NoaG: Aftermath [34]

Thank you, u/SpacePaladin15 for this universe. May you always feel the passion of creation!

And thank you, u/TheManwithaNoPlan for all your work! This story is just as much yours as it is mine, and I cannot express just how honored I am to have you as my friend.

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{Well, that was sweet… for the most part. Smooth moves tying all those transcripts together using Rolem’s speech by the way.}

<What? I thought that was you!>

{Me? Why would I do that? It was a pre-programmed automated process, so I figured- it was Leraninro wasn’t it, it’s going to be Leraninro.}

**-Message3.txf Added To: Personal Files-**

<...I’ll be honest, I was too engrossed in the plot going on to really question it.>

{Yeah, same. I guess we ought to read it? What are the chances it’s another Mute file?}

<Almost guaranteed. Hopefully there’s a bit more context on how this is even *possible*. If this turns out to be some kind of sick joke on his part, I swear I’m going to strangle that worm.>

{And you still haven’t told him about what’s going on.}

<Okay wise guy, *you* try telling your friend that he’s sending you messages from hundreds of years in the past with the timestamps to match? He’s *not* that talented in programming, that much I know for sure.>

{What, and abandon my primary function? I mean, it that’s what you *want,* then—}

<Shut, shut, shut it shut it shush. I… look, I’ll do it eventually, okay? Besides, he hasn’t been in classes as much lately, something about trying to restore some kind of junk program.>

{...Hm. Let’s just read the message and get it over with.}

<Yeah, yeah good idea.>

**-Opening Message3.txf…-**

**“Heya, hopefully you enjoyed the show I put on for you! I thought that the whole ‘jumping from one POV to another with the background of Tarlim getting appointed to the foreman position’ was a nice touch, and knowing you, Jacqsi, I figured you’d feel the same. In any case, I’m sure you’ve got questions about what’s going on, and I wish I could answer them all for you, but there’s a time and place for everything, something I’ve learned the hard way. Hopefully you’ll bear with me a little longer and keep the memory of the past alive, in all its imperfections and ugliness. Vee’s right, this is going to be another transcription from the Stalker, one that’s on the verge of disuse deletion if my estimations are correct. I won’t force your hand this time, but I will strongly urge you to click the link at the end of this message.** **Don’t let the memory fade.** **-L”**

{...Okay how the *fu—*}

<Okay yeah, unless he’s somehow tapped into our closed-loop neuro-computational matrix, there’s no way this is a prank. Run a security scan?}

{Already done, *thrice.* No breaches, no data packets, no passive transmissions, nothing. I… think it might be worth it to see what he wants us to see.}

<...Okay. Dammit, and here I was hoping for more hopeful stuff.>

**{-External Prompt Injection Detected — Open Specified Transcription File? (Y)/N-}**

**{-Opening…-}**

**{-Warning: Public Criminal Memory Transcription Accessed - Potentially Distressing Content Detected-}**

**{-Proceed?: (Y)/N-}**

**{-Playing…-}**

**Memory Transcript: \[REDACTED\] Aka “Mute”. Date: \[Standardized Human Time\] November 6th, 2136.**

*Celebrations.*

My ears twitch as I listen, the rowdy barks of a human caught by them as I stand still on the unpaved roadway. I swipe my payment and give the taxi a farewell wave of my tail, as is proper for someone providing a good service to the Herd. They leave shortly thereafter, which is for the best. I do not need any indications of my arrival, and innocent prey do not need to be involved in such dealings without proper training.

If all goes well, then their services will not be required again.

The fence along the property is tall, made of metal and topped with barbed wire. A proper precaution for such a rural area, wild predators still abound here despite the best intentions of the Exterminator Guilds in such areas. Its purpose is twisted by its inhabitants, though. They have let predators inside the gate, and if the noises coming from within are any indication, it has gone as expected.

Predators cheering. Where that is, suffering and taint is sure to be. Protected by the very apparatus meant to keep them out. A perversion of the highest order.

The problematic matter is not getting in, the fence is more than thin enough for a vibroblade to cut through without issue. Rather, its inhabitants are the primary concern. Aside from the rowdy predators within, there are those who would provide such monsters quarter. I have seen such things before, misplaced empathy for beings lacking it, an avenue for taint to spread its reach.

An infection. More insidious than any pathogen or bacteria. More dangerous than any plague or sickness. More infectious than any ailment known to medical science, only purged through the purity of flame.

~~So why couldn’t I pull the trigger when it mattered?~~

To my east was the designated entrance to the property. To my west was the wooded area left undeveloped. The office in this district is too busy keeping order in the city to bother with such properties, keeping the tainted away from good prey. One on this property knows this, as he seeks to overturn their decision to release the tainted. He harbors predators, so it is of no shock that he would wish to further surround himself with taint ~~as I once did, it didn’t feel like taint.~~

Yet that taint he surrounds himself with seems to have a different effect on him. His suit, that weapon, those normally would have caused a herd to reject him. But the town here, the herd, *embraces* him with signs of positivity. All because what should have driven him to bloodlust and predation instead worked towards cleansing the most tainted beings of all. Driven to destroy the  Arxur that had landed in this town and let him be known as a protector of the herd.

I step forward, the harvest parting for me as I make my way forward. Ipsom stalks grow tall in the fields surrounding the main collection of structures, taller than most Venlil. A safe place, hidden if needed, with the bend in the driveway letting the stalks hide the farm proper from the road. Not unless you know where to look. And look I do.

Contradictions prove the cornerstone of the fielder’s existence. He is a protector, he has a family, yet he still brought predators right into his midst. Even now, they clearly cause him problems, though such things do not bother him from an outsider’s view, not with the confidence of which he marches. That misplaced assuredness is a death sentence in the presence of predators ~~as much as I was with my lover and her dad.~~

I reach forward slowly, parting the grain so my eye can gaze through the empty space left between. I stare at a heritage farm, a main building built of brown brick set long and low. The many gaps in the wall indicate enough rooms to hold upwards of five families, parents and children all. By the 6 trucks parked in the driveway, it is only reasonable to assure that the whole family was currently upon the property. Was a proper herd conjoined by a familial heritage ~~and what heritage did I have what heritage would I leave?~~

A playground separates me from the primary compound, a convoluted construction of wood and plastic rainwater pipes clearly assembled together by paw. A thing I understood to be common in the rural areas. Well used, if the deep, dusty divot at the base of the slide and fresh prints by the see-saw and spinner are to be taken at face value. I creep forward, low and steady to avoid the Ipsom stalks’ rustling alerting any wary groundskeepers. My gaze constricts as I realize three sets are fresh; there are pups on this land. The innocent and pure that need protection.

***—SHATTER!!—***

A sound hit my ears, jolting them up. Glass shattering. Behind the house! *Emergency.*

I dash forward, rounding the long building in shadow to obtain a better grasp on what is happening. I take stock of my surroundings as I move: four buildings, closest a tractor shed, farthest grain storage and processing, biggest of them all. The sound originated from one of the structures in the middle. The second shed has the appearance of recent retrofits, it must be where they’re housing the humans and thus the most likely spot for the danger. But no, my ears twitch as I attune them to the harsh barking that constitutes human voices. It is coming from the final building, the one looking like it had been assembled from spare scrap from other buildings. Sheet metal roof, paneling walls, steel beams set in the ground by hastily-poured concrete. The door was opened away from me. There were human barks coming from it. Human barks, and *Venlil* beeps.

*Caution, don’t lose control of the herd.*

I stand straight and approach the building, as any passerby would after hearing the commotion. My translator begins to make sense out of the words now that the distance is closed. Arrogant and angry, a human is speaking. “-even approach us and all still expecting us to break our backs for them! Of course we won’t put up with it!”

“You’re not putting up with anything,” another voice joins. I recognize it: the armored one, Sven. “You signed up for housing *in addition to* a job on this farm! The forms we sent were more than clear on the expectations, and I know you all read the agreement.”

“Ah, Fuck your expectations.” The same human. Staggered, slurred, the translator suggests intoxication. That is bad; a lucid predator has strategy, an impaired predator has reckless strength. “You aliens are jusss- jjustt here to put us down again!  Just another thing we have to give up to appease you pppeople!”

There are murmurs in agreement to that statement, murmurs that hit me just as I reach the open door to understand the situation inside. There are at least 10 adult Venlil huddled together near the entrance—all black and gray coats—but despite the 8 humans standing opposite and the armored Sven standing firm in front of one human, my attention shifts to the absolutely massive still and distillery that occupies the majority of space in the shed. By the outlet, where the drink would be poured into barrels for storage, are multiple jars strewn across both the floor and said barrels.