Tilian analyzed the structure of the giant robot, it seemed to be rather crudely put together, but he could not quite figure out how. Suddenly, two figures in black armor rushed from the other side of the dig to in front of Bard. They were the BMC soldiers from before, the ones that Tilian and his siblings could not hope to survive against in a real fight. “Looks like we got a prison break,” said the BMC Soldier on the right. “And it seems to have been orchestrated by that Language Consultant the boss just fired,” said the one on the left. He looked directly at Bard. “Oh, you didn’t hear? Yeah, our employer does not want the secret of his new weapon getting out, so he is having us kill you, just like the last translator.” The two soldiers began to raise their swords into the air. Within that split second, Bard had pulled out his flute and Tilian, along with his siblings, instinctively covered their ears. Bard blew int
Shabaka slowly got back up to her knees. Her first loss was painful, a depression fell over her, one that made her enraged. She felt as if the world had come to an end, and she had to wonder why she cared so much about this game with her siblings. The fight to hold back the tears was even harder than the one she just had with Smalls. A large green hand reached out to her. Shabaka looked up and saw the gentle giant smiling. She wanted to knock the hand away and spit in the face of the one who had beat her, but she couldn’t. Not only because she knew it was inherently wrong, but because she was not really angry at him, she was angry at the concept of defeat itself. She took his hand, rose, and hugged him. She felt comfortable in his humongous and strong arms, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat and his chest rise and fall. This gentle and kind creature had just been extremely violent, it was that family fire. Shabaka went back to the sidelines and
It was all hell; it was all suffering. Nothing in the world could make him happy no matter how hard he tried, not his interests, not eating his comfort foods, not even the people he loved. No matter what, this miserable world would not let him be happy. The older he got the more aware of everything he became the more he saw the ugly side of it all. Everything he thought he could trust turned out to be a lie, every bit of good he thought he could do for the world turned out to either be pointless or actively harmful to the thing he was trying to help. The only thing he thought he did right and was good were the things that made the people he loved happy. Even if he did not feel that happiness, he wanted to make them feel it. They were the only thing that made his life worth living, not the people how good he was just for doing his job, the job he had to do to put food on the table, not people asking him to be selfless and to suffer when that was his only option. It was the p
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