L.M. du Plessis 🇳🇦 🇺🇦📚💙 ‪✨drafting Scales of the Progenitor!✨

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Writer. Dog and birdy lover. Inept gamer. Social barren wasteland. Current projects: Drafting Scales of the Progenitor Please Support: https://www.wwadcreative.com/anthology 🚫AI🚫

“So what happened?” he asks, and I grimace.
“I’m probably fired, that’s what happened.”
“What? Why?”
“I punched a man’s jaw off.”
The space to my left goes empty for about four seconds before Jasper re-occupies it with a quick jog to catch back up. “Why, Milly? What possible reason was there for punching a man’s jaw off? And how have you not been arrested for murder?” Disappointment dripped from his every word.
“Well, I say I punched it off, but it was still mostly attached to his face. Just in more than one piece. Also, he was gonna hit his wife, and I decided to intervene. Also I’m pretty sure he murdered his brother, who’s body he was trying to take out of the morgue. I don’t know, he was pretty drunk at the time.”

The big car just stands there as I approach the doors, at a slowed walking place as I feel like something is going to happen, and I want to see it unfold. I’m proven right when the passenger door opens up and a green figure wrestling with a huge piece of luggage struggles out of the cab and onto the paving stones. A concerned voice follows them out from the vehicle.
“Ger- Genevieve honey, are you sure you want to be here?” a woman calls out, almost using another name instead of the full one. I hear layers of frustration and attempted manipulation crust on each word, and I know that I’m catching the tail end of a very long, very traumatic argument. The person that climbed out puts their luggage on the ground to reveal themselves to be a green haired teenage girl a full head and shoulders shorter than I am, and also in a green knee-length dressed made to look like green plants somehow. The girl flicks a quick look at me as I slowly stroll by, revealing eyes just as green as her hair, then turns back to the occupant.
“Y-yes, mom. I’ve made m-my decision. This is the best place f-for me right now.” Her voice quavers and falters as she no doubt confronts a controlling parental figure, but she remains resolute all the same.

Irene turns to her right, to a line of other buildings, a few with large garage doors at their front. She reaches into another hidden pocket and produces a set of keys with a small fob remote on it. She presses a button and the rightmost garage door swings up to reveal a deep ocean blue painted… 1964 model F-100 ford truck? It looks absolutely pristine, like It’d just rolled off the showroom floor yesterday. I look sideways at Irena and I see her face glow with pride.
“My Seahorse! I just got her serviced and detailed, almost good as new!”
“Seahorse?” I ask, half amused by the name. I see her face cloud over with sudden confusion, tension and regret as if she’s just given away some grand state secret, but it quickly passes and she laughs.
“Yes! Like the sea creatures! I love the name, don’t you?”
“They’re fine I guess,” I respond, puzzled at her reaction. “Where are we going?”
“To town to pick up the journals, like I said.” She opens the drivers side door, and I go for the passenger side door. The interior is immaculate, just like the outside.

I sigh dramatically to no one in particular and rub my eyes, ignoring the sting of my newly set nose, then turn to my right to start my trek up to the small apartment my roommate Clara and I call home, as I need to deliver the unfortunate news. And that’s when I see a familiar sight of a tall, scrawny man leaning rakishly against a bright orange SUV that almost glows in the fog. He’s looking right at me, and gives a quick nod when he sees that I’ve noticed him, making his long blond hair bob on his shoulders. His face is somewhat narrow and elongated, with a pointed chin and nose and almost no cheekbones to speak of, and his eyes are a pale yellow shade I’ve never seen with anyone else before. He stands upright and dusts off his light orange formal business suit, one I’ve never seen him out of, ever.
Jasper.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Look what I did to you! I mean, I didn’t do it personally, but I’m the cause! You should be angry with me! I interfered where I shouldn’t have and nearly got you killed! What kind of friend am I? You should be shouting! You have every right to! I betrayed you!”
Clara is the one shouting at this point, and I’m hoping Jenine doesn’t call the mounties because of it. The last thing we need is a domestic disturbance call. I briefly turn my head to look at the still open door behind us, knowing that the noise might well travel.
Evidently the lapse in attention broke some thin layer of restraint from Clara, who reached up and took off her headphones and dropping them on her bag. I was half expecting her to throw them at the wall, but those things are expensive and wasteful crap like that only happens on TV and with spoiled brats. She punctuates the move by stomping her foot like a rabbit, and I have to honestly fight to keep my face expressionless.
“You should be shouting at me!” she repeats, and this time it’s dripping with accusation, as if I’m playing some sort of game with her that she’s not seeing. “Are you punishing me now with a silent treatment? I mean, I deserve it fully, but it’s still cruel! This is not how I saw this going!”

The general theme of this woman is orange like the flame-headed spear. Her armour is an interlaced and overlapping pattern of orange leaves reaching down to below the belly button, and moves with every movement with her body like a second skin, which meets a black leather armour skirt with more metal leaves embedded in it down to mid-thigh. She has pauldrons and knee armour resembling orange pumpkin rinds interlacing with more leaf armour on the arms and legs. Her eyes are a deep glowing orange, as is her long orange hair which does not hang down like hair usually does but hangs in the hair behind her as if suspended in water. She has what looks like a combination of a circlet and half a helmet sitting on her head, covering half her face with more orange metal while two black bat wings stand up over her head from the circlet. Cobwebs are tattooed to the corners of her eyes, black on her remarkably pale skin. Her orange lips are curled back in a snarl, and I can see a few shallow scars on her face, possibly from blade cuts by how thin they are. Her ears poke out from behind the metal helm plates, pointy at the tips like an elf or something, but further observation has to wait as she advances more at me.

“Yeah, that sounds fair. I’ll check back with Clara tomorrow to see if she got any sort of study plan for my ‘self defence’ class with your students. I hope she manages to make something believable, for both our sakes,” I say pointedly, but Irena seems completely unphased.
“I’m positive your friend will deliver. Also, be aware that Mr Val’s class usually starts at around 10 am. Goodnight, Milly, I hope the furnishings serve you well this night!” Irena says and starts to turn around to tell the girls to go to bed as well, I assume.
“You too, sleep well!” I say and close the door.
You too? In her own house? Ugh, stupid. And starting class at ten in the morning? This ‘school’ definitely is very different from any other I’ve ever experienced. I throw myself onto the very comfortable bed with copper coloured sheets, a prevailing theme everywhere in this massive building now that I come to think on it. I also think very very deeply about what I’ve gotten myself into with this new job, and I drift off into sleep while doing so.

Scales of the Progenitor writing progress, week 7.
99,337 words written by day 49, averaging 2028 words per day, consistently staying above the required rate as per a graph provided with the Trackbear graphic shown here.

I glance to the door and see a chair my size sitting next to it, and consider my options. Val continues on with his lecture, outlining more areas and apparently listing out gods and similar entities in more pantheons. Something about the way he talks about them, almost like they actually exist and are present in our reality but in an offhand way like someone listing savanna mammals, peaks my interest, so I take the chair and sit down quietly to take the rest of the lesson in. Val falters for a second, flicking a glance towards me, then continues again as if nothing is the matter.
This goes on for half an hour, with the students furiously scribbling in their journals the entire way, taking it all in. I’ve never seen school students be so locked in on a subject that involves history like this. Val doesn’t speak like it’s history, though.
“And that would be about it for the major players within the Celestial Realms. There are more minor factions that voice concerns in their own Realm council, but more often then not the Celestials only venture forth one representative to the Formless Assembly-“
Something kicks at my consciousness and my body jerks, making the chair squeak. Val stops and eyes me for a second before continuing.

“We’re here,” she says as we emerge from the hallway onto the landing between the two staircases. The air is thick with animated conversation from below. The three girls who’d been sitting on the railing are gone now, so I move to stand next to the staircase, giving Irene enough space. I look down to see… well frankly, to see what looks like a group of anime characters. Ten people, with most looking like teenagers, occupy the center of the antechamber in a loose group. A whole mountain of luggage occupies the spot right below me, and across the antechamber stands a line of people dressed in black and white manor servant uniforms, with one man standing a bit away with them in what could be called a teacher uniform, all in brown. He had brown hair and thin-rimmed spectacles, and wore a neutral expression as he surveyed the teenagers.
He glances up at me and his expression changes. His eyes widen in what I guess is surprise, and then they narrow as his forehead wrinkled with, I guess, irritation. I think he may not have been expecting me here.
“Good morning students!” Irene says, and the teenagers instantly quiet down, something I did not expect from such a group, to be honest. I remember being one, and we were never this easy to impress.

I step forward some more until I’m right next to Clara, where she looks to me with complete trust. I don’t know how well earned that trust is right now with how my head is feeling, but she doesn’t flinch at all when I reach up to those twitching fox ears and…
They’re fluffy and soft, and twitch at my touch. I see Clara wriggle slightly, and I look down into her eyes briefly. She shrugs before saying “That tickles.”
I feel them more, making absolutely sure they are what they look like, falling just short of causing her pain, and then a thought crosses the turbulent battlefield of my mind.
What were the earphones covering?
My hands wander down to where ears usually are on a person and feel absolutely nothing. Just the side of the head, as if nothing had ever been there.

“Oh no! What did I do!?” Her voice wavers and quavers. But then Craig shows that he conscious by moving again by upright from where he landed with almost no visible go-between stage.
“Holy crap, that was amazing!” he calls out with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on his enthusiastically beaming face, with red stained teeth for all to see. I rush to his side but I’m beaten there by Ignacio and Sibu.
“Hold on, don’t try to move you idiot,” Ignacio says and starts examining Craig, checking his eyes, mouth and neck, while Sibu holds him steady. From what I can see, his chin is red and starting to swell, and I think all that’s really damaged is a cut on the inside of the lip, but that’s enough.

I keep stabbing and stabbing until my hand brushes something big! It’s scaly and rough and immediately shrinks away towards the trunk. I instantly stab back into the now half-ruined hive in that direction, and my talons pass through big, coarse hornet wings. A high-pitched screech from within tells me I scored a hit. I root around with my hand now, crushing hive walls and larva as I try to grasp the queen. I can feel her scrabbling further and further… THERE!
My hand closes onto her body, crushing the still intact wings, and I rip outward, revealing the black and purple hornet queen horror the length of my forearm for all to see. It looks like it was made entirely out of obsidian, glowing with an internal light that pulses with a sickly mixture of green and purple. Just looking at it makes me sick to my stomach.
The stings all over my body intensify, but this ends here. I close my hand on the thing tightly, crushing it and cutting it apart with my talons. It screams and thrashes for a second, then falls apart. The middle abdomen is reduced to mulch in my hands while the head and back body segment, whatever it’s called, falls down to the forest floor.

“I’m going to need full run of the house and the surrounding structures, though, from tomorrow on and through the whole month,” I say to Irena, and her expression turns serious in an instant.
“Why is that?” she asks me.
“Well, if you want me to play security guard while I also play PE teacher I’m going to have to get myself accustomed to the house layout as much as I can and as fast as I can. I wouldn’t be providing much security if I got lost in a closet somewhere when things go to shit.”
She looks me in the eyes, looking for any kind of lie in them I think. I didn’t lie though, only kept a few things to myself. I hear the girls chattering with each other a few doors down the hallway. The three half-sisters seem to have adopted Christine into their friend circle. They sound happily chatty enough, at least.
“Fine, but with some restrictions,” Irena says seriously.
“Oh?”
“You do not get access to the student’s rooms without their permission, and you do not have access to my office at any time.”

“What am I going to do with you all,” Irena says to herself.
“She’s just being a good kid and trying to take the blame. They were my responsibility and I should take the punishment for this, whatever it may be,” I declare.
“We agree on something, I see,” Val comments.
“Shush, both of you! I do see the need for maybe some signage at the house in case others come across it. It’s on my land, and people would be liable for the damage,” Irena says with a dismissive hand wave at the notion.
“Oh, yeah, that’s another thing. I think some teenagers might have been down in that cellar before me,” I say, and both Val and Irena suddenly look very shocked.
“What did you say?”
“Down in the cellar. There was all sorts of junk there, like broken chalk, lines drawn into the dirt floor somehow, bits of doll, a big stain that might have been, I don’t know, fake blood or something? You know, stuff teenagers might do in a rebellious phase? You do have teenagers in town, right?”
“Yes? But none that would venture onto my land,” Irena says, glancing at Val as she does so.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”

Progress on writing Scales of the Progenitor: 4013 words written today, total of words written now past 90K

“Many thanks for the consideration, Miss Milly!” Matthew says again, and I can’t help but smile, until my eyes adjust to the lower light and I see the entrance hall.
It’s large and expansive, reaching up two floors with a crystal chandelier hanging down from the middle of the ceiling. Two curving staircases hug either side of the room to meet at the top at a large landing. A pile of luggage is stacked at the bottom of the right hand staircase. I look up from that spot to see a curious sight on the balcony railing just above of it.
Three girls sitting on the railing, legs dangling down, holding each other in a very precarious balancing act that they seem highly proficient at. The girl with the green hair and, now that I’m noticing it, knee length green dress is sitting in the middle of the trio. On her right is a girl that I can only describe as being uniformly sand coloured. Every part of her including every item of clothing is almost the same colour, and makes me think it must be some version of desert camouflage. She’d be able to burrow into a sand dune and no one would ever find her. On the left is a pale girl with blue hair and icy blue eyes, with more light-blue clothing. Just looking at her sends a cold chill down my body, but she smiles warmly when she sees me looking at her. The sandy girl scowls, while Genevieve hides her face in the blue girl’s shoulder.
They’re all of different stature but share some facial structures, so I’m assuming they might be sisters? Maybe half sisters? But my thoughts are interrupted with a rumbling from my left.

Background of a starry night sky over a polluted earth.
Title: Moving Day
A Sci-Fi story of a woman defying her bloodline to save humanity from the mistakes of the past
Featuring: Space Ships, Aliens, saving what can be saved and the message to never stop defying!

Published as part of the We Write At Dawn Anthology Volume One, now available.

Black background with a curvy blue and cream blob smush.
Presenting an agents guide to:
AFTER THE BITE
Genre: Horror, Post Apocalyptic, Sci-Fi, Romance
Status: Completed first draft at 82k words

Background, Flying sail ships amids obscuring clouds.
presenting an Agents Guide to: Cavern Clipper.
Status: first draft being edited
Image Credit: “The Stormriders: Steampunk Pirates” by neko1206 on Deviantart.

Text saying "Proudly presenting an agents guide to:
SCALES OF THE PROGENITOR
An in-production Urban Fantasy WIP

Turquoise text on purple background, metallic turquoise slide outline with pictures of dragons and a copper scale in corners.

“Sergeant Harrison. Yes, that’s his ritual every time the School opens,” Irena says without looking the slightest bit concerned over the detail.
“How often does the School run?” I ask, curious over that little fact.
“Twice a year for a month, April and October.”
“Spring and fall? Strange choice. Why?”
“Reasons to do with that overarching agreement I mentioned before. I cannot go into more detail at this moment.” Irena’s voice is hard and final on this point, and I decide not to push any further. I can find out by myself if I feel like it. “In any case, to answer your original question, I am certain that you can adequately serve as extra security for this manor for the duration of the October school period.”
“Okay, hold on a second,” I say, holding my hand up in the air, “first off, how would you know that, and secondly how do you know there’s any threat? Did you get bomb threats? Threatening mail? Online harassment? An increase in trespassers on the property? Vandalism?”
Somehow Irena looks pleased at the questions, and she glances down at the folder. “To answer your first question, I’ve had an interest in you for this position for a while now. Your history shows several characteristics that would serve admirably.”

FROM THE TRUTH. FROM WHAT YOU’VE SEEN THIS ENTIRE TIME. FROM WHAT YOU KNOW EXISTS, BUT STRIVE TO NOT SEE AT THE BIDDING OF ANOTHER. CHOOSE.
“I… I…” Words fail me, even inside my head. I know what the voice means. I think I understand the choice, but it’s hard. I don’t want to make it. My eyes flick over to the tableau in front of me, and I can clearly see Genevieve’s expression, filled with fear and pain and panic. There’s clearly nothing any of the students can do against what looks like someone in a suit of armour. It has her and it’s not letting go. Is there even anything I can do?
YES. YOU CAN CHOOSE.
“But… I…”
EITHER WAY IS FINE WITH ME, I DON’T JUDGE, I JUST REQUIRE AN ANSWER.
I look at Genevieve’s expression of terror again and a switch flips inside me. This, this thing can’t be allowed to hurt her or anyone else in this house. I was hired to protect them and that’s what I’m going to do!
GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.
The pressure on my shoulder vanishes, as does the presence, but a tide of surety washes over the ongoing battle inside my head. The stubborn persistence to Not Believe What Can’t Be Real, Only Normal Things Are Real flickers and dissolves into a mere annoyance behind my eyes. None of that matters anymore, people are in danger and I have to help. The weather outside mutters loudly with another flash as if in ascent.

The strange awareness sensation in the forest grows by the day, and I start keeping a constant eye on it, just in case. In case of what, though? No idea. It’s not like fairies or bogeymen are going to come boiling out of the woods to attack us or anything. Things like that don’t exist.

“No, she’s right,” Val’s voice says behind us, I turn my head to see him wearing what I can only describe as a long dark blue bathrobe. Or just a robe? Wait, is it…
“Did you go and put on your robe and wizard hat?” I ask incredulously. He frowns with confusion and reaches up to pat his unoccupied head.
“No? I leave my hat at home. You just get the robes for now. Please get up.”

Portrait of Nyxel of the Cerunan from the WIP Cavern Clipper
Humanoid with thick blue skin with visible join segmentation, short downy white hair, four green eyes with three-pointed pupil, mouth with shark-like triangular teeth, multicoloured wrap over chest and lower abdomen from folded-on butterfly wings. Huge cavern background

“I know that’s a cover,” he whispers to me once I’m close in. “I know about the security job, and I know not to let those ones know.”
“Right, that makes things easier,” I respond, and choose my next words carefully. “Well, that job was also a bit of a surprise to me as well, it’s not exactly my line of expertise.”
“What is your line of expertise?” Cook asks me.
“Probationary ME assistant, but that career is probably dead at the moment.” I’m sharing an awful lot of details with this man I hardly even know, and I don’t know why.
“I see. Mrs Irena is an excellent judge of character, so whatever she hires you for, I’m sure she made a good judge of character. Does that mean you won’t be joining them for lunch?” he asks pointedly.
“Not today, no. I have something I should check on, and then I need to figure out what I’m actually going to attempt to teach these kids.”

Jasper.
I sigh again, even more dramatically this time and start walking towards the strange man that had taken it upon himself to ‘check up’ on me every few months since I fell into the foster care system, usually without the knowledge of whatever home I was in at that particular time.
You’d think that’d be a major red flag, and for the longest time I thought it was, but it turned out that Jasper was the most sexless person imaginable, a fact discovered when Jennifer, one of my periodic foster parents, tried her damnedest to get into his immaculately tailored yellow pants, as his suit is always yellow, and failed multiple times. He’d confessed, afterwards with the little talks we had of so many things I still refuse to believe, that he’d found the experience quite horrifying. I guess he was my first experience with an ace person.
I still don’t really trust him though, but not because of that.
“So, come to gloat?” I ask out loud as I get into normal speaking distance, and I see his wide smile fade a bit and a mock hurt expression cross his face like a cloud intruding on a bright sunny day.
“Why Millicent, whyever would you think such a thing!” he protested with a hand on his shoulder in mock suffering.

“This is going to be your study guide, or at lease something like it. I looked around and thought you might want to start things with a little light physical training before you launch into defence stuff, get people warmed up first. Might give you some time to go through everything and come up with your own timetable.”
“Huh, yeah, that makes sense. I’ll be back in a sec,” I say as I walk into the bathroom to towel the sweat off of me, then place the now somewhat damp towel in a closet basket. He sound of paper being stapled greets me as I walk out of the bathroom again.
“Right, got everything together for you,” Clara says, and I can see her hesitate again. “I wanted to ask, are you sure you want to stay?”
“Oh yes! I met the kids at the school yesterday, and they just made me even more sure of the fact that I need to find out what’s going on in there!” I say, and her eyes gain that same strange mixture of emotion they had yesterday.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if it’s a cult-like place or whatever, I can’t just leave them there to get indoctrinated, can I? I’ll have to help them escape it somehow! That is, if it even comes to it. I know Irena is strange and very probably hiding some shady shit at the very least!”
Clara looks as if she has several things to say, but she merely hands the stack of stapled-together papers to me and reaches down to pick up a small backpack from under the table.
“Here, for the paper,” she says.

It’s well past sunrise when I decide enough is enough and I head back to Clara, hoping she didn’t decide to sleep in too late. I walk up to the door of our rented space at almost a quarter past eight and try the door. Unlocked. I walk in after removing my boots, because the run has made them a bit covered in stuff.
Clara is sitting at a small table with a cup of coffee ready, working on a small stack of printed papers with a look of concentration on her face, at least until I walk in and she looks up with a start.
“Milly? You’re here already? What have you been doing?” she asks, looking me up and down with a surprised look. It seems to be a theme with everyone lately.
“Woke up early, couldn’t get back to sleep, went for a jog like I said I would to get the whole physical thing going, and now I’m here,” I answer with a smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have a towel I could use, would you?”
“Oh, right, there’s a spare one in the bathroom closet, down near the floor. Give me a few minutes and I can get these together for you,” she responds and begins to gather all the pages together.
“What’s that?”
“This is going to be your study guide, or at lease something like it. I looked around and thought you might want to start things with a little light physical training before you launch into defence stuff, get people warmed up first. Might give you some time to go through everything and come up with your own timetable.”

“Maybe, but we’re hear now,” I say out loud. I’m not two meters inside the room when the massive door falls down with a thunderous crash, far too fast for me to get back under it again. Lights switch on to reveal what can only be called an arena, with a glass dome above where a viewing audience can look on at the performance. It’s deserted, but the ceiling above opens up and a large screen supported by a single metallic arm lowers halfway down to the floor, then turns to face me. It stays there for several breaths, unmoving, until it flickers to life to show the round visage of an old man in glasses and a lab coat, tanned and with a few errant wisps of completely white hair occupying the sides of his head.
Rage instantly floods my head, from where and why I do not know. I bite it back, enough to keep it at bay and to keep my nails from elongating to attack the image on sight.

The pressure on my shoulder vanishes, as does the presence, but a tide of surety washes over the ongoing battle inside my head. The stubborn persistence to Not Believe What Can’t Be Real, Only Normal Things Are Real flickers and dissolves into a mere annoyance behind my eyes. None of that confusion matters anymore, people are in danger and I have to help. The weather outside mutters loudly with another flash as if in ascent.
Time speeds up again, slowly at first but picking up speed. I feel a change going through my body, mostly subtle but far more pronounced on my hands and in my mouth. I glance down for an instant to see my hands turn scaly and purple, just like they did in the classroom, and my nails thicken into black claws. I don’t know what’s happening to my mouth, but it suddenly feels crowded in there. I look up and run towards the struggle, determined to reach the intruder.
Then the rage hits me. This thing is in my domain, hurting my students, my friends! This cannot be allowed, will not be allowed! I pump my legs even harder, faster, driving forward with more power than I’ve ever done before. The din of my boots on the wood floor fills my ears until they’re drowned out by a roar of challenge and defiance. I wonder where it’s coming from for a moment before realising it’s coming from my own throat and lungs, but my focus is on the armoured figure, who spins around in surprise holding Genevieve and Galilah out to the side.

I ignore Morgan and hold out my hand to Skyler. “Nice to meet you all!”
Skyler and Gracie look down at my hand as if it’s some indecipherable ancient text, look at each other, then stand up and approach me. “That’s not how we do things here, dear. Welcome to Persistence!” then they both give me a tight, warm hug. I can feel the eyes turn towards us for a few moments before turning away.
“Right! Nathan! A round of tequila! Lets start this off good!” Skyler demands. Nathan, I assume that’s the bartender’s name, begins busying himself with very tiny glasses and a specific bottle from the racks behind him.
“Tequila?” I ask.
“The best way to start off a night! You know what tequila is, right?” Gracie asks.
“No, not really. I don’t remember ever drinking before.”
“Ohhh, right, the memory thing! Well then we should add some new memories! Nathan, a round of vodka crans to follow!”
“Take it easy on the new one, will you?” Nathan comments.
“We’ll be sure to take care of her, Nate, don’t you worry!” Skyler assures him.

The streets are filled with old cars and trucks, all heavily rusted like they were burned long ago, before being exposed to the elements. To be fair, the buildings on either side look the same. Everything I look at is old, ruined and half burned. Even the piles of rubble and garbage everywhere seems half rotted away. Whatever this place was, it’s been dead for many, many years. I’m also assuming that any place around here that possesses some sort of basement has it occupied by walking corpses, just like where my old cocoon was.
Cocoon. How am I so calm about coming out of a cocoon? That’s not how people come into this world, right? And my hands… they were weird. In fact, they feel really hot right at this moment.
I hold up my arms to look at them, and see them crusted with old, dusty gore from the corpses, but as I watch they start to glow red. The gore and filth burn away into the air, leaving my hands clean and sanitary, but still the lanky and pale shape as before.
“What am I?” I croak, still incredibly thirsty.

Nasal lets go of his ear and gives me a hard look.
“Back up, we’re going in there,” he says, pointing to my right and behind me. I walk backwards up the sidewalk until a hidden set of stairs comes into my view. I’d noticed it before but decided to ignore it until it was pointed out by these people. Nasal walks towards the stairway to head down, but Rumbly stays where he is and waves me forward.
“You first, Mr Sweeper,” he orders me.
“My pleasure,” I say and follow Nasal down to a very thick set of steel doors. He knocks four times, filling the air with the clang of metal. A slit at eye level slides open, and a third pair of suspicious eyes can be seen.
“We have someone for the boss,” Nasal says and gestures with his thumb towards me. The eyes shift over to me and I smile confidently. The slide slams shut and the door shudders with a loud clonk from the other side, then opens up. Another man with a long coat inside stands back, keeping one hand on the short, stubby firearm hanging onto his side from a black strap hanging off of his shoulder. It looks deadly and efficient, especially for long, narrow corridors.

Good. Hopefully I can get to the Basement and back before she wakes up. I sneak into her room to look for something I’m hoping is there, while cursing my stupidity with Stephen and forgetting about that little detail in the moment. Thankfully, I find what I’m looking for and take a set.
Time to set out.
In the event that she wakes up before I get back, I decide to write a note and leave it on the table in front of her.
“Hey Len. I’m taking a walk. I’m not gone, I haven’t left or anything like that, I just needed to stretch out my muscles with some movement. I couldn’t wake you up because you looked so tired. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”
-Erika”
She’s going to be soooo mad at you.

Writing progress for Scales of the Progenitor: 404 words written for today.

“She can stay with me!” Len says, suddenly bright and excited.
“What?” I ask, as it seems to be my turn to be confused.
“Oh, you’ll love it! I have a view where you can see a sliver of the ocean, there’s a street that leads right to it! I have a pull-out couch you can use and extra blankets and pillows some friends left there for me! I have a fridge and extra food and running water! It’ll be great!”
“Len,” Chen says as if to caution the bubbly redhead.
“Oh Chen, I don’t think Erika here will be any trouble, I’ve been with her all morning and she’s been nothing but sweet, if a bit confused!”
“No, Len. I don’t think your assigned landlord will like that very much. You know overcrowding restrictions are being tightened.”
“Well then I’ll be sure not to tell her! She hasn’t bothered to check up in months anyway! I had to fix my own toilet last month by myself because she didn’t answer her phone all day!” Len says hotly.

Progress for Scales of the Progenitor: 67908 words total, 2171 for today.

She stares into my eyes, and I can see pain, despair and regret in them. “I wanted to tell you this once this happened in a much easier way, much less painful. Val ruined that chance. Milly, we have to say. Lets go back there and I can help you understand.”
“No! What are you doing, Clara?” I ask harshly as I back away, back to the open front door. Clara’s eyes widen as she sees my movement and she hold up her hands like she’s trying to calm a spooked animal. Me. I’m the spooked animal.
“Okay, okay, nobody's going to force you to do anything you don’t want to, Milly, but can I ask you one thing before you do anything?”

“How’s the coffee?” Len asks, and I look at my hands.
“Oh, I haven’t yet,” I say, then bring the disposable cup up to my lips and take a sip.
The liquid is hot, hotter than anything I’ve eaten yet, but it’s good for some reason. Glorious, even. The taste, the aroma that infuses my sense of smell, the thick, rich texture of the liquid. All of it sends shivers of pleasure through my entire being. I swallow after savouring it for a second, and shots of electricity fire up my body as it slides down. I take another sip, and feel my entire body almost start to vibrate with new energy.
“Oh my god,” I say, staring at the cup and resisting the urge to just chug the whole thing then and there. That would look incredibly suspicious. And would also cut down on the pleasure.
“Hah! I know that expression! And the bearclaw?” Len asks, and I can hear the grin besides me. I take a bite, and it’s good but not nearly as good as the coffee. It’s something solid at least.
“Good,” I say while chewing. Len giggles, and the sensation travels up my arm and does strange things to my insides.

The nails withdraw back into my hand, and I feel the heat inside raise up as a specific and unique biological process occurs. The pain lances up my arm as more carbon is extracted from the surrounding flesh and bone, just a tiny amount from every part and put through the torture that is needed here and now.
Minutes pass, and the torture ends. Now a new one begins as I extend my nails out once again. Instead of the shiny black obsidian, they now emerge as sparkly clear constructs of incredible hardness and unforgiving edges that cut my fingers apart from the inside as they emerge.
This is not the most pain I’ve felt, but it’s pretty up there.
Well I’ll be…
I look from the bloodstained diamond to the whirling display of bending physics, to back to the nails, and I make my final decision.
In one fluid movement I stab the nails right into the heart of the machine, then twist and break them off right at the roots before the machine can pull me in. Gears and energy grind against pure diamond, louder than any alarm. The noise puts my teeth on edge and nearly makes me gag. Somewhere behind the wall, a series of distressing glonks and snaps can be heard, ones that progress deeper into the structure of the Spire.

Picrew portrait of Genevieve Stander, green hair, frog hat, mushroom earrings, green eyes, glasses.

Movement ahead steals my attention away from the newspaper and towards where Clara’s holding a broom and attempting to sweep despite looking exhausted. She’s still wearing her big ear-covering headphones I’ve never seen her without, the one with the fox ears on. Specifically fox ears, not cat ears, she was very specific on that detail. Her hair hangs down to her waist in a waterfall of deep, deep red, the kind of colour that usually only comes out of a bottle but is completely natural for her somehow. I’ve never seen any kind of hair dye product in the apartment, ever, and she never goes to a hair-stylist.
“Clara! What are you doing?” I ask with concern, and I see her jump slightly and spin around to fix me with her pale blue eyes and an expression of shocked surprise.
“Milly? What are you doing home?” she asks in turn.
“I asked you first!”
Her eyes flick to the broom in her hand and back to me. “Look, I just felt like cleaning a bit, nothing serious! Just sweeping isn’t a crime!”
“Okay, okay, look I’m just… are you feeling okay today?” I ask, trying to shift the conversation a bit so as not to sound accusatory.
“Yes, the new medicine is helping wonderfully! I finished two commission and got paid, too! I have the rent money for next month!” She looks so proud as she says this, and I feel proud too. Her art and writing is so good, and she’s starting to get good traction. It may end up being our sole income for a while, a prospect that makes me hate myself.

Writing progress on Scales of the Progenitor for June 26: 2485 words written for a total of 60449.

We Write At Dawn Anthology
Volume One: Defiance
Contributing Authors:
Sam Accardi
Lillian Bricker
R. K. Bryant
L. M. du Plessis
Jacob Foster
Solane Jute
Kiwa Lowe
Sean McMullen
Kai Nobel
Carolina Pereira
M. A. Sawchuk
Hawk Stevenson
Sam W. Tennyson
August B. Ward

“The other one said something about Persistence. What is that?”
“The last human city in this part of the world! Here, you can see the Spire through those ruined buildings right there!” he says, pointing ahead and to our left. “It’s the center of the city, where all the tech that keeps humanity alive comes from! Neat, isn’t it?”
As if saying the words flipped a switch in my head, I see the beam of brilliant light shine up into the sky around a distant tall white tower structure. I feel drawn to it, and I have to resist the urge to just start running towards it all of a sudden.
“Are we going there?” I ask him after getting control over myself.
“Yup! Gonna have to go through quarantine first, though! I mean, the discriminator says your clean, but have to be really sure, don’t we? There are better scanners at the gates, but I’m sure you’ll pass no problem! Then you’ll get sorted on the other side and start a new, safe life behind nice, thick walls and more anti-zombie gun turrets than anyone can count!”

Chapter 14
Punishment

Realisation can be a real bucket of cold water, specifically the realisation that my black, smooth and obsidian-shiny head will be framed from behind by the distant street light. At the very least the light over the window is broken, which means me creeping up on it is not illuminated and therefore not visible to the rest of the street. Stopping just short of the open window, I listen intently to the interior. I hear… something I’m not familiar with. Several people talking at each other, but the sound quality is weird. There also seems to be… music?
I also hear someone shift in a seat. I can hear leather creaking and a wooden leg shift on bare concrete. A piece of furniture being moved around. The collection of sounds makes no sense to me, and after a few minutes my patience is getting thin. If someone walks nearby, no amount of darkness will hide me, so I make a decision.
I very slowly poke my head into view of the basement room beyond. The view is not what I’m expecting.

Week 3 /day 21 writing progress for Scales of the Prognitor: 52228 words written, average 2487 written a day out of a minimum 2000.

The warm rays of the sun are pleasant on my skin, and the heat seeps deep down into my bones. There’s no real actual effect that I can detect, but it is a relaxing sensation.
I owe Lenora a lot for the last day. She somehow got hold of something called a pool lounger, a long chair to lay down on, and put it on the roof herself, then dragged me up to it so I could soak up the sun. I even have a blanket to help keep me warmer.
I watch the swarm of aircraft buzz over REDACTED, and no doubt entire hordes of other city emergency response vehicles on the ground. The sirens were on until morning’s first light, and the entire city is still buzzing from the event. No wonder, as REDACTED since the beginning, at least from what Len told me earlier.
I think this is the time to start asking questions again.
“Morgan,” I say out loud since there’s no one around to hear.
Yes?

I stare at all of this for a second until the machines lose interest and turn away again, and relief boils off of me like steam.
“Sorry about that, miss. Can’t be too careful,” one of the guards that had run around the arch says to me.
“It’s fine. Can we go now?” I ask.
“Right this way!” he replies and waves me towards the gate to the waiting group of survivors. They all look at me with alarm and suspicion.
There’s another, smaller doorway set into the gate right here, about four meters high and six wide. It opens with well-oiled mechanical precision as I approach the other survivors and hear the guards close in around us.
“Welcome to Persistence!” one guard says as we step over the threshold of the gate and start walking inside.

I wait for a few seconds, wondering if the voice will check in again expecting a specific answer, but nothing comes. A good thing, too, as I’m in the back car, busy putting on Darla’s clothes and trying to remember what she sounds like exactly so my voice matches the body shape I’ve taken on. That’s when I find a bank blue keycard on her body, which I stow in a pocket then head back towards the control room.
The subway car lights illuminate the end of the tracks up ahead, and I manipulate the speed lever so it stops right at the end. There’s a platform to the right of the car, and I walk through the opening doors onto it. A man wearing what could only be a security uniform, complete with handgun on his side holster, approaches me with a clipboard.
“Right. Says here four containers to unload. Where are the others?” he asks as he looks up.
“Inside. No one to unload here?” I ask him, and he looks surprised by the question.
“That’s your job, genius. Grav-trolleys are there as usual. Get to it,” he says and points to a far corner where several platforms with handles at chest height hover off of the floor.

Cover reveal for the WWAD First Anthology (theme: defiance)
Close-view background of a green, mossy and leafy surface. On it lays the hilt of a sword, showing the first part of the blade. The hilt is black with gold metal working and a single red gem set into it. A hand lays across the hilt, half-gripping it, as if ready to spring into action at a moments notice.

Plus shot of back cover featuring with the text: "A collection of short fiction, poetry, essays and experimental works by independent writers from the We Write At Dawn Community.
Journey with us through heartfelt personal stories, violent resistance, giggle-worthy satire, nail-biting horror, the end of the world, and so much more -- all in the name of defiance."

“Here to see the boss,” Nasal says, and Guard takes a few seconds before opening the door himself, just turning the doorknob with no lock involved, something I take good note of. Nasal sighs and heads in, and I follow.
The room inside is plush. A thick red carpet covers the floor, with an extra ornate rug occupying the central space. On this rug rests a large, dark brown and red wood desk, shiny with new varnish. It’s work surface is decorated by several items, including a computer monitor, keyboard of some type, papers, ceramic ornaments of elephants, a smoking ashtray and a bottle of something with two glasses. I can smell the alcohol with some sort of woody overtones to it, and I have to fight my stomach to not instantly retch at the stench.
The walls on either side are occupied with large bookcases, half filled with books and half with more ornaments. One holds some sort of display case with two handguns and twelve silvery bullets in plain sight.
The light from above almost blinds me for a second, it’s so bright. I glance up to see an actual crystal chandelier hanging from the low roof. How it’s not hanging down to face level is beyond me, as I can’t see past the light.