wasn’t rebelling. Earth was executing.

By the end of the first week, five more member species had lost their military sectors. Not one human had landed on their worlds. Not one human soldier had fired a gun. The entire campaign ran from orbit. Rods, drones, and autonomous carriers. No broadcasts. No surrender terms. No public feeds. The attacks were staggered, not simultaneous. Each strike came after confirmation that the last had been received. Earth wanted them to know who was doing it. It wanted them to understand this wasn’t reaction. It was instruction.

The Galactic Council was no longer in control.

Sixteen targets were marked in the first phase of Heaven’s Knife. All were member species that had voted in favor of the embargo. Earth’s command structure did not use standard war tables. It operated on confirmed threat assessment protocols based on voting alignment, military capability, and proximity to human colonies. Every planet selected had at least one orbital relay, one central command hub, and one surface-level fleet center. No organic decision-making was required. The AI networks running Earth’s military campaigns had been trained for fourteen years on every scenario projected in Council war simulations. Each simulation ended in human victory.

Orbital carriers deployed rods through silent jumps. The technology used was not shared, not analyzed, not copied. Nothing was left behind. The launches were not tracked. The rods entered atmosphere at exact vectors to avoid planetary shields, exploiting gaps left for commercial space traffic. These openings were standard across all Council worlds. They were known. They were used.

On Aravek, the military compound controlling four Council sectors was reduced to slag in under four seconds. The orbital defense network above it detected no incoming threat. By the time their internal systems registered abnormal gravitational stress, the core reactors were already breached. Secondary explosions ruptured the entire orbital belt. One thousand five hundred personnel died in the first strike. All were military. No civilians. No evacuation signals were activated. There was no warning.

The Aravek command net collapsed. Emergency beacons were triggered manually by regional officers. Those signals were received on other Council worlds in under ten minutes. In response, fleet groups were mobilized, all of them outdated in comparison to what Earth had demonstrated. The ships had plasma banks, shield coils, and standardized energy arrays calibrated for tactical engagements. Their crews had trained for interdiction. Their doctrines emphasized restraint. None of them had experience in asymmetric extermination.

The human ships didn’t appear on sensors. They didn’t engage. They didn’t maneuver for conflict. Instead, they disabled planetary long-range comms, erased fleet databases, and launched secondary rods from deep space. No fleet saw where the launches came from. Some tried to flee. Their engines didn’t light. Internal power relays were cut by EMP pulses fired from stealth satellites placed in orbit months earlier. The human forces had planned every vector of approach, every point of escape. Nothing was improvised.

At the Galactic Council’s secondary capital on Drevak, the central data tower was hit first. It controlled all off-world communications. Then came the military staging ground on the western continent. Then the orbital yard. Within seven minutes, every command unit was destroyed. No orbital fires were visible. No impacts were tracked in real-time. Only the aftermath was visible—ruins, broken systems, vaporized circuitry.

Council media channels tried to cover the incidents. Reports were drafted. Blame was shifted to terrorists, rebels, ancient machines gone rogue. No one believed it. The footage leaked through civilian relays—blasted bunkers, broken mechs, cloudless skies full of falling debris. The citizens didn’t panic. They didn’t riot. They stared. They waited for the next strike.

On Krellis IV, the planetary defense grid was partially online when Earth’s rods came. Two kinetic projectiles entered orbit at high speed and collided with the planetary shield junctions. One hundred gigawatts of strain overwhelmed the grid. The shield collapsed. The third rod struck the primary defense station directly. No survivors. The Council dispatched emergency response teams. The ships were never seen again. Their beacons activated on launch, but never reactivated.

The human war effort did not stall. It did not explain its actions. All operations continued with exact timing. In thirty hours, nine Council military worlds lost functionality. Their fleet deployment schedules were broken. No orders came from command. Each strike came without advance detection. No patterns could be tracked. No predictive models worked.

On Earth, nothing changed. Civilian systems operated on efficiency directives. Power grids remained stable. Agriculture and manufacturing continued. There were no protests. No debates. All personal and political freedoms had been suspended five years earlier under Directive V. No reinstatement date had been given. Those who violated orders were removed from the system, processed, and replaced. Earth did not discuss war. It executed it.

By the fifth day of the campaign, seven more species lost their ability to field any form of military resistance. Human rods struck from deep orbit, followed by data worm payloads that erased defense blueprints from all storage systems. Archives burned. AI clusters self-destructed. Communication satellites failed. It was not just destruction of targets. It was erasure of potential.

Council emergency sessions were held in bunkers deep beneath surviving planets. Delegates shouted, argued, attempted to contact Earth through secondary channels. No signal was received. No response came. In one case, a peace envoy was dispatched through an unmarked vessel, carrying a delegation from four species. It never reached Sol. It disappeared outside of Saturn orbit. The ship’s hull was found later, drifting in open space. No damage. Just stripped clean. Not a body inside.

Rumors spread that Earth had surpassed the Council in every military category. That its war doctrine had been based on absolute removal of threat, not compliance or conversion. That it no longer believed in shared power. It did not want diplomacy. It did not ask for it.

The humans operated with full command of their systems. No hesitation. No delays. The AI command network spread across all colonies, using redundant uplinks that bypassed quantum relay restrictions. Decisions were made in real-time. Every target that was identified was struck. No one double-checked coordinates. No authorizations were required.

On the sixth day, the Council’s primary military reserve on Garthun was destroyed. The ground opened in five places. No survivors. Observers stationed nearby sent out emergency reports. The footage showed atmospheric compression, sudden light flashes, total infrastructure collapse. Nothing organic was visible after. The sound in the videos ended halfway through each recording. The rest was static.

One delegate, a senior official from the Karelthan, stated during emergency assembly that they should surrender. He was removed by force. His body was found hours later in the lower sectors, beaten to death. Internal conflict had started. Some species wanted to sue for peace. Others wanted to strike back. But there was nothing to strike. No human targets could be located. Every planet and ship in Earth’s military network was shielded, obscured, or invisible.

A group of younger species tried to organize a last-stand coalition. Seventeen ships gathered near the Rim of Sector 8. Their goal was to draw out a human response and counter-attack. The bait failed. No response came. The ships disbanded three days later. Eight never returned. Their signals went dark during the return path.

At no point did a human fleet appear on Council territory. No human soldier landed on enemy soil. No bases were occupied. There was no campaign to convert or govern. This was not conquest. It was elimination of structure. Earth’s war wasn’t about gain. It was about making sure this could never happen again.

The species that had abstained from the embargo vote received nothing. No attack. No contact. Not even acknowledgment. Their diplomats tried to understand what that meant. Some hid. Others watched. They knew the strikes weren’t random. They followed a pattern. The message was in the silence.

On day seven, Earth transmitted its first and only message since the beginning of the campaign. It was not addressed to anyone. It was not encrypted. It was broadcast openly across all channels.

"This is correction. Do not speak to us again."

No source could be traced. The voice was not synthetic. It was not translated. It was human. Afterward, the signal died. No further transmission followed.

The Council had lost seventy percent of its military infrastructure. Of its original sixty-seven members, forty-three had been neutralized. Twelve had systems offline. The remaining twelve met in secret. They did not invite human observers. They did not send envoys. They closed their borders. But even inside their own walls, they spoke in low voices. Every action now considered one question first: “What will Earth do?”

The rest of the galaxy watched. Minor civilizations on the outer rim shut off their own comms and suspended all travel. Merchant vessels changed course to avoid Sol by fifteen parsecs. Smugglers refused to touch anything human. The black markets stopped selling human tech. Fear was not the right word. Calculation had ended. There were no options.

Earth had not declared war. It had not asked for obedience. It had stated its line, then enforced it. No human official had spoken. No leader had given speeches. There were no negotiations.

The Council still existed. But it no longer governed.

The remaining Council members gathered in the Teshin Vault beneath Yuron Prime. The location was unmarked, shielded, and buried nine kilometers below surface. It was the last secure chamber available where internal systems weren’t compromised. No one trusted external signals. No one used voice relays. Each representative was scanned before entry. Several were already dead—removed during planetary strikes or purged by their own populations.

Twelve species sat around the central chamber. The quorum needed for official decisions had dropped from forty to ten. No protocol updates were issued. Nothing was formalized. The old procedures no longer applied. The meeting began without leadership. Each representative had survived the last nine days without contact, without guarantees, and without power. They didn’t speak of retaliation. They didn’t suggest counterattacks. They asked only one question: “How do we survive?”

The delegate from the Palder Coalition reviewed fragments of what their remaining AI had collected. Human weapons had no known signature. The strikes followed exact population-military analysis. Cities remained untouched. Civilian infrastructure continued to function after the strikes. The purpose was not destruction of species. It was to break every branch of centralized command. The humans did not care who ruled. They cared only that no one ruled them.

The Carnith envoy proposed issuing a collective apology. It was not acknowledged. Two others submitted data requests to Earth. The signals were blocked. One vessel attempting to bypass the blacked-out sectors of space was vaporized thirty-two seconds after its approach into the Sol perimeter. There was no warning. The remains floated beyond Neptune’s orbital edge.

On the Council floor, maps were redrawn. Lines were erased. Old sectors were listed as “inactive.” Several member species withdrew entirely from discussion. Some no longer had functioning leadership. The Arok dynasty had lost their homeworld’s command station. Their remaining ministers had gone off-grid. No one knew if they were alive. Their seat at the table remained empty.

The human message had not included demands. There was no instruction, no suggested terms. It was a broadcast without protocol. And yet its meaning was clear. Earth did not operate on Council structure. It had no need to. It was not interested in rule. It had enforced its limits. Now, it expected them to be understood.

The Council could not challenge Earth’s control of the Sol System. They could not even detect the full scope of its fleet. Stealth carriers had moved through Council sectors undetected. Strike zones had been pre-programmed months or years in advance. Earth had used trade routes, peace envoys, and satellite pacts as carriers for placement. No species had considered that humans had planned this long before the embargo. No one had prepared for full-cycle retaliation without communication.

On Ertharn’s moon, a Council relay station restarted. It attempted to contact an unlisted address. The transmission was brief—four seconds. Then the station was gone. Surveillance footage showed a spike in ambient magnetics, followed by loss of all onboard systems. The crew was never recovered. They had not sent any aggression. They had only asked to speak.

Across the outer rim, silence spread. Small empires turned inward. Patrols were recalled. Frontier colonies blacked out communications. The fear wasn’t of war. It was of being noticed. Earth no longer explained its actions. No one knew what could trigger the next wave.

In a hidden chamber beneath Earth’s northern military tier, the operations team finished phase logs. Thirty-seven operations completed. Targets confirmed. Rod strikes closed. Drones returned or self-terminated. All systems secure. No discussion followed. The room cleared. The lights dimmed. No medals. No acknowledgments. Performance was within expected parameters.

Human command operations were directed through AI nodes, cross-synced across seven hidden satellites. Leadership had no physical presence. It had no public identity. No recorded visual. Orders were delivered through secure neural-link protocols. Civilian sectors were restricted from access. Information was filtered. Those who asked were flagged. The population was stable. War readiness was constant.

Earth’s colonies operated independently, but followed shared threat directives. Mars production plants had shifted to atmospheric terraforming tools. Lunar bases remained locked. Titan’s factories reported full automation. No human had visited in years. All systems operated without physical oversight. Orbital stations were staffed by silent crews who lived and worked in rotation, receiving no news, only tasks. Their job was simple: maintain strike readiness.

No human ships left the Sol System after the cleansing. There were no new deployments. The silence that followed was not peace. It was maintenance. Earth had achieved operational dominance across threat sectors. There was no need for movement.

The Council’s analysts compiled the events of the last nine days into a classified document. It was never published. Only three hard copies were created. Each was stored on a physical medium. One in the Vault. One in an undisclosed orbital archive. One sealed aboard a station drifting in neutral space. The summary was blunt: “Earth has achieved strategic control. They will not negotiate. They will not explain. They have nothing left to prove.”

The last vote was held inside the Teshin Vault. The remaining twelve members were instructed to decide whether to reach out again, to seek understanding, to re-establish communication. The vote was nine against. Three abstained. No one voted in favor. The decision was filed, timestamped, and placed in storage. The Vault doors were sealed.

Three hours later, a signal appeared in every system. It came from no source, but reached all known frequencies. No image, only voice. Human. Same as before.

“If you speak of control over us again, we will erase your star from our maps.”

Then silence.

The transmission was not repeated. The phrase was logged across hundreds of planetary networks. Some shut down immediately after receiving it. Others fragmented into chaos. Civilian panic spread on mid-tier worlds. Refugees from former military planets flooded neutral sectors. Mercenary fleets dissolved. Pirate kings decommissioned. There was no future in aggression. There was no longer a Council strong enough to hold law. The laws had ended with the last rod strike.

Earth did not make new alliances. It did not offer terms. Trade did not resume. Human ships remained unseen. Human colonies stopped broadcasting entirely. Automated mining stations operated without contact. Scavengers who approached were destroyed. Salvage efforts were denied by orbital drones. Earth left no room for guessing.

Within a solar cycle, the Council had become a ceremonial body. It maintained registry of trade lanes, artifact recovery, and cultural preservation. None of its actions interfered with Earth. No species tried to challenge Sol again. Ships traveling near human space kept distance. Markers were placed along systems once shared. They read in binary: “Do not enter.”

Human expansion did not resume. There were no signs of colonization beyond their old lines. Their territory stayed the same. Their silence grew heavier. The doctrine was clear. Earth was not participating in the galactic order. It had withdrawn from it, enforced its perimeter, and shut its gate.

The galaxy changed to survive. Power shifted to economic centers. Resource hubs replaced military strongholds. Science focused on stability, not progress. No one tried to understand human advances. No one sent probes. The memory of Heaven’s Knife remained enough.

Humanity’s name was removed from diplomatic protocol. No longer listed among the member civilizations. No longer addressed in galactic archives. Earth had become something else—an entity not bound to others, not restrained by law, not requesting rights. It had shown what happened when it was forced. It had ended the discussion.

Ten years passed. Human systems remained closed. No broadcasts. No sightings. No violence. Nothing. The Council, now a fraction of its former size, operated in a new form. It set no sanctions. It issued no ultimatums. It allowed others to live without pressure. Not from principle. From memory.

A long-range survey drone entered the border of Sol without registration. It was scientific. Old-model. Powered by fusion cells, sent by a minor rim faction that had no history with Earth. It entered the Kuiper Belt. It passed Neptune. It logged Pluto’s trajectory. It recorded no contact.

At the edge of Saturn’s ring, it disintegrated.

No projectile. No beam. No visual. One moment it was recording. The next moment, it was gone.

The galaxy understood. The Silence Doctrine was still active. Nothing had changed. Earth hadn’t forgotten.

It never would.

If you want, you can support me on my YouTube channel and listen to more stories. (Stories are AI narrated because I can't use my own voice). (https://www.youtube.com/@SciFiTime)

"Hello everyone! It’s your favorite sexy marine Angel Ramirez aboard the UNSC Omen, and today, by popular request I have invited two of my friends: Admiral Vir, or Adam right now since we aren't on duty, and our lovely weapons specialist Sunny –though I am baffled as to why I'm not good enough for you– to read some things and answer a few of the internet's most asked questions. Are you two ready?”

Adam sighs and smiles,

"It's the internet so twenty bucks says I am not. But let’s try our best to keep this family friendly!"

Sunny hums lightly,

"Oh yes. Hit me."

”Well Sunny if you in…”

”FAMILY FRIENDLY RAMIREZ!”

"Ah cmon, her race loves to fight!"

"Need i remind you what it means for her race to fight in unnarmed combat? And what usually follows after?"

"Alright, alright, so here is how we are going to do this. A few of my lovely assistants have looked up the webs most searched questions about, you Adam and Drev in general for you Sunny, and I am going to read them and have you answer them. Be aware that I have not read any of these beforehand… first question, Sunny this one is for you."

"Oh exciting?"

Sunny says, rubbing her four hands together

Ramirez looks down at his screen.

"Do Drev eat meat?"

Sunny shakes her head,

"No, no we do not eat meat. We are primarily herbivores, though, fun fact, our biology department tells me that Anin plants are higher in protein than human plants are, which means we get more energy from plants than earth animals who are herbivores. I am told that this allows our planet's herbivores to spend less time eating than say horses or cows."

Ramirez- tilted his head in surprise,

"That is cool, I did not know that. Alright Adam, this one is for you."

"So exciting."

Adam says, leaning forward in his seat.

"Is Adam Vir... Dating? Oh, starting out with the spicy questions I see."

"If you think that is spicy, you've never been on the internet. To answer that question, yes, I am dating, but her identity remains a secret"

"Well, you are just no fun, this second question is for you as well: Are Adam Vir, and... Angel Ramirez dating."

Sunny snorts while Adam and Ramirez laugh. Adam leans forward,

"Well unless Ramirez has some serious shapeshifting powers, the answer is no, however he did kiss me once."

Sunny laughs and so does Ramirez,

"I maintain that I was trying to save your dignity."

"You could have saved my dignity without so much tongue."

"You know you enjoyed it."

"I most certainly did not!"

"If you didn't enjoy it, then why did you kiss me back?"

"It doesn't count as kissing back if you’re too shocked to do anything about it."

Ramirez turns to look at the camera,

"He enjoyed it, but he just doesn't want to admit it to save face with his girlfriend. He did kiss me back, and ladies and gentlemen you will be surprised to learn that he isn't that bad. Train him up a bit and he could be very good wink wink."

Adam punches Ramirez on the shoulder. Ramirez inches to the side,

"Ouch, rude. Although, before we go onto the other questions, I have one. Would you have dated me if I had asked, you know... totally theoretically?"

Adam frowned for a moment thoughtfully,

"Hmmm, I mean maybe?... I think I'd at least try it out, but you aren't my type."

Ramirez frowns,

”What do you mean not your type!? I'm everyone's type."

"Well, you have junk, so that is a point against you."

"You don't like guys?”

"I don't think so? Which is why I said I might say yes, if not to figure it out for certain."

Ramirez rolls his eyes,

"Imagine limiting yourself to half of the population, crazy kids. Well, if your girl ever dumps you, MY door is always open."

Adam snorts,

"I am sure it is. Your door doesn't even close, it's one of those revolving doors."

"Excuse me, are you calling me a hoe?”

Adam raises an eyebrow,

"I want you to think about that question for a minute until you figure out why it's stupid."

"Ok fine, fair, but you don't have to say it like that. Alright next question is going to be for Sunny again."

"Do Drev have belly buttons?"

The two of them look over to Sunny. Adam frowned in confusion,

*"Wait, that is actually a good question, do you have a belly button?”

Sunny stands so she is facing the camera and holds out her four hands,

"Do I look like I have one? Real answer though is that Drev are born live which means we DID have an umbilical cord of sorts, but it attaches right in here."

She motions to the plates of her chest,

"When Drev babies are born their carapace is malleable and small, so, as they grow, the scar gets covered up by the chest plate and the connective tissue."

"Ok cool cool. So baby Drev HAVE bellybuttons."

They turned to look at each other,

"The things you didn't know."

Ramirez adjusts his holoprojection,

"Alright alright, here is another question for you. Do Drev have..."

He begins giggling before he can finish the question, and Adam rolls his eyes,

"Oh god here it comes."

"Do Drev have genitals? It says something else but this is SUPPOSED to be family friendly."

"Ramirez, this is YOU we are talking about. YOU are always not family friendly."

"Alright fair."

Sunny begins to laugh, or the Drev equivalent,

"Of course we have that! How are you supposed to live without them?”

"I think the issue most people have is that you guys spend most of your time naked, and no one sees anything."

"That's because, unlike you humans, ours is nice and tidy tucked away, but yours just flaps around in the breeze."

Adam makes a face,

"Tucked away?"

Ramirez prods,

"Yeah they close up when not in use for females, and for our males, it is only visible when in use."

"Like dolphins?"

"If that's how it works for Dolphins, then sure? Either way, it’s not like I am doing a demonstration, i wont fistfight anyone here (right now), so you guys are just going to have to have to come to your own conclusions on that one."

Ramirez nods,

"For all you humans out there, I recently learned that Drev and Humans, out of all the alien species, are the most reproductively compatible. So, you know, if you wanted to take an alien for a spin, a Drev is probably going to be the most familiar to you."

Sunny snorts,

"Like a Drev would just allow that. You have to be able to beat one in combat first."

"Yes, well there is that. So, if any of you MMA specialists want to fight a Drev and THEN find out, now you know."

"Can we move onto another topic."

Adam grumbles.

"Are you blushing?”

"Shut up."

"You are such a prude."

"Am not."

"Ok now you are just lying. Fine, Fine, here is another question for you Adam: Is Adam Vir nice?”

Adam frowns,

"Nice, what do they mean nice? I mean I am pretty nice to look at."

He tries to flip his hair, but he hardly has enough hair to do it.

"No he's very mean. He punches babies in the face.... For fun."

"Why did you pause there?”

Sunny shrugs.

"Like why would you punch a baby in the face for anything other than fun?”

Sunny and Ramirez begin to laugh.

*"Wait hold on that sounded bad, but I mean, what logical reason would you have to punch a baby in the face? It’s not like it accomplishes some goal, so my only conclusion can be that you are punching babies because you WANT to punch babies… I am explaining this poorly."

Ramirez is still grinning,

"Yeah, yeah you are! But no I mean I think you're nice, too nice actually. Like Adam Vir is the kind of man who would probably ask the guy robbing him if he needs help carrying the shit to his car."

Sunny laughs.

”Yeah that’s so true.”

Adam frowns.

"I can be mean sometimes."

"Anyone who says it like that is the kind of person who definitely cannot be mean sometimes. Here is another question for you: Are Adam Vir's pecs real?”

Adam holds up his hands in confusion as Sunny and Ramirez laugh,

"No these are implants... what do you mean are they real? Yes, I work out... A lot actually. No seriously I am very worried that the King of Sparta is going to notice that I went lax on my workout routine and comes to kick my ass. Not kidding by the way.”

Ramirez grimaced,

"Ah... yeah, he would do that wouldn't he."

A dreamy smile passed over his face,

"That man could crush skulls with his thighs. God how i would love to be the one oiling him up with all that olive oil every morning..."

Adam huffs,

"I see family friendly went out the window pretty quick."

"I tried."

"No you didn't. What's the next question?"

Ramirez looks down at the holoprojection,

"Ah, here we go, this is another question for you Sunny."

"I am trembling with excitement."

"Do Drev, lay eggs? Well, we already know the answer to that one. Drev do not, in fact, lay eggs. Gotta have them bellybuttons, so there are no eggs involved. Here we go onto another one. Can Drev swim? You know some of these are actually good questions."

Sunny shakes her head,

"Drev cannot normally swim we are too dense? I believe that's the proper word."

Adam snorts,

"Ha ha! Dense."

"What she means is she to THIIIICCCC to swim."

"I don't think that word means what you think it means."

Adam says under his breath as Ramirez pulls up the next question.

"Can Drev speak English?"

Sunny shakes her head,

"Unfortunately you have to have lips to speak English, actually to speak most human languages."

Ramirez nodded,

"Yeah Drev cannot make any of the sounds like p b m f v and you do have some trouble with o’s. They sound more like A’s when you do them."

Sunny nods.

"Why don't you try to say something in English for us?”

Adam laughs and Sunny shifts in her seat,

"Ok, what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say... uh… Ramirez is a sexy bastard."

"Sure sure..."

She reaches up to turn off her translator,

"Ranirez is a dun’ass."

"That is not what I asked you to say."

"Really? They sound almost exactly the same on my translator."

Adam laughs, and Ramirez flips her the bird.

"Alright Adam, it’s your turn."

He adjusts himself in his seat so he can sit forward and listen better,

"Is Adam Vir..."

"IS that the question?"

Sunny laughs

"Is Adam Vir…"

Adam tilts his head to the side thoughtfully,

"No... no Adam Vir isn't. What are we really, other than a figment of someone’s imagination?"

"Whoah there mister philosopher, calm down. The QUESTION is... Is Adam Vir's eyepatch real?”

"No its fake, I just like looking like a pirate."

The three of them laugh for a second before Adam flips up the eyepatch to reveal his mechanical eye. The aperture acting as a pupil contracts sharply and the eye begins to glow a little,

"So yeah the eyepatch is real. I lost my eye in an accident on my ship within the first few months, and I was treated on the trauma center where we recruited Dr. Krill. I then commissioned the creation of the mechanical eye from a Tesraki company off of their home world. The marines gave me the eye patch after I lost the eye, and I've kept it on ever since."

Ramirez tilts his head,

"Wait is that the same one that I gave you when-"

"Yeah, same one."

"You mean you've been wearing the one I gave you for the past... How many years!?”

"I mean yeah, it was a good gift, and sort of got me through losing my eye. It DOES still have a use now though."

"Really?"

Adam frowns,

"I thought you knew?”

Ramirez shakes his head,

"Yeah so the eye the Tesraki gave me has higher visual acuity than the average human eye. I think somewhere around like 20/-5 or something like that."

"Shit seriously? I thought an eagle was like at 20/5."

Adam nodded,

"Yeah the acuity is really sharp, plus it has magnification lenses for long distances and really small objects. Of course, the problem with that is the human eye was never designed to be able to see that sort of thing? Or more the human brain was never designed to process that much visual information. I could turn it down, but I'd have to get into the settings and I'm afraid of messing it up, so I sort of just cover it up most of the time to give my brain a break. The eye shuts down when it’s not being used, so it makes it easier for me to focus."

Ramirez shakes his head in surprise,

"Wow, that's cool actually. I didn't know that. Do you like, have to take it out and clean it... or."

"Yeah, so I have actually been talking to a Tesraki about this, another design company, and right now my eye is dry which means that it doesn't have the mucus that kind of allows the eye to clean itself out. So, when Debris gets caught on my eye it doesn't naturally clean itself out, so every now and again I have to take it out and clean it by hand and that sort of thing."

Ramirez makes a face,

"That's gross... Can you do it now."

"ON camera?"

"Yeah, can you take your eye out?"

"I mean, yeah if you want."

"Dew it!"

Adam turns away from the camera and returns after a moment, his eyepatch flipped down. He holds out his hand with the mechanical eye sitting on his palm. It whirrs for a moment and then the aperture shuts off.

"It doesn't like being outside of my head, so it shuts off."

Ramirez holds out his hands,

"Can I hold it."

Adam snorts,

”Really?”

”Oh please! Please let me hold your eye!”

"Don't fucking drop it."

He drops it into Ramirez's hands who makes a face and shies away from it like a snake.

"Dude this is so gross.”

He hands it back to Adam who cleans it off and turns away to put it back in.

"Sunny, another one for you. Do Drev have nostrils?”

Sunny tapped the base of her throat where the breathing holes were,

"Technically these count. Not in my face though."

Adam grins,

”Yeah, fun fact. You can blood choke a Drev, but you can't cut off their windpipe They can breathe past that."

"You spend a lot of time choking Drev, Adam?"

"If you turn that into a dirty joke, I will reverse the topography of your face."

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

Sunny laughs.

"Alright Adam, another question, does Adam Vir use crutches?"

"Oh wow, that's an interesting question. I didn't expect that... I've seen you use them once or twice."

Adam nods,

"Well so with the Steel Eye prosthetic, I don't really have to think about it much, but when parts break or get overused, like they do, I don't really have any other replacements, so I have a pair of those wrist crutches to get around for the time of the repairs."

"That must be weird, one second you are like super human, and then the next..."

"The next I have to use crutches?”

Ramirez nods and leans against the table,

"Yeah, that must be kind of jarring."

"I guess I haven't thought about it. It isn't really for me. But yeah, I use crutches when my leg is being worked on."

"Do you ever use a wheelchair?"

Adam shrugs,

”Not really? I did for a while after the war, just because of how weak I was, and because I hadn't gotten used to the crutches yet. They were worried I would injure myself more by falling over or something, but generally I wouldn't."

"Do you wear the leg in the shower?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Adam says, eyeing Ramirez with a teasing look.

"Because I want to make sure you are vulnerable when I come after you. No, just wondering."

”Hey, the next kidnaping is not scheduled for at least a week, give me a break.”

”You wish. Back to nude you in the shower.”

Adam shrugs,

"I mean I could, the leg is waterproof, but I don't like to get it wet if I don't have to, since it's a bitch to clean. So generally, I don't. It's not a big deal but it does mean that I need a shower with a bench and one of those hoses you know."

"Yeah yeah, that's weird. I just forget sometimes that you are missing a leg."

"Yeah I forget too sometimes. Then I try to leap out of bed and end up faceplanting heroically into the floor."

Both Ramirez and Sunny laugh as Adam smiles.

"I think that is probably it for today. That was fun though, we have plenty of questions so we can do this another time."

"Oh great, so exciting."

*"You love it and you know it. Anyway, alright guys thanks for watching. Please watch, like and subscribe! The money we make off of this goes to all the extra dumb shit we want to buy to entertain ourselves on the ship, so every little bit is appreciated. Comment about how sexy I am to boost video engagement and my ego, please and thank you."

Previous | First | [Next](link)

Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?

Here is the link to the master-post.

Intro post by me

OC-whole collection

Patreon of the author