Stupid Sexy Cryptids [Ch 13, 14, 15] (Patreon)

13. Fake It to Make It

“I don’t think she has one of those,” I guessed, wincing internally and expecting for my house of card-lies to collapse around me dramatically.

The Admiral's expression shifted slightly. "Good, that was a trick question, only a weak Omnid would reject their family and create a Kaleid name for themselves. Next question! Tell me this: What is her preferred hunting form?"

Hunting form? What? I was about to panic when Shady crawled into view on all fours, antlers decorated with an entire drawer's worth of kitchen utensils. I shooed at her to stop following me without saying so directly. 

"HUNT! HUNT! Circle BEEP! This is… hunting!" she announced, then dropped into an exaggerated stalking pose that looked more like an oversized house cat hopping around me than a deadly predator.

"She... prefers to hunt as herself without armor or weapons on," I said, inspiration striking. "No alternate form. She takes pride in her natural capabilities."

The Admiral tisked. "She always was stubborn about that. Very well. Final question: What did she name her first claimed territory?"

My mind raced. 

First claimed territory... She'd mentioned claiming various properties jokingly with me, but the first? Then it hit me—the cardboard fort we'd built together when we were kids. She'd declared it a fun-sized version of some specific, claimed citadel… but cooler because it was our own castle. Starshade made a big ceremony of it, waving a sword-shaped stick around and dubbed it…

"Castle Bladecross," I said. "She said every great empire starts with a single stronghold."

A long silence. Even Sillicia seemed to be holding her breath.

"Hrm," the Admiral pursed her lips. "Yes, she made that claim when she was just a small…" She cut herself off, realizing she'd just confirmed my answer.

"As I said," I continued, pressing the advantage, "The Princess trusted me with many secrets."

The Admiral's projection straightened. "This proves nothing except that you've had contact with her. You could have tortured this information from her."

“When?” I asked. “And why would I torture her for these specific random facts?”

The Admiral glared at me, clearly not interested in my rationalizations.

"TORTURE! BEEP! This is a circle torture!" Shady sang happily, bouncing around with a colander as a hat. "DING DONG TORTURE!"

"Your 'parrot' has an interesting vocabulary," Sillicia observed.

"They simply copy what they overhear," I shrugged. "They are very simple, impressionable creatures."

The Admiral made a dismissive gesture. "Enough games. I will make you a single offer, Emperor. Produce my niece for a brief conversation, just long enough for me to verify her wellbeing with my own eyes, and I will order the search suspended."

"And if she refuses to leave with you to Omnithornia?"

"That is of no concern of yours, kobold," the Admiral stated unmoved. "I must see her. In person. I must know she's not under duress or compulsion of any kind."

I glanced back at Shady, who was now trying to fit inside a large empty box like a cat, making airplane noises. There was no way I could present her to the Admiral in this state. She'd either think I'd brain-damaged her niece or figure out what Shady had done to herself, which might be worse.

"I need time to convince the Princess to cut her vacation short," I said. 

"How long?"

"A week," I said, praying that would be enough time for Shady's brain to reassemble itself. "Perhaps two."

"Unacceptable. I'll give you three days."

"You know how stubborn she—"

"Three days, or I resume my search. Aggressively. Plowing right through your most populated cities." The Admiral leaned forward. "And Emperor? If I discover you've been lying to me, if you've harmed my niece in any way, I will personally ensure your death takes more than ten thousand years."

"Understood."

The hologram winked out, leaving Commander Sillicia staring at the drone.

"Three days," she repeated. "The Admiral is being… remarkably generous. Consider me impressed, Emperor."

"Yeah, super generous," I muttered.

"Be aware,” Sillicia added. “Our fleet will remain in orbit. The Seekers will continue passive scanning. Any attempt to move the Princess off-world via dimensional gates will be... intercepted with a nullifier fired from one of our own gates.”

“Understood.” I said. 

“I would also really appreciate it if the princess talked to me,” Sillicia added quietly. “Maybe I could personally convince her to…”

“Sorry, she doesn't want to be disturbed by anyone at the moment. Can you release my drone back to the wild?”

“Sure.” Sillicia picked up the drone carefully. "I shall return this device to the location where it descended from. Three days, Emperor. Use them wisely."

The call ended. I ripped off the mask and goggles, gasping for air. My face and shirt were completely soaked through with sweat.

My tablet immediately buzzed with Dax calling.

"DUDE," he said the moment I answered. "Fuuuuck."

"I bought us three days," I said.

"Three days for what? To teach the princess how to stop making weird beeping noises?"

"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" Shady agreed from her box. "This is Emperor fort!"

"Something like that," I said, watching her paw at my direction from the cardboard box like a cat. "Dax, I need you to do something else for me."

"What now, my Emperor?” He chortled.

"Monitor the news for any other weaknesses we can exploit."

“Can do. Anything else?”

“Uhhh… I dunno, what do the people think about this?”

"You mean besides the fact that you're already trending on G like crazy? Some Polish intern leaked footage from inside the palace. You're a freaking meme now. 'Emperor of Earth Negotiates with Aliens Using Drone.' People think it's either the greatest hoax or the biggest balls move in human history."

"Sheeeet,” I rubbed my face.

"Yeah. Oh, and the Pope just announced he's praying for the Emperor of Earth's wisdom in these trying times."

"The Pope?"

"Yeah, apparently you're being discussed at the Vatican. The Orthodox Patriarch in Moscow too. Something about 'humanity's unexpected defender.' China's claiming the Emperor is probably Chinese. America's saying he's obviously American because of his confidence and speaking in English."

I swallowed.

"The whole world's going nuts over this! But hey, at least the aliens aren't actively murdering people anymore. The crystal centipedes have relaxed. Still scanning, but not eating anyone."

"Small miracles," I muttered.

"Ash... What are you going to do in three days? You can't exactly present her if she’s that high.”

I looked at Shady who stared at me from the box with wide silver eyes. “Emperor… this is fort. Fort!”

"I have absolutely no idea," I admitted. "But I've got 72 hours to figure it out. Maybe she’ll act a bit more rational by then.”

"Well," Dax said, "if you need me to fly more drones around, I'm your guy.”

“Oh, that drone and tablet,” I said. “Fly them into the Vistula river.”

“Good idea, if a tad expensive if we have to keep doing this,” Dax sighed. “Can’t leave evidence for aliens to track from their ships in orbit though. Is prolly why that commander released it, to see where it will fly back to. In other news, sis thinks it is a marketing opportunity.”

"How’s an alien invasion a marketing opportunity?"

"Dude, have you met humans? Someone's probably already selling 'I Survived the Moon Chunk' t-shirts, I bet."

He had a point.

"Aight. Keep monitoring the net," I said. "And Dax? Thanks. For the drone help and for trusting me with this insanity."

"What are best friends for if not committing light treason against the entire planet?" He joked. "Hrm. We're not actually committing treason, right?"

"I don't think impersonating a fictional position counts as treason."

"You literally claimed to be Emperor of Earth to an alien military force."

"Yeah, but Earth doesn't have an Emperor, so technically I'm impersonating no one."

"I don’t think that’s how laws work, Ash."

“I’m the Emperor, I make up the laws!” I joked back.

“Uh-huh. Hum. Hang on, the commander and wolf ladies parked their centipede across Krakowskie Przedmieście and are… heading to a pub now. They just walked past my van.”

“A pub?”

“Yeah. Molly Malone's. The few patrons that were there just ran the fuck out.”

“Hrm,” I pursed my lips.

“What. That’s a thinking face. What are you thinking?”

“Just drawing some conclusions,” I scratched my goatee. “A)They’re not afraid of us. B)They know what pubs are. Presumably, if they’re anything like human soldiers in conquered territory, they’re going to drink themselves stupid now.”

“You think so?”

“They speak English," I said. “Which is rather odd for aliens. Things aren’t adding up in my head. I need to know more.”

“I ain't going into that pub dude, what if they smell that I'm the Emperor's right hand and abduct me?”

“Do you not have tons of IRL and online friends, Dax?”

“I do, I’m not a hermit like some people.”

“Get them together.” I said.

"Get them together for what?" Dax asked suspiciously.

"Information gathering. Spywork.”

“Spywork? Against wolves who can smell lies?”

“Yes, they can smell lies, but they also can't tell fiction from reality. And they're about to get drunk in a pub."

"So?"

"So we need people who can go in there and overhear things without being directly connected to me. Like a game of telephone, but for spy shit." I explained.

"Ash, that's like the dumbest—"

"Wait, hear me out. You have friends, right? And those friends have friends? We need people at least three or four degrees separated from you and me. People who genuinely don't know who we are, so even if their minds get read, the wolves won't find anything useful."

"Okay..." Dax said slowly. "But who the hell is going to voluntarily walk into a pub full of tall-as-fuck alien wolf soldiers with giant guns?"

I grinned. "Dax, didn't you tell me that your friend Marek's girlfriend went to some furry convention in Krakow last year?"

"Yeah, Futrołajki, but what does—" He stopped. "Oh. Oh no. You're not serious."

"Think about it. Who better to approach giant anthropomorphic wolves than people who literally dress up as anthropomorphic animals for fun?"

"CIRCLE WOLF! BEEP!" Shady contributed from her box fort. "This is a wolf circle!"

"That's nuts. Ash, you’re completely nuts." Dax said. "But then again, that's... actually kind of brilliant. But still nuts."

"Look, tell your friend to tell his girlfriend to spread the word in her furry group chat or whatever. Alien wolf ladies are drinking at Molly Malone's. For all we know, they might think furries are just another Earth species."

"You want me to weaponize Polish furries against an alien invasion?" Dax chortled.

"I want you to facilitate uhhh… cultural exchange," I corrected. "If some of those furries happen to overhear useful information and pass it along through several degrees of separation back to the Emperor’s right hand man, well..."

"This is the weirdest conversation I've ever had, and that includes the time you tried to explain your distributed computing blockchain idea while high on energy drinks."

"That was a good idea!"

"It was three AM and you kept insisting we could 'mine cryptocurrency with potatoes.'"

"The math checked out!"

"No, it didn't. But fine, I'll call Marek. His girlfriend Anka is pretty active in that community. But What exactly are we hoping to learn?"

"Anything. Everything. How many ships they have, what their technology limitations are, whether they have any weaknesses. Hell, even just learning what they drink or what they hate or like could be useful. It would be nice to know where they’re from since the Princess wouldn’t spill the beans about it."

"You think drunk aliens will spill military secrets?"

"I think lonely soldiers far from home always talk too much when they drink. It's universal. Multiversal, perhaps."

"MULTIVERSAL CIRCLE DOOR!" Shady announced, having somehow gotten her antlers stuck in the box flap hole. "BEEP! Help! Circle help!"

I walked over and freed her from the cardboard flap. She immediately hugged my leg.

"Emperor circle best circle," she declared solemnly.

"Aight mang," Dax said. "I'll make some calls."

"Should we give them a cover story? Like they heard there were really impressive wolf costumes at the pub and wanted to see?" I pondered.

"These are furries we're talking about. They won't need a cover story to approach giant wolf people. They'll probably ask for photos."

"Even better. Makes them seem harmless." I laughed.

"They ARE harmless. They're computer nerds who design elaborate animal costumes!"

"Exactly. The perfect spies. No one suspects the furries." I said solemnly.

"'No one suspects the furries' is not a sentence I expected to say during an alien invasion." Dax laughed.

"These are unprecedented times, Dax."

"Right. I'll get on it. Marek owes me a favor anyway from when I helped him move. Anything else, your imperial majesty? Should we like start the resistance while we’re at it?"

“Yes.”

“You’re… serious?” My Polish friend stated.

“Very. We don’t know how long these aliens are going to stay on Earth. Maybe forever.”

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”

“I try.” I shrugged. "Aight. Listen and note: Basic resistance cell structure. Each cell has three to five people max. They only know their immediate contacts - one person above them, one below. No cross-communication between cells."

"Uh-huh," Dax said, and I could hear him typing rapidly on his computer while he chatted to me on his phone. "So like a pyramid scheme but for not getting murdered by aliens?"

"More like a tree structure. If one cell gets compromised by the Scrutimancers, they can only reveal a maximum of six people - their own cell plus their immediate contacts."

"TREE! CIRCLE TREE!" Shady announced, having acquired a half dead potted plant from somewhere and holding it above her head like Simba. "This is a pyramid!"

"Sure is," I agreed absently. "Dax, you still there?"

"Yeah, texting Wojtek about this. He's got connections in the military. Hang on." More rapid typing sounds. "Okay, he says several units are already doing something similar. The Americans apparently activated something called Gladio protocols? Whatever that is."

"Cold War stay-behind networks," I said. "Figures they'd have contingencies since the US government surrendered to the alien fleet.”

"You know way too much random shit."

"I read a lot of Wikipedia when I can't sleep. Anyway, each cell should have a specific function. Intelligence gathering, communication, supplies, whatever. Keep them specialized."

"Like classes in an RPG?"

"If that helps you explain it, sure."

"EMPEROR CLASS BEST CLASS!" Shady declared, having given up on the plant to gnaw on a wooden spoon. "BEEP! Level up! Circle experience points!"

Dax snorted. "Is she getting worse or better?"

"Honestly, I can't tell," I admitted. "But yeah, cells. Make sure everyone knows to keep thinking lots of fictional thoughts. Before interacting with the sniffers, play video games about fighting aliens, read sci-fi books, watch movies, but stop reading and watching on a cliffhanger so that the mind thinks about it naturally. The more cliffhanger fiction the resistance consumes, the harder it'll be for the wolves to separate real intel from pop culture noise."

"So you're saying the best resistance fighters are nerds?"

"I'm saying our imagination is literally our best defense right now. Tell the cell leaders to teach their followers to separate their minds into two. To practice thinking really hard about superheroes and magic with the front of their brain whenever they talk to the aliens.”

"Marek just texted back," Dax said. "Anka's crew is excited about the 'wolf lady meetup.' They're already coordinating costumes. Jesus, they move fast."

"Perfect. Tell them to be friendly. Just enthusiastic fans who heard about impressive visitors."

"Already did. Also, my cousin in Gdańsk says there's a dog-person there who's been trying to interrogate a comic book store employee for three hours. She's convinced Spider-Man is real and that the Doom League are hiding somewhere in the city plotting nefarious deeds."

"See? Their confusion is our advantage,” I looked at Shady who was bobbing in her box. “Oh! Everyone in each cell should wear masks.”

“Like balaclavas?”

“No, like masks of famous… characters.” I said. “From a Halloween shop. And cell members should refer to each other using generic nicknames. But not made up ones. The nicknames should also correlate to famous characters. The more famous, the better. Wicked Witch, Spider-man, Darth Vader, Julius Ciezar etc. The aliens already think that super heroes are real. Let’s really hammer that in. Hide the resistance behind a mountain of human cultural zeitgeist.”

“Holy shit, dude,” Dax chortled. “That’s devious.” 

"My Emperor is a devious BEEP!" Shady announced. I offered her a hand and she nuzzled into it, eyes squinting into half moons.

“You’ll need a code name as my second,” I said.

“Does it have to be a full mask? My face breaks out if I sweat too much.”

“Nah. Just has to be culturally significant. It could be historic. Like… I dunno, Napoleon?”

“Pffff. I don’t look like Napoleon. Oh… I know. Zorro! Half mask, hat, moustache, gloves.”

“There you go. Welcome to the resistance, Zorro.” 

Dax laughed. His name on Telegram changed to Zorro.

"Aight, spread the word, Zorro. I have to go," I said as Shady began to lick my fingers, probably demanding to be fed. "The Princess needs... management."

"Good luck, Emperor. Try not to start any more intergalactic incidents."

I hung up and turned to Shady.

Three days. I had three days to somehow restore her mind, or at least teach her to fake being a coherent alien princess long enough to fool her aunt.

The fate of Earth depended on me successfully rehabilitating a brain-scrambled cryptid who currently thought everything was either a circle or a square.

"Shady," I said. "We need to practice being a royal princess."

"PRINCESS!" she shouted. "This is a circle BEEP! princess! BEEP BEEP Ash! LET’S ROYALLY BEEP!"

This was going to be a very long three days.

14. First Contact

Piotr Grabowski swallowed nervously as he adjusted the gray lynx head one final time atop of his medieval laminar armor. Through the black mesh below the yellow eye-glass lenses, he could see Molly Malone's pub looking deceptively normal in the late evening light.

"Alright, brave warriors," Anka called from the driver's seat of her battered Honda, passing back bottles of Żywiec. "Liquid courage for everyone. We're making history here!"

"History of headlines," muttered Tomek, his blue-silver werewolf Wotchler costume only half-on. "'Local Furries Eaten by Actual Space Wolves.'"

"Don't be dramatic," Anka said, downing her beer in quick gulps. "They haven't eaten anyone yet.”

“They shot like three presidents in the head,” Piotr pointed out, accepting the Żywiec bottle and opening his lynx maw wide to drink it.

“And they’re promising to bring them back to life,” Anka stated, glancing at her phone screen. “Or so I heard.”

Piotr sighed.

“New rule. Use your fursona, Wotchler character name, or something else culturally significant. From now on, I'm the Wicked Witch." She stretched and pulled a green screen zentai-style mask over her face, adding green fluffy ears above it. She’s already managed to spray paint a green sheen over her Reinaissance armor and was wearing a green cape with a white castle on it.

"The Wicked Witch?" Piotr asked. “Why?”

"Because safeties. I am now Elphaba from the Wizard of Oz.  I'm weak to water, so I only drink Żywiec or Tyskie," she held up a bottle with a grin. “See?”

“I don’t get it,” Piotr frowned. “Is this your idea?”

“Yep, I just came up with it! It’s called a layer of social privacy,” Elphaba huffed, hiding her phone. “Get with the program. We don’t want the aliens to know our real names. What if they’re all weird stalkers?”

“Why would they be weird stalkers?” Tomek asked.

“We don’t know what they are,” the Witch pointed out. “We don’t know their intentions, we don’t know what their culture is like. We don’t know shit. Hell, we could cause an international incident by fucking up first contact and then everyone’s gonna blame us or worse. Also, if I die, report it to Napoleon.”

“Who’s Napoleon?” Piotr wondered.

“My General,” Elphaba explained absolutely nothing. “French. Little dude. Died on May 5, 1821 on the island of Saint Helena. Recently got better. You can find him at the top of my phone contact list.”

Piotr choked on his beer.

“I got better too. After that cursed little girl dumped a bucket of water on me,” Elphaba cackled. “Anyways, no real names. Generic historic, character, or famous names only. Or your fursona, as long as it’s not plastered everywhere online linked to your real name.”

Piotr thought for a moment. "Aight. I’ll go with StormoLyx, my character from Wotchler."

"Aight you do you," Anka, aka The Wicked Witch, said.

The others decided on their names, declaring them to their coordinator.

"Let's go make some alien friends." The Wicked Witch declared, getting up and making her chainlink skirt jiggle.

Piotr chugged his beer, the cold liquid doing little to calm his nerves. Then he snapped the lynx mouth closed. Part of him, the sensible programmer part working for the European office of CrawdTech screamed that approaching armed alien soldiers in his comicon outfit was insane. But the other part, the one that had spent months hand-sewing and assembling this costume and imagining his tragic OC lynx Wotchler backstory, was practically vibrating with excitement at meeting wolf-people from space.

"I'm going first," he announced, surprising himself.

“Aight, brave Stormo,” Elphaba waved him on. “We will drink to your sacrifice if you get shot.”

“Gee thanks,” he let out, guessing that his laminar steel armor would absolutely not stop a shot from one of the alien guns.

The pub’s door creaked as he entered. The main floor was eerily empty, chairs still askew from patrons who'd fled. The bartender, a weathered man in his sixties, stood behind the bar, polishing a glass with a lost look.

"Excuse me," Piotr said through his costume head, his voice muffled. "Where are the aliens?"

The bartender just stared with a thousand yard stare.

Piotr opened his lynx maw wide, his brown hair already plastered with sweat. "The wolf ladies? With the guns?"

The bartender's eyes widened further, taking in the hyper-realistic gray lynx head and shiny Wotchler armor set. Then, wordlessly, he pointed to a stairwell. Boisterous laughter and what sounded like singing drifted up from below.

"Thanks." Piotr snapped the jaw closed, took a deep breath that smelled of sweat, foam rubber and his own anxiety, and descended.

The basement pub area hit him with a wall of noise.

Seven wolf-women, each easily seven feet tall, were scattered around several pushed-together tables. Empty bottles covered every surface. One was arm-wrestling another while the rest cheered. Their black hexagonal-textured armor gleamed slightly, massive weapons leaning carelessly against walls.

They were absolutely, thoroughly drunk.

Every lupine head swiveled toward him. Seven pairs of eyes featuring tones of gold, amber, silver locked onto his gray lynx form. The silence stretched.

Then the nearest brown wolf let out an ear-piercing squeal of delight.

"OH MY SLAYER, LOOK!" She lunged forward with alarming speed, scooping Piotr up like he weighed nothing. "WHAT AN ADORABLE ARMORED FLOOF!"

Before Piotr could process what was happening, he was deposited on her lap, her arms wrapped around him like he was a giant teddy bear. She nuzzled the top of his costume head with her snout.

"So SOFT! And the little ears! Sisters, look at his little ears! Ehe he he he. Look at this primitive, barbaric armor!"

The other wolves crowded around, cooing and reaching out to paw at the various parts of his costume, jiggling the laminar plates. Piotr's fear evaporated, replaced by bewilderment. He'd expected interrogation, suspicion, maybe violence. Not... this.

"Hi. I'm… I'm StormoLyx," he managed, as the wolf woman squished him against her chest armor.

"Storrrmy O Lynnx!" she repeated, rolling the 'r' with a growl that vibrated through his entire body. "Like the weather, yes? I'm Alpha-Scrut Linari! These are my pack beta-sisters!" She gestured wildly, nearly knocking over several bottles. "We're from the 881st Division! Best division! Fought seventeen planetary-suppression campaigns under Commander Silly and Datamancer Kaw!"

"Kawthy is gonna throw a fit when she reads about how many shots you had tonight," one of the wolves commented.

"Like I give a flying fuck," Linari barked a drunken laugh. "Let her stew in magpie juices. She's hidin' up there counting many numbahs and we're down here... executing the will of our 'great' leaders with our noses n' fists!"

The stairs creaked as more humans descended, some in full costumes, others in partial armor with basic masks, ears and tails. They were met with equal enthusiasm.

"MORE!" Another wolf cheered. "Ha ha! The adorable, armored, tiny predators multiply! A whole barbaric warrior band!"

Anka stepped forward with theatrical confidence of flying emerald cape, noticing that Piotr was being embraced and not shot in the head. "I am the Wicked Witch! And these are my besties: Tesla, Garret of Rivion, Robin Hood, Gwenifer of Hundenberg, Galileo, Miyamoto Musashi," she gestured, “And I see you’ve already met StormoLyx.”

Piotr found himself relaxing into Linari's embrace. 

"So," he ventured, "you're not from around here?"

Linari laughed, a sound somewhere between human mirth and a howl. "From here? Oh, little lynx, I'm from the Western Reaches, Gloomhaven Citadel, NUSA, Earth 92-42-56!”

“You’re from another Earth? How many Earths are there?” Piotr wondered.

“Oh, like fitty bazillions,” Linari slurred. “Maybe the Admiral knows for sure, but we sure don’t.”

“So there’s billions of Earths?” The Wicked Witch blinked. “Doesn’t that mean infinite resources? Infinite gold? Infinite potential manpower?”

“Technically, maybe, but mostly no,” Linari shook her brown mane. “See, there’s only a… uhh… what did those Moths call it… A finite curve of Earths accessible by dimensional gates. Out of that finite number, most worlds are doomed or corpse worlds where nothing is alive or something questionable is alive that instantly swallows up entire warships or vanishes pradavarians landing parties. It’s acshllly super rare to find a planet with a rating of ‘Safe’ like disss one.”

"What’s your Earth like then?" Piotr's head spun from the revelations of the wolf alien.

"Lots of hungry monsters. And walls. So many giant walls. Keeping out dungeon breaks, hiding from Celestorms manifestations, the usual shit." She shuddered dramatically. "Signing an eternal life-contract as a Scrut Knight with the Frontenachii Omnicorp was the best decision I ever made! Sure, military service forever, but better than being eaten by a ceramic wyvern like my mom was!"

"Forever?" The Wicked Witch leapt up onto a barstool next to them.

"Eternal contract, yeah. I mean, I get leave if I want it and vacation days pile up over the decades," Linari shrugged. "But go back to what? An empty house in the ruins of Gloomhaven? Nah. Last time I heard… things got so shit that time stopped working on my Earth. The regiment is my family now. Plus good pay and full resurrection coverage."

"Resurrection coverage?" Tesla asked.

"Oh yes! Very important. I've died five times. Once to a void kraken, once to particularly nasty food poisoning on Miarllax-9, then to some rebels in three different worlds. Woke up in the Incarnator good as new! Hurt like hell though. Death always does. The recovery took a while.”

“How long of a while?” Garret asked.

“A day to get better from my first death. The second death, four days. The sixth one will probably be worse, maybe two weeks. The Incarnators work best for the top Brass, the Frontenachii Highborns and their Omnid Knights and whatnot, we lowborn mutts suffer from psyche decay issues after each demise. It’s not all bad, thooo… We just get put on leave for a bit on a niiiice… safe planet like yours, see?”

The costumed humans exchanged glances. These weren't just aliens, they were dimension-hopping, death-insured, monster-fighting mercenaries who for some inexplicable reason thought that humans in animal and Renaissance armor costumes were the cutest things ever.

"Hey," one of the other wolves called out, gold eyes bright with alcohol and enthusiasm. "Do you hunt in packs? Are the bright colors to warn prey of your toxicity? I see that some of you are part-human, yea?"

"I... yes?" Piotr said, deciding to roll with it. 

"Very toxic. Our blood’s super poisonous. Don’t bite us please," Elphaba commented. 

"KNEW IT!" The gold-eyed wolf slammed the table triumphantly. "Linari owes me fifty credits! The bright ones are venomous, pay up!"

“Ugh, Alini,” Linari grumbled good-naturedly, tapping a crystal ring on her finger with another ring worn by Alini. "Fine, fine. Transfer fifty creds to Alini. But I was right about them being pack hunters!"

“Shoulda made a bet then,” Alini grinned.

“So, how are you enjoying our local pub?” Elphaba asked.

“Lots!” Linari burped, lifting a beer bottle. “Dis is good shit. A third of our day division already got sloshed to the gills and went to sleep in the Corpse Seeker. N’ Commander Sillicia peaced out back to her ship to hang out on the Pleasure deck in one of them… Voidblood baths. Weaklings!”

“You sleep in the crystal centipede then?” Piotr asked.

“Yep,” Linari nodded, petting his head. “He he he, soft. Safest place in the universe. Ain’t nothing can punch through our Fissie.”

“You paid for this alcohol, right?” Elphaba wondered. “Or are you claiming it as victorious invaders?”

“Paid,” Alini nodded. “Got this place reserved for ‘all we can drink’ tonight. Sillicia gave the human barman upstairs a cube of gold about the size of his fist. Said we can celebrate hard tonight since the Princess was found alive and well. Back to the grind tomorrow though.”

“What kind of grind?” Elphaba continued her witchy interrogation.

“The usual kind,” Alini yawned with a snap of sharp teeth. “Waving guns around, murdering any local nobles who might disrespectfully disagree with the Frontenachii Aegis n’ sniffing out secrets. We’re still searching for… what’s his name…”

“Emperor of Humanity,” Linari supplied. “We’re on a Quest to find his secret Citadel with a Golden Throne from which he rules with psychic powers or someshit. Ssss’ the dumbest thing ever, I swear.”

“No hope there,” Alini sighed. “Ain’t nobody I sniffed knows where the Abyss he is or who he is even. Hey, Stormy-lynxy, does this drinking establishment have no victory songs? No battle hymns? We must celebrate successful planetfall n’ dominion properly with music!"

"The speakers are here," Piotr pointed to the sound system. "The bartender probably turned everything off when you arrived."

"Ah! Ssss’ p-pradavarian discrimination!" Linari declared, squeezing Piotr tighter. "We demand equal access to... to... uhh? The rhythm sounds!"

"Music," Elphaba supplied helpfully.

"Yes! Moo-sic!" Linari attempted to stand and immediately wobbled. "Little lynx, you and the green witch warrior maiden! Go make the moo-sic happen!” She released Piotr. “I wish to enjoy your Earth's war chants! Surely your colorful war-band can summon some war-moossskkkk, yesss?"

Elphaba and Piotr exchanged glances before heading toward the back of the pub past the bartending stand. They found a small closet with a sound system, cables tangled like electronic spaghetti.

"You know," Piotr whispered as Elphaba connected her phone to the aux cable, "this is not how I expected first contact to go."

"What did you expect? Probing? Lectures about humanity's primitive guns?" Elphaba scrolled through her Spotify. "Hrm. What do you play for drunk alien wolf mercenaries?"

"Something with a beat they can howl to?" Piotr shrugged.

"Perfect." She selected a Polish party playlist. The opening beats of "Przez Twe Oczy Zielone" thundered through the speakers.

The basement erupted in approving howls. When they returned, the wolves had formed a rough circle, attempting to dance wobbling from inebriation. One had grabbed Tesla, a skinny guy in a partial red fox suit and black chainmail, and was spinning him around like a dance partner.

"YOUR MUSIC IS ACCEPTABLE!" Linari shouted over the bass. "VERY BOUNCY!"

As the night progressed and the bottles multiplied, the wolves became increasingly chatty. Piotr remained permanently stationed on Linari's lap. The wolf refused to let him go, occasionally petting his fake fur, pawing his armor and cooing about his cuteness.

"You know what's weird about your Earth?" Linari slurred, her fifth bottle of vodka somehow making her more articulate rather than less. "The Astral here is thicc as molasses. Can barely smell thoughts through it."

"You can smell thoughts?" Piotr asked.

"Scrutiosmia," she tapped her nose proudly, then missed and poked herself in the eye. "Ow. Fuck. Anyway, we Scrutsss can usually smell liesss, intentions, memories even. But here?" She made a disgusted face. "It's like trying to smell through soup. Thick, confusing soup full of... of... what did the Commander Silly call them? 'Fictional constructs.'"

Another wolf alien with striking silver-white markings, leaned over. "It's true! I tried to interrogate a human earlier about the planetary defense systems. His mind was full of something called 'Star Glades.' Spent three hours trying to find this 'Doom Star… Moon' before Sillicia told me it probably wasn't real, since we’d see a giant death lazrrr moon in orbit.”

"How weren't it real if he remembered it so clearly?" another beta-wolf demanded. "He had a massive emotional attachment to it!”

"Because local humans are weird," Linari concluded sagely. "Adorable! But weird. They believe in things that aren't real so hard that it becomes soooperrr real in their minds. Makes our job unnecessarily complicated."

“Not just that,” Alini added, now wearing someone's rainbow cat-ear headband “There’s no system here.”

“What system?” Piotr asked.

“Systemfall. Ssss…. A Syntropic entity!” Linari explained. “Infects most universes with… uhhh.. Wormwood Star shards! It helps Scruts like us determine what’s true and what’s imaginary.”

“How?” 

“Imaginary shit doesn’t have stats,” Alini stated. “Doesn’t smell real. Except on this world. Everything here smells real. It’s inconvenient as fuck. Too much linear shit. Your tech is weird too.”

“Weird how?” The Witch wondered.

“Does not use mana,” Linari  said. “Silly told me that it took the Admiral way too long to figure out how to broadcast her image and voice across youurrr planet. Usually it's a super simple process! The Aetheric density of your Earth is like negative-linear or some shit. I've no idea how your music works! Super weird. Normally mooo-oosic is cast via specific runes that vibrate the air n’ shit.”

"The Admiral's soooper extra pissed," Alini added. "Spending all this energy and time searching for the Princess when she's apparently just chilling with her Emperor ‘bold."

"Shhhh," Linari made an exaggerated shushing motion that nearly knocked over three bottles. "We're not supposed to talk about the Princess."

"Why not? She's found, she's fine, she's eating ice cream." Alini shrugged. "Saw it myself. Though why she won't talk to the Admiral is iffy."

"Eh, just family drama," another wolf suggested. "You know how the Highborns are."

“What’s the Princess like?” Elphaba asked.

"She aiiight," Linari mused, absently braiding the fake fur on Piotr's costume head. "Met her once during a ceremonial review. She actually looked at me. Not through me like most Highborn Omnids. Actually asked about our deployment conditions, made funny jokes."

"Yeah, and then she vanished right before her Bloodline Trial," Alini added, throwing an empty bottle at a wall, exploding it into sparkling shards. "Convenient timing."

"Bloodline Trials?" Elphaba leaned closer.

"Proving of worth," Linari explained. "All Highborn Frontenachii have to do it. Show they're worthy of their position. Usually involves commanding one of the orbital warships to blast a world or two into submission or something else valorous and violent involving her kobold pack."

"Maybe she didn't want to command an orbital warship to blast the locals?" Piotr suggested.

The wolves all bark-laughed.

"Not wantin’ to atomize something?" Linari wheezed. "She's a Frontenachii! They live for that shit! Their whole clan is built on dominion and... and..." she frowned, losing her train of thought.

"Sustainable harvesting," Alini supplied with a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “Feeding on suffering and fear.”

The mood shifted slightly. Even drunk, the wolves seemed uncomfortable with that phrase.

"We don't talk about that either," Linari said quietly, then brightened forcibly. "Hey! Tiny warrior lynx! Your fur is so soft! Is it real?"

"It's synthetic," Piotr said, grateful for the subject change.

"Sin-the-tic," Linari repeated slowly. "Fake fur on fake predators. Your whole world is fake! I love it!" She nuzzled his costume head again. "Everything here is adorable and harmless and nothing wants to eat me! Sssss’ fooking great."

"That you know of," Elphaba said ominously, then ruined it by giggling.

"Even if something tried, I'd just get resurrected," Linari shrugged. "Though dying still suuuuucks ass.”

“How do you know our planet’s harmless?” Tesla asked.

“Duh! No dungeons, no System, no dragons,” Linari waved a large, clawed hand. “No conceptoids, no hungry high level beasts. No visible archmages or wizards or cultivators declaring us ‘pestilence’ and tryin’ to punch us with magic fists or dum’ spells. No thousand-kilometer crabs with grabby gold tentacles that suck out souls. No extreme Entropy that melts your face off and grinds your soul with each breath. Just smol, sweet, little, obedient, cooperative, imaginative… locals. A world seemingly empty of visible threats and genuine predators.” She patted Piotr. “Just Sin-te-tic cuties.”

“Is that why you just let your guns sit in a corner?” Piotr wondered.

“Ah that,” Linari grinned, waving at the nearest gun. “Go ahead, try to pick mine up.”

“Ummm,” Piotr gulped. “It won’t, like, shoot my head off or something?”

“Nah, but it will threaten you,” Linari laughed. “Go on, try it.” She pushed the programmer off her lap. “Touch the gun.”

Piotr slowly approached the nearest gun and poked at it. The black rifle unfolded into a spider, a trio of red eyes igniting on the hexagonal-shaped head, long spindly legs moving back and forth.

“You are not Linari Browmin,” the gun commented with a yawn. “Please don’t touch me or I will decapitate you.”

Piotr jumped back, armored hands raised.

The gun folded itself back into the shape of a gun.

“See?” Linari commented. “She’s a symbiote weapon, blood bound to my soul. Ain’t nobody can use my Etty except for me.”

Two of the wolves at the far table passed out, one face-planting directly into a puddle of spilled vodka. In a minute, two weapons unfolded from rifle forms, spindly spider legs extending.

"Beta-Scrut Torreni requires transport," one gun announced in a female voice, wrapping its legs around its unconscious owner's torso.

"Beta-Scrut Yilani requires transport," the other gun added.

The guns began dragging their owners toward the stairs, navigating around furniture and bottles. For a moment, the first gun paused to adjust Torreni's head so she wouldn't bang it on the steps.

"Pff. Lightweights," Linari scoffed, pulling Piotr back onto her lap. Then, she stared down at him with copper-gold eyes. "Hey, Stormy-bae. Wanna have sex?"

Piotr's brain short-circuited. "What?"

"Sex. Mating. Horizontal wigglage." Linari’s ears perked forward, waiting for his reply. "Is that not a thing your species does? You smell like you’d like that a lot, I think. Maybe. Too drunk to sss-Scrutinize you properly.”

"I... we... that's very..." Piotr stuttered out not expecting this angle of attack from the alien wolf. "Direct? A direct offer. What, right now?"

"Eh," Linari's tail wagged, thumping against the booth. "Not now, obviously. I'm pretty sloshed and you're cute and probably fragile, otherwise you wouldn’t be wearing that barbaric armor, right? Would not be responsible if I crush you to death and have to spend creds to incarnate you," She clicked with her tongue. "But I could give you my Pradstagram number? So that we can arrrr… arrange it… later, yeah?"

"Uhm. How long will you be deployed here?" Piotr managed.

"Dunno. Could be weeks. Could be years. The Princess is apparently being stubborn about talking to the Admiral, and knowing the Frontenachii..." She made a vague gesture with her bottle. "Silly says the Admiral and Legates are already drawing up preliminary integration plans."

"Integration?" Several costumed humans said in unison.

"Standard procedure," Linari waved, looking unconcerned. “Even if you local cuties aren't packed with mana, you're still… ‘harvestable. Decent biological baseline, creative minds, strong emotional resonance’, Silly mentioned some shit like that. ‘The Colonial Board would classify dis’ Earth as a Grade-3 resource world minimum.’”

Piotr’s hair stood on the back of his neck. "Harvesting. You mean... like what you mentioned before? The sustainable—"

"Only criminals!" Linari said quickly, squeezing him reassuringly. "The Frontenachii Colonial Aegis wouldn’t wanna upset the majority into open rebb… rebellion. Only those condemned by local laws or those who resist integration rrr’ gonna get chopped up n’ framed up." She hiccupped. "Your Emperor seems clever. He'll probably negotiate good terms. The Princess seems to like this place if she’s hiding out here, so that's already summ points in your flaavor."

“Uhh, thanks,” Piotr outputted.

"See? Nothing to worry abooot!" Linari beamed. "So, future sex? Yes? No? I promise I'm very gentle with cute boys. You’re a boy, right? You smell like one. Don’t be nervous. I don’t bite. Mostly. Ha ha."

"I... sure?" he heard himself say. "Maybe? After we get to know each other better?"

"Excellent!" Linari's tail went into overdrive. "Etty, make my new guud warrior fren’ a Voicecast ring!"

The gun leaning against the wall unfolded with a sigh. "You’re paying, just so you know. Also, this is a protocol violation."

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t give a fuck, am aaa… Alpha! Make with the basic V-ring. P-protocol override whatev-verrvr One One Two Six."

Etty sighed, then skittered toward the wall, and began tearing chunks of drywall with black-blade legs, extracting copper wiring and then metal decorative elements from the bar. The humans scrambled back as the gun-spider danced around the bar, prying and weaving various salvaged materials.

"Your gun is eating the wall," Tesla observed.

"Just repurposing shit," Linari corrected. “S’fine. Commdrrr gave barman manager enough gold to build ten bars like diss one.”

Within minutes, Etty had produced a transparent ring made of crystallized copper and reformed drywall and brick somehow fused into a glass-like substance. She skittered over and deposited the ring in Piotr's lap.

"Basic Voicecast ring adapted to local low Aetheric density," Etty announced. “Do try not to break it, meat creature."

"Sorsss. My gun's a bit grumpy," Linari apologized, then glared at Etty. "Etty! Be nice to Stormy! He’s… he’s a warrior prince with a vvffery tt-ragic backstory! I think…"

"I am always nice," Etty commented, folding back into gun form with a mechanical huff.

Linari tapped a crystal ring on her finger on the ring now in Piotr’s hand. “Thar. We connected now. Call me tomorra in case I forget this entire conversashn, ya?”

She took another swig of alcohol after clinking her bottle with Alini.

“Yeah sure,” Piotr nodded, putting the ring atop his armored glove. The ring snapped into place with a click, fitting the glove easily. “How do I call you?”

“Jsstt say ‘Voicecast Linari’ n’ it’ll connect y-youuu to my ring. Or ‘Linecast’ if you wanna send a text if you tooo shy for verrbiagery.”

“Got it,” he nodded.

"Guuuud drinkage," Linari slurred, nuzzling Piotr's costume head. "We're all gonna have terrible hangovershes tomorrow."

"Maybe you should stop drinking?" Elphaba suggested.

"Can't. Would be dishonorable! Commandrrr Silly paid for 'all we can drink.' Must maximize investment. Going to be doing stupid bottrngg shhtttt tomorrow again, like lookin for Man Spiders and Man Bat’s cave, I bet." Linari finished her bottle. She went quiet for a moment, lost in thought. Then she brightened, squeezing Piotr again.

"Is fine thoooo. Worth it! I made a cute lynx bar-bari-barbariannn friend-o who smells like he likesss me lotass. Today is a greatt daaay!"

"It's technically tomorrow," Piotr pointed out with a yawn, noticing the clock showing 2:26 AM.

"Even better! Tomorrow is a good day too!" Linari declared. "Etty, take a picture of me and Stormyooo for Pradstagrammmsh! I wanna member disss."

The gun unfolded just enough to extend what looked like an eye on a stalk, which flashed once.

Linari grinned wide, looking loopy as she squeezed Piotr’s armor.

"Got it," Etty announced. "Caption?”

“Uhhh… Found adorrabll local warrior-predator. Very smol n’ soft. Possibly venomous. Ten outta ten, would smoosh again, xxxtra hard… if ya kno watt I mrrreaaan. Futurrr Linaa takk note!"

She smooshed Piotr, leaned on the table with a yawn of wide snout and then started to snore, drooling. 

Etty unfolded with an exasperated mechanical sigh. "Every. Single. Safe-world deployment."

The gun extended her legs, delicately prying Piotr from Linari's lap. He found himself being lifted and set aside like a child's toy managed by spidery appendages.

"You," Etty's trio of red eyes focused on Piotr. "Storm-whatever-knight. Do not interpret my owner's inebriated proposition as an invitation to take vast liberties."

"I wouldn't—" Piotr started.

"Good." Two of Etty's spider legs moved from her eyes to point directly at Piotr, then back to her eyes, then at him again in the universal gesture for 'I'm watching you.' "Because I am always watching. Always. I don't sleep. I don't blink. I don’t get tired. And I have very precise opinions about consent and the structural integrity of male reproductive organs and can slice through those primitive metal plates in less than a second."

Piotr gulped audibly.

"That said," Etty's tone shifted slightly, becoming almost conversational as she began wrapping her legs around Linari's torso, "she genuinely likes you. Hasn't shown interest in anyone since that unfortunate incident with the Xallaxian diplomat. You should feel flattered."

"Unfortunate incident?" Elphaba asked.

"She accidentally broke three of his ribs during what she considered 'a friendly hug.'" Etty began dragging Linari toward the stairs. "Frontenachii Colonial Med-symbiote had to rebuild his entire ribcage. Very embarrassing for my bonded sister."

The other conscious wolves were busy singing badly and trying to teach Garret and Tesla pradavarian battle hymns.

"If you do pursue this, remember: she weighs 127 kilograms of your local units, has a bite force of 1,800 PSI of your local units, and gets very enthusiastic about everything she does. Everything."

"That's... informative?" Piotr let out.

"It's a warning. I was bred to prevent my bonded-sister from accidentally murdering potential mates. It reflects poorly on her service record." Etty paused at the top of the stairs. "That ring she gave you? It has a panic command. Yell ‘help Etty’ you're ever in actual distress during... interactions. I'll intervene."

"You'll intervene during—" Piotr choked.

"I've had to extract her from compromising positions forty-seven times across sixteen different worlds. I'm essentially a babysitter with incredibly lethal capabilities." The gun's mechanical sigh echoed down the stairwell. "Unlike her, I do not get drunk. Do you have any idea how demeaning it is for a Crystalloid symbiote weapon to play relationship counselor? Ughhh."

With that, Etty hauled Linari up the remaining stairs, the wolf's armored feet bumping on the stairwell. Just before disappearing on the turn, one spider leg extended back down to point at Piotr once more.

"Remember. Watching. Always." Then, almost as an afterthought: "She prefers morning calls or texts. Something about your day. Maybe about a thing you hunted, thinking of her. She's sentimental like that."

The gun-spider vanished into the upper floor. The remaining two wolves passed out, having drunk themselves into a complete stupor.

"Wow dawg," Elphaba chortled, slapping Piotr on the back, "you just got blessed with relationship advice from an alien spider-gun."

"I think I need another beer," Piotr muttered, shaking his head.

“I think we got enough first contact deets for today,” Elphaba commented, standing up and watching as the guns dragged their snoring masters into their crystal tank. “Let’s head out.”

15. Intelligence Report

The kitchen smelled of garlic and basil as I stirred the pasta sauce, keeping one eye on the stove and the other on Shady. The alien Princess had torn open a box of fridge magnets and discovered she could stick them to various metal surfaces and was now decorating the entire kitchen.

"MAGNETIC CIRCLE!" she announced, slapping a pizza-shaped magnet onto the toaster. "This is a BEEP! attraction!"

"That's right," I muttered, tasting the sauce. It needed more oregano. “About ten more minutes of cooking and then it should be ready to eat.”

“RIGHT CIRCLE!" Shady agreed, then began making microwave timer sounds while spinning in place atop the twirly kitchen stool. "DING! BEEP BEEP! I am cooking! Ready to BEEP! eat.”

My tablet buzzed on the counter. I wiped my hands on a dish towel hanging from the stove handle and checked the message from Daxagon.

[Zorro(╯°Z°）╯]: Emperor, got the resistance report from Napoleon! 

I smiled at the escalating absurdity of my life.

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Isn’t it 3:13 in Poland?

[Zorro(╯°Z°）╯]: yes it is. We’ll sleep when we’re dead. Too much shit is happening. Adding my devoted lieutenants that managed to organize first contact groups and talk to the aliens into a new chat, some of them are in different time zones. They can take over if I pass out.

A new channel appeared. I clicked on it. A text file was pinned to the top of the chat. I opened it while keeping one eye on Shady.

[First contact, Warsaw]

The furry reconnaissance mission was more successful than anticipated. Seven Pradavarian wolf soldiers from Division 881, Third Celestial Starfall Fleet, were engaged in social drinking with our ‘first contact’ team at Molly Malone's pub, Warsaw.

KEY INTELLIGENCE GATHERED:

• MULTIVERSE CONFIRMED: The invaders are from "Earth" but a different dimensional variant. Confirmed their origins as an alternative timeline, monster-ravaged North America (NUSA).

• MERCENARY FORCE: The Scruts are contracted soldiers on "eternal life-contracts" with the Frontenachii Omnicorp.

• RESURRECTION TECHNOLOGY: Soldiers have "resurrection coverage" and can be brought back after death via "Incarnators". Recovery time increases with each death.

• THOUGHT-READING LIMITATIONS: The Scruts wield "Scrutiosmia" - ability to smell thoughts/lies/intentions. According to them our Earth's "Astral is thick as molasses." They cannot distinguish between fiction and reality in human minds. One Scrut Beta spent 3 hours searching for the Death Star.

• NO "SYSTEM" ON EARTH: They expected the presence of something called "Systemfall" - a "Syntropic entity" that helps determine reality vs imagination through "stats." 

• FRONTENACHII PRINCESS STATUS: They believe Princess Aquillianne is alive, "eating ice cream" and "chilling with the Emperor." They think she's refusing to speak with Admiral due to "family drama."

• BLOODLINE TRIALS: Princess disappeared right before something called "Bloodline Trials" - a proving of worth requiring commanding warships to "blast locals into submission."

• SUSTAINABLE HARVESTING: The Frontenachii practice something their Pradavarian Legionnaires were reluctant to discuss. When pressed, claimed they only harvest "criminals" and "those who resist integration." Earth will likely be classified as a "Grade-3 resource world”.

• SENTIENT WEAPONS: Their guns are spider-like self-aware symbiotes with unique personalities, bound to individual soldiers. Cannot be used by others. Can physically transport unconscious owners to the Corpse Seeker which acts as a personnel carrier.

• SUBJUGATION PLANS: Admiral Evelithria is drawing up preliminary ‘integration’ plans.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

• The drunk Scrut mercenary wolves find humans in full and partial animal costumes "adorable". They also presumed that we might be venomous because of our bright costumes. 

• They consider our Earth "harmless" - no visible dungeons, system, dragons, cultivators, wizards, or thousand-kilometer crabs

• Wolf Pradavarian Scrutimancer Linari exchanged contact information with our agent for potential "future relations". The agent was given a [Voicecast ring] device for reaching out to Linari tomorrow morning

Dax sent me a pm containing: Full report of First Contact.txt

I quickly looked over the 4k word report in which StormoLyx, Wicked Witch, Tesla and others interacted with Pradavarian Wolf Scrutimancers in the Polish pub.

I glanced at Shady. The Wendigo Princess seemed preoccupied with magnets. I looked at the group chat window filling up with comments.

[Zorro(╯°Z°）╯]: Introduce yourselves to our Immortal Leige. State your time zone and location. Add to the pinned report from Napoleon’s team.

[Napoleon (ᕗ ͠° ਊ ͠° )ᕗ]: Yo, yo. Napoleon here reporting from Warsaw. Bug me if you have questions. Just hard my third coffee. Wired as fuck. 3:12 AM here.

[Napoleon (ᕗ ͠° ਊ ͠° )ᕗ]: *had. My boi got himself an alien girlfriend, lel. Try n Beat that!

[Guy Fawkes ( ͡¬ ͜ʖ ͡¬)]: Emperor! A pleasure! Fawkes reporting from EST time zone. I’m currently coordinating a first contact team to chat up a team of raptors at a restaurant in Ottawa. The Canadian Parliament is occupied by Frontenachii Division 775.

[Sherlock Holmes (⌐■-■)و ̑̑]: Good day, my Emperor. Sherlock reporting from London, Palace of Westminster. (GMT Time zone) My team of five is currently at Westminster Arms, interacting with Frontenachii Division 943. Confirming the existence of ‘Omniverse’ as Division 943 Pradavarian dog Scruts are calling it. Confirming our “Dull Astral” which disrupts their Information gathering.

[Rasputin (ʘ益ʘ)]: Am in Moscow, got a team at St. Peters & St. Anton pub which Division 117 rented for a gold cube for the night. 4:13 AM here. The Russian army attempted to take down a Corpse Seeker. It did not go well. The tanks were liquified and the soldiers were absorbed into the innards of the crystal bug.

[Sun Tzu ( ͡°_ʖ ͡°)☯]: Greetings Emperor. 10:13 AM here. Beijing reporting. Enemy Division 226 occupied Zhongnanhai. My team successfully infiltrated a karaoke bar where off-duty bird-women Scruts are singing. They resemble humanoid hawks or eagles. Very passionate about their war and death ballads. Confirming resurrection technology - one mentioned dying three times in something called the "Mellax Campaign."

[Cleopatra (✿◠‿◠)]: Emperor! Cairo here. 2 AM here! Division 554 occupied the Egyptian Parliament. Our resistance cell made contact at a shisha lounge. The velociraptor Scruts are fascinated by hookah. They keep asking about who actually built the pyramids and if our mummy armies are real. We're playing along, made them believe Indiana Jones is a historical figure.

[Joan of Arc ⚔(ง'̀-'́)ง]: Paris reporting, 3:13 AM. Division 331 is at the Élysée Palace. Contact made at Le Marais district bar. The Scrut Owls asked about "Asterix and Obelix". They found memories of such in someone’s mind and think they're historical records of "Gaul resistance fighters with magic potions." 

[Joan of Arc ⚔(ง'̀-'́)ง]: French military tried to establish a perimeter around the bar, but they were obliterated by the red centipede. Pradavarian Commander Ioppan explained that her “Corpse Seeker understands what tanks, personnel transport and guns are and is treating any large group of people with weapons as a threat, melting the puny human weapons with dragonfire and absorbing what it concludes are potential enemies”. 

[Galileo (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧]: Roma here, Emperor! 3:14 AM. Vatican City situation complex. Division 667 Prads are VERY confused. They think that the Vatican is a seat of power greater than the Italian government, because so many people worldwide think that the Pope is their spiritual leader. The Pope was thoroughly interrogated about you, my Emperor. The Pradavarian lion Scruts are convinced that prayer can reshape reality, otherwise why would people #prayforEmperor in such great numbers as counted on our ‘social networks’? 

[Galileo (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧]: My team at Taverna Lino Cucina Italiana reports the Scruts are obsessed with finding "Holy Grail" and "Ark of Covenant". From what Commander Ignik explained to my costumed men, the Frontenachii fleet collects magic artifacts to amplify the power of its hoard spread across their warships. They're openly chatting about hoards to dig into our minds for relevant info, but we keep picturing Smaug from LOTR which makes them very confused.

Commander Ignik is fed up, tired and annoyed because the locals think that magic artifacts exist, but her Beta Scruts cannot locate them. She speculated loudly that we’re either mentally deranged on a global scale, incredibly stupid or are really good at hiding our hoards. Division 667 consists of Pradavarian cats from Terra Abyssa. Their home world is a gas giant, sort of like Jupiter, I think, without land where cat people inhabit the mountains and forests growing atop giant flying whales.  

[Galileo (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧]: Commander Ignik is struggling to understand a world without levels, mana, artifacts and dungeons. I believe this is likely the case with all Pradavarian Scrut landfall teams - they are all humanoid-animals from horrific worlds populated with flying and crawling abominations.

[Beethoven ♪(o^•ェ•)o]: Vienna, 3:14 AM! Division 269 moved from the Hofburg Palace to the Bockshorn Irish Pub. Division 269 Scruts are convinced that "The Magic Flute by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart” is a musical spell of some sort. They've been playing it on repeat for a few hours now, arguing and trying to decode it to unlock the “magic”. They presume that if something is tagged ‘magic’ then it absolutely must be magic.

"MAGNETIC EMPEROR!" Shady announced pawing at me from behind. "You are ATTRACTIVE CIRCLE! Ding-dong!"

“Thanks,” I pushed her off, typing out my introduction.

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Greetings, brave resistance leaders. Your intelligence gathering is exceptional. Continue befriending the Scruts, expand resistance cells to have night and day operational teams to interact with the aliens. Try to obtain Voicecast rings as Napoleon’s team managed. The Pradavarian girls are clearly lonely soldiers far from home, potentially not fully loyal to the Frontenachii highborns - use that. Remember: we're not simply fighting them with guns. Our biggest weapon right now is misinformation. Keep flooding their minds with fiction. Make them question everything. Have your teams chat about your favorite books, movies, cartoons and games with magic in them.

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Critical objectives: 1) Keep them drunk and distracted 2) Learn more of their command structure 3) Find more exploitable weaknesses 4) Most importantly, befriend them and try to obtain more alien tech and materials 

[Napoleon (ᕗ ͠° ਊ ͠° )ᕗ]: Emperor, should we be worried about the "sustainable harvesting" plans? That sounds... bad.

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Yes. We should. The entire point of our resistance is to prevent the Frontenachii fleet from quickly taking over our world to harvest humans.

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: That reminds me. Do not agree to any Vows using blood magic - yes, blood contracts are real and it is likely that the Pradavarian Scrutimancers are all bound as kobolds into perpetual service and obedience to their Frontenachii Masters.

[Sun Tzu ( ͡°_ʖ ͡°)☯]: Emperor, the bird Scruts are wondering about "cultivation novels" and our "immortal cultivators." They found these concepts in multiple minds and think we're hiding secret immortality techniques.

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Let them believe it. Tell them the techniques are written in ancient Chinese but machine translation loses the "spiritual essence" and that our cultivators are meditating in secret mountain temples, concealed by spiritual magics.

[Sun Tzu ( ͡°_ʖ ͡°)☯]: Can do.

[Beethoven ♪(o^•ェ•)o]: One of the Scruts just revealed that they're going to start visiting museums, libraries, and universities to "understand Earth's true history." This could be a problem.

[Sherlock Holmes (⌐■-■)و ̑̑]: Perhaps not. Some museums have gift shops with movie merchandise and fictional exhibits. The Natural History Museum in London has a whole Harry Potter section.

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Good idea. Have one of your team members guide the Scruts around to fictional exhibits. Assist while causing confusion and misdirection. Give the British invaders a tour of Baker Street with someone in a deerstalker hat answering questions about Sherlock Holmes. Charge them gold for the "exclusive Scrutimancer of London experience" and sell them Sherlock Holmes books.

[Napoleon (ᕗ ͠° ਊ ͠° )ᕗ]: Wait, we're charging them?

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: They're paying gold cubes to rent pubs. Might as well take advantage of their wealth. Use the gold cubes to fund the resistance before the price of gold plummets if they keep throwing it around like that. Once that happens, maybe ask for rare metals or alien metals or something else valuable. 

[Zorro(╯°Z°）╯]: lel. See guys, our Emperor thinks twenty chess moves ahead! 

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: thanks, Z. 

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: If one of your agents manages to befriend a Prad scrut, tell them to act as their tour guide to humanity. Make sure they carry a bag full of high grade alcohol to keep the scrut drunk during interactions to befuddle their mind scanning skill.

[Napoleon (ᕗ ͠° ਊ ͠° )ᕗ]: I will have my agent prepped for tomorro. Anything else?

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Actually, yes. Test if their armor and weapons are magnetic by jokingly attaching a magnet to it. Prep more than alcohol. Carry cigarettes, weed, small candy and sandwiches packed with specific spices and pharmaceuticals: valerian root, different nut types, antifreeze, hallucinogenic fungi, jimsonweed, mycotoxins, etc. Figure out what particular natural ingredient or drug will make them high, relaxed and trusting. If the Pradavarian feline species are similar to cats from our Earth then it is possible that Valerian root will be the perfect tool to relax them.

[Napoleon (ᕗ ͠° ਊ ͠° )ᕗ]: and if we accidentally kill one of them?

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: then we will know what kills them easily. It's not like their deaths will be permanent - the incarnator will bring them right back. Simply have the agent apologize after the fact, saying that the ‘spice’ or chocolate isn't deadly to humans. It won't be a lie, we really don't know what their bodies are vulnerable to. Test different substances on different prads and note the effects.

[Zorro(╯°Z°）╯]: Netflix and chill the invasion force!

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Not just that. Think outside the box of usual human mundane strengths and weaknesses. Dogs are bothered by ultrasound. See if ultrasonic dog repellants bother Pradavarians. 

I looked at Shady pawing at her reflection, contemplating the problem of alien invaders who could smell lies.

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: If Scrutiosmia is a magic skill tied to sniffing, then it is possible that a particular potent chemical smell or even pepper might completely derail it. 

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: If they show interest - romance the hell out of those female soldiers, find what makes them swoon, discover where their males are. 

Shady walked over to me and bumped me with her head. I offered her head parts and she smiled, wiggling closer like a cat wanting more scritches.

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Be exceptionally supportive, sweet and kind. Gift them massage wands, flowers, bugs in ember, Harry Potter wands. Buy them comic books, light novels, anime figurines and even hentai book series featuring magic. Derail and drown them in the imaginary, unusual, sensual, absurd, lewd and quirky.  

[Zorro(╯°Z°）╯]: Hitachi them into submission! 😂 

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: if it works it works. Their crystal tanks are trained to spot guns, but love isn't something that can be easily detected, tabulated, contained or halted. These girls come from death worlds ravaged by giant monsters, let's see how they deal with weaponized love that our world is absolutely packed with.

[Rasputin (ʘ益ʘ)]: weaponized love? I don't understand 

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Romance novels that girls are so fond of. Romantic films. Pornography. The Pradavarian Scruts are flying blind, their jobs are to extract our magical secrets and artifacts. Drown them in the ocean of romantic fiction our civilization pumps out unendingly, imply that Twilight holds the magic secrets of vampire weaknesses. Make them listen to the Harry Potter audiobooks. Make their jobs fun but pointless in terms of actual accomplishments.

[Zorro(╯°Z°）╯]: oh! oh! I get it. You are talking about the compliance thingy

[Rasputin (ʘ益ʘ)]: what

[Emperor of Earth ಠ_ಠ]: Find the exact terms of the Pradavarian/Frontenachii blood contract. If the Pradavarian girls are bound in particular legal terms or orders from their Omnid Masters, then maybe we can direct them into the mire of “malicious compliance”. We cannot defeat the Frontenachii Colonial Dominion physically via our armed forces or nukes but we can locate a psychological weak point and push on it very carefully and slowly until they break.

[Zorro(╯°Z°）╯]: or rub it vigorously till they submit haha 😆 

[Cleopatra (✿◠‿◠)]: -.-

[Zorro(╯°Z°）╯]: don’t shame me, I’ve been up 21 hours. Operation invader seduction is a go!

[Rasputin (ʘ益ʘ)]: I have inquiry. Emperor, who made you Emperor? Why you our resistance leader?