"I knew from the start this was supposed to be a sci-fi with aliens... but I never expected to actually run into one. Like, ever."

Blake had always figured that, at most, the government owned the DNA... just samples, fragments, whatever they could extract and weaponize. Not the aliens themselves.

Which, well, now that he thought about it, was kind of a stupid assumption.

Of course they’d be on this planet.

They wouldn’t just leave something like that out there, floating around in space, completely unmonitored.

And now that he knew for a fact that they were here, it wasn’t exactly shocking that he’d end up seeing one eventually. Inevitable, even.

He was involved with the main cast, after all. That alone practically guaranteed he’d get dragged into all the weird, dangerous, completely-not-normal stuff.

Still... it didn’t look like what he’d imagined.

Not even close.

It wasn’t even humanoid.

Its head, if that was even the right word, was shaped like an insect’s, elongated and wrong in a way that made his stomach twist just thinking about it.

Its eyes were huge, bulging unnaturally out of what he assumed were sockets, glossy and reflecting light in a way that didn’t feel right.

And the arms... yeah, they could be arms, sure, if he simplified things enough. But they weren’t structured like any arms he’d ever seen.

Too many joints and segments. Too many ways they could bend that didn’t make sense.

"It’s got more of those on its back, too..."

Blake placed a hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat thud against his palm, and forced himself to take a slow breath.

The real question was, why the hell did Myles have something like that in his base?

Not like Blake would know. He hadn’t exactly been a reader of the story. He knew the broad strokes, sure: the hero, the villains, the whole "save the world with advanced tech powered by alien DNA" thing, but details like this were foreign.

"What were you even doing with it? Torturing it?"

That thought sat heavy in his mind.

"I mean... they were definitely holding it captive, right?"

He scratched the back of his head, uneasy.

And then there was the bigger question, how did Myles even get one in the first place?

Because one thing Blake was sure about was that the aliens on Asher’s side weren’t there by force. The whole premise of the story leaned too heavily on that cooperation.

The hero wasn’t just some guy exploiting alien biology, he was working with them.

There had to be some kind of mutual benefit that he knew nothing of.

Otherwise, why would the aliens help fight against Myles in the final Chapters?

"Yeah."

That made sense.

More sense than the alternative, anyway.

"So what, he just kidnapped one?"

Blake grimaced.

"Used it to make his own tech or something..."

That sounded about right for a villain, didn’t it?

Slowly pushing himself up, Blake glanced around the unfamiliar space, unease creeping back in.

Leaving might be a bad idea.

Staying might be worse.

There wasn’t really a safe option here... literally no middle ground.

"Though..."

He hesitated, frowning slightly.

"It’d kinda suck if he actually forced that... thing... to be an experiment. I mean, who would even agree to that willingly?"

...

Well.

He’d more or less accepted his own villain status, hadn’t he?

"...I’ll just have to convert him later."

***

"You fucking son of a bitch, show yourself."

Silence, of course.

It was three in the morning. Blake had just gotten home, skill deactivated, exhausted, and he wasn’t even trying to hide how pissed off he was.

"Ayo, Spoon. I’m talking to you."

[ Yes, Dear Host. ]

Without hesitation, Blake grabbed a fork from the counter and hurled it straight at the floating interface.

It passed through like it wasn’t even there.

"Yeah, yeah, real funny."

He dragged a hand down his face, frustration bubbling over.

"How exactly did you expect me to survive against those two? I can fight, kinda, but not against monsters like that!"

[ Dear Host, you have the defence buff. ]

"Right. Yeah. Sure."

He let out a dry laugh.

"Hate to break it to you, but I don’t think a defence buff is gonna help much against a whole-ass missile."

Maybe he was exaggerating.

But with the kind of technology they were dealing with, it wasn’t exactly impossible either.

And Spoon didn’t even bother replying.

"Unbelievable."

What really got to him wasn’t even the danger itself, it was how confident Spoon always seemed that he’d survive. No hesitation or concern, just blind certainty!

’How the hell are you so sure I won’t die in completely dieable situations...? Ugh, whatever.’

At this point, he was too tired to keep arguing with a system that clearly wasn’t interested in explaining itself.

Stripping off his clothes, Blake made his way over to the mirror, and immediately grimaced at his reflection.

"Damn."

His ankle looked rough. Blood had dried unevenly across the skin, leaving behind a messy, ugly stain. His face wasn’t much better: small cuts and scratches scattered across it, along with faint marks on his wrists.

"Thank god for that mask..."

He exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

At least that had kept things from getting worse.

Grabbing the first aid kit, he set it down on the counter and popped it open.

"Alright... let’s fix this mess."

He reached for the disinfectant, hesitating briefly before applying it.

"...Shit!"

Grinding his teeth, he tried to clean the wound properly, but it was painfully obvious he had no idea what he was doing.

’This is going terribly.’

Truthfully, he’d never really been injured like this before. Not in his past life, and not even in this one.

Bruises? Sure.

Minor stuff? Yeah.

But this this was new territory.

"Jesus, I still have some..."

He leaned in closer to the mirror, squinting slightly.

Some of the older marks hadn’t fully faded yet. Faint and barely noticeable, but still there if you looked closely enough.

"...Huh."

It had been a while, too and yet, they lingered.

When he finally got around to dealing with his face, though, a different kind of concern crept in.

"...What am I supposed to do tomorrow?"

Because yeah, that was going to be a big problem.

Blake stared at his reflection, fingers hovering near one of the scratches.

"I’m screwed."

Myles would definitely notice and there was no way around that.

"...He’s gonna ask."

And not just casual, surface-level questions either, no, Myles wasn’t the type to let things go that easily. He’d dig and push, going until he got answers that satisfied him.

Or until he got suspicious.

"And if he thinks I was the one spying..."

Blake felt his stomach drop.

That would make things so much worse, way worse than just dealing with a few questions.

He lifted a hand, lightly brushing his fingers against his cheek, and froze for a second.

"Oh. Right."

That moment, the way Myles had stepped in and blocked that ball like it was nothing.

Blake frowned slightly.

"And he looked so... pissed?"

Not just annoyed or irritated, but actually pissed.

And not in a general, "this situation is inconvenient" kind of way.

That thought sat weirdly in his chest.

"He wasn’t exactly happy back then."

That much was obvious and, somehow, that made everything feel even more complicated.

Because if Myles got angry over something like that, at least he meant there was some kind of instinctual care, right?

Blake let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head as he closed the first aid kit.

"Why does that make things harder..."

He knew why, it was because of Myles were to discover the circumstances of his injuries, he would not be happy with Blake, instead.

Maybe even loose all of his care for him.

Turning off the light, he made his way over to the bed and practically dropped onto it, exhaustion finally catching up with him.

"Well, since I’m going to give some lie, it doesn’t matter. But if he reacted like that when I wasn’t even hurt..."

He stared up at the ceiling, expression blank.

"...What’s he gonna do when he sees this?"

Plasters, scratches, just, way too many visible proof that something had happened.

"Yeah. No way he’s letting that slide."

He swallowed... he needed options.

"Okay, think."

Skipping school? That could work.

Staying at home until the scratches faded, avoid the entire situation...

"But he would end up showing up, right?"

Which would immediately raise questions.

And refusing to answer those? Not an option, so that left actually going to school and facing him directly.

"Which means either he gets suspicious or gets pissed."

Blake let out a low groan, dragging a hand over his face.

"Why does everything end with him getting pissed?"

There really wasn’t a good outcome here.

No matter what he chose, it all circled back to the same thing.

Myles getting angry, asking questions and well, not letting things go.

Rolling onto his side, Blake pulled the blanket over himself, staring blankly at the wall.

"I’m not even happy about this myself."

He let out another resigned sigh.

"This sucks."

And with that wonderfully optimistic conclusion, he shut his eyes, fully aware that tomorrow was going to be a problem no matter what he did.