Hybrid DNA
Proem: 2013—Raven
A mysterious mirror appears in a New York apartment building, forcing Sentinel Blake to confront old wounds, hidden conspiracies, and an impossible anomaly that may be the first sign of a far greater threat.
Factoids
“The truth is that from about 2 million years ago …
the world was home, at one and the same time, to …
at least six different species of man.”
Quote from an Ord, Yuval Noah Harari
“Fucking Sapiens ··· they are species-killers!”
Quote from Sentinel Blake Kyfa
“Curiouser and curiouser!”
Quote from an Ord, Lewis Carrol
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Darkness envelops the entire block—hiding Raven poised on an unlit lamp post—and the building she watches.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Darkness
Blake Kyfa steps out from the guarded luxury apartment building, drawing their ‘Fetish-Queen’ trench coat tight against the night air. Checks their illuminated ‘LCP’ watch on their right wrist, the golden bangle clinking softly against it.
It’s 12 a.m. ·
A pinch and a punch! ·
We might be halfway through Spring of 2013 ·
But it’s way too fresh for May the first ·
I wonder if Rosa—“Ugh!” Blake rubs the painful area under the bangle.
What was I thinking? ·
Ah, yes, that’s right, it’s cold!

Shoving their gloved hands deep into the trench coat’s deep pockets, Blake tuts.
Black had never been the uniform of the Ancient Sentinels.
They’d been trained to disappear, to blend into any crowd.
But this coat, with its exaggerated darkness, makes that impossible.
Black is an Ord creation ·
A product of Hollywood ·
A relic of their misunderstanding ·
Black doesn’t mean stealth ·
It means standing out.
Even in the shadows, Blake feels exposed.
The ‘Fetish Queen’ gloves—another directive—aren’t much better, covering the mark on their palm; a mark that once symbolized power and pride. Now, it is something to be hidden—made impotent—even among their own kind.
A mark of shame?
Blake scoffs at the thought.
“For Ord’s fucking sake ···” they murmur, keeping a Haiku pattern,
“When do we say enough? ··· Change the status quo?”
Humanity hadn’t always been like this.
Eons ago, when the world was still young, there were many species of humans.
Then the Unnaturals came.
Aliens?
Gods?
Monsters?
It didn’t matter what you called them—they’d threatened humanity’s survival.
Then, one hominin stood out from the others:
Homo perfectio arose to protect the other humans.
They became a secret sacred order
—the Sentinels—
dedicated to shielding every human species:
Homo erectus; Homo rudolfensis; Homo neaderthalenthis; Homo soloensis; H. floresiensis; H. ergaster; H. denisova; Homo longi; Homo luzonensis (and others).
Protecting the other species of humans from these invaders that sought their extinction.
That’s who they are:
Homo perfectio:
the hidden guardians of the human realm.
Perfectios are different from Ordinary humans.
They bear a mark on their right palm that grants protection, health, and longevity.
The Sentinels’ appearance is uniform:
they all have shockingly green eyes, copper-toned skin, and sandy-blonde hair. Standing exactly 5’7” and left-handed, they represent the highest form of humanity.
Neither man nor woman,
but both sexes combined into one;
they are the perfect specimen of complete humanity:
Homo perfectio.
In the early days, the Sentinels operated effectively—
until a new species of Ordinary humans evolved:
Homo sapien.
And the Sapiens bred like, well, Sapiens.
It wasn’t long before every other species of Ordinary humans disappeared—died out—leaving only the Sapiens, the protectees, and the Sentinels, the protectors.
Soon, the Sentinels were vastly outnumbered by those Sapien breeders
and adequately protecting them became an impossibility…
especially when the Unnaturals targeted the tasty Sapiens.
Enter the Sapien Acolytes, enlisted to help.
They were Sapiens given special knowledge of the secret order, to help the Sentinels in their sacred task.
Yet it wasn’t lost on Blake that the Sentinels were dark toned,
while the very first Acolytes were religious Caucasians.
They didn’t have the ‘mark,’ but they had their rings.
Rings that separated them from the other Ordinary humans;
rings that set them apart from the Sentinels.
Over time, those Acolytes became their own private society within the Order, gradually taking over Sentinel duties, and eventually even controlling the Echelon itself.
Now, they threaten the very existence of the ancient order of Sentinels.
My species is dying ·
And they number in the billions ·
The Ords forbid it ·
The Sapiens are species-killers ·
And we’re next in line! ·
I wonder ·
If my ancestors knew what I know ·
Would they have given the Acolytes a foothold?
The black uniform only exasperates Blake’s unease as they stand by the curbside, fidgeting, waiting for h—
“CAAWWW—”
Damn!
They look up into the blackness.
“Are you still here, crow?” their contralto voice clear in the stillness.
Blake fruitlessly scans the poorly lit street.
“Glad you’re back in New York ··· but Ords forbid it ··· you are not nocturnal ··· Go to fucking sleep!”
Thank fuck, it’s quiet ·
As if the crow understood me! ·
No, not possible.
Blake takes out their cell phone from their right inner jacket pocket,
using the camera mode to check their pixie-styled hair.
For fucking Ord’s sake ·
Got you, mis-turned wayward strand.
A twist of the cell phone,
and Blake does an extra check of their face and neck,
making sure there are no signs of bruising.
The Ords forbid it ·
It’s hard enough without dealing with those questions.
Standing alone in the dark of night, Blake worries.
A lump in their throat;
a companion to their already queasy stomach.
They don’t want to have this conversation,
at least not under these forced conditions.
But Dar was coming,
and the uneasiness would have to be confronted.
This anxiety feels wrong because Dar is their meld-mate,
a bond validated by the response when their marks first touched all those decades ago.
And then, whilst on assignment, Darion met another:
Rosario.
Rosa, who had abdicated her powers…
and Dar fell in love.
Holy fucking Ord! ·
Her glorious, scented body ·
Her enticing lips.
Everything about Rosa made Blake’s heart ache.
So, soooo beautiful!
Not the Rubenesque beauties that Blake normally fell for.
No, she was different.
Though Rosa also lacked curves,
she exuded something else:
an exotic charm
—coupled with her insatiable appetite—
and that long black hair.
And Dar brought Rosa to their home.
To them.
From the very beginning, Rosa shared Dar and Blake’s bed.
And the couch.
And the floor.
And any other surface.
Every other surface.
God, I’m so horrrny.
Fiddling with the gold bangle around their right wrist:
‘Blake-Rosa-Dar’
each engraved name separated by the love symbol.
Together, they were a throuple,
even though they shared themselves with others…
lots of others.
And then came along Dion.
They could have taken on a role as ‘parent’
—and that was offered—
but Blake had no interest in that.
They weren’t maternal.
Not at all.
Little children grated on their nerves.
The mere thought of
Baby vomit.
Smelly nappies.
Snot dribbling into his mouth.
It made them nauseous.
Besides,
Blake was more than happy to go on assignments,
leave the parenting to Rosa and Dar,
wait for Dion to grow up before engaging in meaningful interaction.
Thus, they took on the self-appointed mantle of ‘Auntle.’
Dion is almost seven years old now,
and being his Auntle has worked perfectly fine, thank you very much.
A gift or two after each extended trip
and a few tales of their adventures
are enough to keep the young lad happy.
Blake’s Sentinel work often takes them far afield,
and sex is as much a part of their work as it is a favorite pastime.
Multiple hookups every day are the norm.
That doesn’t mean they aren’t still in a polyamorous relationship with Dar and Rosa. They are…
just not when on assignment.
Dar and Rosa understand that and accept that,
always welcoming Blake back multiple times a year when they return.
Most recently not four months back.
A month before ‘the incident.’
And everything seemed normal back then.
Carnally normal.
So, what happened? ·
Why didn’t they tell me they were in NYC? ·
Why did I have to hear it from Sentinel-Q? ·
And now he’s been called in? ·
What am I to say? ·
For Ord’s sake, I hate being put into these situations ·
They’ve ignored all my messages ·
And now I’m wearing these god-awful blacks ·
What if he’s different too? ·
How long can he and Rosa keep avoiding me? ·
And why? ·
Was there a reason? ·
Have they rejected me because I was ·
Urgh ·
I don’t know ·
How can I cope with their loss too?
Blake checks their smartwatch,
shaking their head
For fucking Ord’s sake ·
All this worrying killed my buzz ·
I should have control ·
But my blood pressure ·
Way too high ·
And my mouth is so dry ·
But I can’t help it ·
What if we’re no longer soulmates?
Blake hopes that wearing a tight, body-hugging, skin-exposed ‘Fetish-Queen’ ‘hollow wet look set’ underneath their long black trench coat…
with Skinzwear’s ‘black micro pouch thong with quick release hook’ might help persuade him.
But that’s a long shot.
The only real way of knowing is the ancient way.
Their way.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Raven, perched high above, watches all movement.
A 2013 Celestial Phantom coasts up to the checkpoint,
the driver’s window rolling down smoothly.
A uniformed police officer approaches the chauffeur.
A brief exchange,
the officer pulls out his cell phone,
gesturing for the car to proceed.
The sleek black vehicle cruises into the restricted zone…
and Raven soars above, silently shadowing its path.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Blake terminates the call,
putting their cell away.
Witless Police Ord ·
Just another slave to the Sapien Acolytes ·
As the entire world is ·
As I fucking am!
That is the truth as Blake knows it:
that the world of Ordinary humanity
—Ords—
is controlled by the Acolytes.
The whole world.
Governments at their beck and call.
Americans might vote for their President, but that President is subservient to the will of the Echelon. As is every country, developed or undeveloped.
Of all the differing regimes, the dictatorships were the easiest to manipulate; though some baulked, even rebelled, they were, generally, deftly subdued―like the case ten years ago:
Blake still isn’t sure if the attack on Iraq was the Echelon’s way of punishing a rogue dictator, or if images of the US romping through Iraq in 2003 was the Echelon’s warning to the rest of the world that America was their current lapdog.
Perhaps it was both.
History showed that the Echelon was no stranger to enforcing their will; even if the cost was millions of Ord lives.
And a few Presidents.
Subterfuge is the way that the Echelon controls the World using many different formats, and Democracy is a relatively recent tool. Though Blake is apolitical, they wonder how long the democratic experiment will last.
How long before the USA would be forced to accept a religious clerical dictatorship? ·
America, a fascist theocracy? ·
Hard to believe ·
If the Echelon could do it, it would be a masterclass of manipulation!
Blake isn’t certain exactly when the Acolytes became so powerful, but according to Darion
—and he was the consummate historian—
the first Sentinels (Homo perfectio) had been too focused on working in the shadows, keeping the Unnaturals at bay, while letting humanity descend into chaos.
The Acolytes (Sapiens) had stepped in some five millennia ago, saving the day with their technology and know-how while maintaining the barriers against the Unnaturals.
According to Dar.
Fucking Acolytes ·
Just corrupt Sapiens in control ·
Settle down, Blake ·
Can’t be negative around him ·
That must be him now!
Blake rips off the right fingerless glove.
Keep it together, Blake, for Ord’s sake ·
Be professional ·
Don’t show emotion.
The limo glides to the curb, and Blake’s eyebrows rise.
Holy fucking Ords ·
That looks expensive ·
And new ·
Like it’s been driven straight off the showroom floor!
Fighting the butterflies in their stomach, Blake’s gloved left hand reaches for the rear door handle. They open the door—
Struck by the dazzling celestial ceiling illuminating the figure inside.
Shut your mouth, Blake ·
Keep your composure ·
Don’t show him feelings or any fragility.
“Councilman Eridu,” Blake says, their contralto voice steady.
A barrel-chested man in a beige suit, perfectly matched with a Fedora, exits the vehicle.
With his left gloved hand, he removes his hat—and bows
“Sentinel Hasankeyf.”
Of course, he bowed.
He is a ‘beta.’
It was generally difficult for those of the H. perfectio species to accept that another species had evolved from their line—
One that could be more advanced.
But Homo perfectio were self-propagating,
each with only a single egg.
Not a flaw,
except those Ordinary humans soon vastly outnumbered them.
As if in response to this imbalance, a new species of Sentinel emerged:
Homo secundii.
Also known as the ‘Second Ones.’
More often, however, they were referred to by the disparaging label: ‘Beta.’
H. secundii possessed all the hallmarks of the original line, except for one crucial difference:
their sexes were divided.
Both females and males reproduce the same way as Ordinary humans.
And with Ordinary humans.
Despite their differences, both Perfectio and Secundii continue their shared mission as Sentinels to this very day.
Dar’s exaggerated bow wasn’t a gesture of respect
—it was deliberate performance, meant to draw a laugh—
He even stretched out Blake’s ancient ancestral name in a teasing tone, knowing the effect it would have.
Blake recognizes the tactic immediately and can feel their tension ebbing away despite themselves.
“Cheeky Beta-shit,” Blake smirks, “you can stop bowing n—”
“CA-CAAAWWWW—”
“AHH!” Darion yelps, suddenly ducking and covering his head.
“For Ord’s sake!” he hisses,
stooping lower,
glancing nervously around.
“Birdy scare you, Dar? ···”
Blake bursting into laughter.
“From cocky to skittish ··· in point-one second! ··· What’s gotten into you?”
But their amusement fades as Darion remains hunched, still scanning the area, his body tense.
He is still paranoid ·
Still obsessed with the Unnaturals.
Unlike Blake, Darion despises them.
He sees their shadow behind every unexplained event;
every strange disappearance;
every catastrophe.
From the vanishing of ships and planes
to the mysterious phenomena attributed to so-called UFOs,
Darion is convinced the Unnaturals are involved.
Wars, famine, pestilence and every other disaster afflicting the Ordinary humans—even the tragedy, some twelve years ago, of the god-awful ‘9/11’—he believes they are all orchestrated by unseen hand of the Unnaturals.
Blake doesn’t share his paranoia, at least not towards the Unnaturals.
In their long life, they had encountered only a handful of Unnaturals, and even then, most were half-breeds:
werewolves, witches, and vampires.
Most of the true Unnatural species had all but disappeared, relegated to myths and legends.
Most.
What few remains are hidden in plain sight, confined to secret compounds thanks to Sentinel vigilance over the centuries.
Blake does agree that there is a connection to every misfortune;
it’s just that Blake points their long, slender finger
directly at the feet of the Acolytes.
They’re the fucking problem.
Darion is the strongest person Blake knows.
But the mere thought of an Unnatural turns him into a blubbering mess.
Watching him cower like this might seem comical to anyone else, but Blake sees him for what he is:
Unhinged ·
Fragile ·
In need of help ·
Perhaps even psychiatric help.
Blakes’s stomach churns at the thought:
I can’t suggest that ·
It would only make it worse for him.
“Dar,” Blake says softly, reaching down to touch his head.
“Dar, it’s just a crow ···
They are back in New York.”
He says nothing,
but his body shifts ever so slightly,
his breathing decelerating.
Slowly, he straightens,
though his eyes still dart skywards.
As his composure returns,
so do those steely eyes Blake knows so well.
That’s the Dar I know and love ·
He’s all business-like ·
Thank the fucking Ords, he’s back!
But he’s silent,
his gaze fixed now on Blake’s ungloved right hand—
the dangling bangle catching the light.
He’s studying me ·
Assessing.
Blake can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.
He’s wondering whether to ·
Oh, there it is!
Darion rips the glove off his right hand,
the leathery copper-toned skin exposed,
the bangle on his wrist glinting like a challenge.
He extends his hand.
Blake hesitates, eyes flicking to his bare hand.
No ring!
Heart pounding, they offer their hand―
SHOCK!―
“OOOOOH!!” gasping simultaneously as the energy courses between them.
It’s immediate and primal—
Blake’s lips crush against his in a desperate kiss.
Oh god!
‘DINGING’ violently loud―
I want you!
A hardness grows between their legs…
I need you!
and a tingling below.
Please…
His lips devour theirs…
they moan,
lips crushing,
blood rushing.
Fuck—
Darion pulls away sharply,
their hands breaking apart as the pulse lingers.
Blake’s teeth graze his lips as he retreats,
but it’s his lips that find their neck,
trailing soft kisses beneath their chin.
‘DINGING’ is incessant,
Blake stretches their neck in invitation,
their right leg bending at the knee.
“Not here, Blake,” Dar groans, his voice rough with restraint,
“not yet.”
His lips move higher,
nipping just under their ear.
“Blake”, he whispers, his breath hot,
“I’ve missed this. Missed you.”
And just like that, he’s gone,
pulling away before they can drag him back.
Fucking bloody tease.
Both look at their palms,
now marked by the same vibrant blue symbol:
an eye surrounded by a horseshoe,
glowing bright against the dark.
Blake shoves him playfully,
their laughter ringing out.
“Hah, Dar Eridu ··· It’s not me you have missed ··· it’s what the mark does!”
Dar smirks, the picture of smugness.
“Blame the mark all you want, Blake, but you still wanted to eat me alive even after I pulled my hand from yours.”
Blake feels the blood rushing to their head, embarrassed,
“No—ahh—it’s just,” Haiku tossed aside, “the mark has a lingering effect. That’s all.”
“Liar,” he says, arms wide, inviting.
“I know because mine’s still aching, too.
Because I want you just as much.”
Blake doesn’t resist,
stepping into his embrace
Thank the fucking Ords ·
He’s not wearing the ring ·
He wears that bangle ·
Everything’s alright.
“You know,” Blake murmurs,
“I do live here. We could,” touching the buttons on his suit,
as they pucker up their lips, readying for round two,
“take the exterior lift straight to my apart—”
“It happened at your place?” he interrupts, voice cutting through the haze.
Blake groans internally
‘Dinging’ finally subsiding
Damn it, buzz killer.
“Not in my penthouse ···” they say reluctantly,
“occurred on the fifth floor.”
“In your building?”
“Now don’t you start, Dar ···” Blake snaps,
the heat in their contralto tone replaced by exasperation,
“I’ve already had it ··· the inquisition ··· the fucking Echelon.”
It had hardly been an ‘inquisition.’
Certainly, nothing like the Salem incident, which the Acolytes orchestrated all those many years ago, nor the countless other persecutions their fanatical sect had enforced over recent centuries. Yes, there were questions.
After all, the incident occurred in Blake’s building.
But it hadn’t taken long for them to be cleared of any wrongdoing or inappropriate liaison with the ‘Unnaturals.’
“Come on then,” Dar says,
his rough right hand gripping their left with urgency,
“let’s do this,” his voice tense, his movements sharp.
Blake’s mind races,
searching for a reason to go slower…
or, better yet, to avoid going in entirely.
“Urgh,” he moans,
popping the brim of his hat under the thumb of his right hand
the other still holding Blake’s firmly.
What’s he doing now?
His left hand retrieves a monogrammed kerchief from his suit pocket,
dabbing at his forehead.
Is he sweating? ·
At this temperature?
He runs the hand through his thick, mousey-blond hair,
slicking it back from his forehead to the nape of his neck.
“Gaw, it’s hot for May,” he mutters
donning his Fedora again.
Perhaps he’s nervous ·
I’ll play along.
“Set to get hotter ··· glad you got that beauty ···
you’ll need that air con.”
Come on Dar ·
Fall for it ·
Let’s fool around inside.
“Speaking of it, Dar ··· Do you own that beauty?”
“Hah, I wish.”
“It looks expensive.”
Dar snorts, amused.
“You’re not really a car person, are you, Blake?”
“Now how’d you know that?”
“You know what they say about sarcasm, Blake…
that’s a Rolls Royce.”
“Uh?”
“Yes, but not just any Rolls.
A one-off limo version” he says, his tone lightening with excitement. “Extended wheelbase, custom build, and…” he trails off,
sighing audibly.
“Never mind. Just wait till you see the interior. The ceiling is amazing. You’ll love it, Blake. It hasn’t even released yet, but it’s already part of Paul’s collect—”
“Warwick?” Blake blurts, taken aback.
What the fucking Ord?
“He’s a Limey Ord—”
Dar’s expression tightens. “Hey, Paul’s one of us.”
Major buzz killer · Blake’s mind reels ·
When did he start supporting them?
“When did Acolyte—”
“They’re ‘Ringbearers,’” Dar interrupts, his tone curt,
“and they control—”
“They are pretenders ··· they’re not the same as us.”
“And yet,” Dar’s voice sharpens with accusation,
“you’ve taken the Black.”
I knew he’d bring it up.
“Because S-Q insisted.”
“And the smartwatch?
Hard not to notice that noisy alarm,” Dar presses,
his eyes narrowing.
Blake shrugs, feigning indifference.
“Came with the outfit.”
“That model’s not due for release for another nine years.”
“Don’t like the pretenders ··· but can like their things,” winking at him, trying to deflect.
“All right, Blake,” Dar sighs,
the tension easing a bit,
“I’m not going to fight about it.
Now, what’s all this about?
Why was I summonsed?”
“You mean, why did I ··· interrupt your,”
Blake pauses
grins mischievouszy,
“what was it ··· ‘Second Honeymoon?”
“Is nothing sacred?” Dar mutters, half amused, half exasperated.
“If you wanted a sex holiday—”
“Will you please refer to it—”
“You didn’t have sex wi—”
“Look, Blake—”
“Hey, no one’s blaming you.
I was just wondering why …” Blake trails off,
confused by his confusion.
“I mean,” Blake hesitates,
“aren’t we a throuple?
Since our first honeymoon, we’ve been one.
What’s changed?
I’ve been trying to call you.
I’ve been worried sick.”
“Ugh! No, no, no,” Dar groans,
running a hand through his hair.
“Nothing’s changed.
I was supposed to call you.
Sorry.
That was my fault.
She didn’t want any interruptions—
wanted the phones turned off.
I was supposed to tell you, let you know.
Sorry, I forgot.”
He’s making no sense.
Blake furrows their brow.
“Forgot? To tell me what?”
“We’re trying for another boy.”
“Oh? Ohhhhhh, copulation,” they nod slowly,
processing the information.
But it always seems strange to Blake.
Unnatural.
Messy.
Full of uncertainty and emotion
No, just primitive.
Blake much prefers the Perfectio way.
But they don’t voice their discontent.
“Thank god. I get it ··· But Dion’s not enough?”
“With so many of our lines being infertile,
I thought you would be ple—”
Blake lowers their head.
The weight of the situation hangs heavy.
“Oh no. You too?”
Blake can’t avoid it.
The truth…
inescapable.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Three Months Ago:
Blake had received fresh orders from Sentinel-Q.
An easy mission, they said:
demonstrate to the Acolytes how ‘we’ rearrange the memory of an Ord—Ordinary human—and cover up the evidence.
Simple in theory.
Easy on paper.
Uncertain in practice
The Acolytes were Sapiens, and they never hid their disdain for Homo perfectio. They had their slurs: calling Perfectios ‘futas’ and dismissing Sentinel-Q as ‘Sentinel-Queer.’ Most Acolytes avoided interaction with their kind, preferring to deal with the beta line instead.
Blake had every reason to be uneasy.
Their rare encounters with Acolytes in the past had always triggered the warning in their palm: sharp, electrical stings coursing up their arm, like the mark itself rejected their presence.
But Sentinel-Q framed this as a mission of reconciliation.
An opportunity for both parties to learn to collaborate.
And Blake was ordered to comply.
Blake wasn’t the only one chosen.
Frankie was also assigned to experiment in harmony, stationed alongside them in NYC. Globally, over twenty other Perfectios were paired with Acolytes for the same initiative:
Perfectio and Acolyte Sapien, working together.
Who would believe it?
The male and female assigned to work with Blake towered over them, each a good two inches taller. Both wore the customary black uniform of their kind—the Acolytes—the male’s muscular frame and the female’s shapely figure unmistakable, even under the doctor’s white coats they had donned for the task.
“So,” she said, spinning playfully, twirling a lock of her hair around her fingers, “what do you think?”
Damn it ·
Breathtaking!
She was flirting. It couldn’t be more obvious. Her smile was mischievous, her movements deliberate.
Blake’s throat tightened,
their tongue felt thick,
and those involuntary stirrings ignited.
She was everything that Blake loved about Ords:
tall, with curves that teased and taunted.
The dichotomy always fascinated Blake:
the simultaneous pull of attraction and repulsion,
accompanied with the constant pain as their palm’s mark issued ‘danger’ warnings.
Blake could’ve kept it simple, stayed within their own kind, sought intimacy with those who shared the mark and the ancient lineage of Sentinels.
But no.
Blake liked the ache, the sharp edges, the complications that came with Ords.
“Masochistic slut,” Blake muttered to their self, under breath, the familiar mix of revulsion and desire curling in their gut.
While it was clear that the male had a rapport with the female Acolyte, Blake was unsure whether such a bond extended beyond the professional sphere, into the bedroom. However, it was clear that she was toying with them, and the male didn’t seem to mind.
Despite Blake’s reservations, both Acolytes were inquisitive, and anxious to learn. It was a two-way experience: to show and be shown. Blake didn’t reveal all their techniques, of course, just those that pertained to the hand on the head, and likewise the Acolytes showed Blake just a portion of their technology.
The procedure went smoothly, and a celebratory moment seemed fitting. The female invited Blake upstairs for a nightcap, and while Blake had an idea of what might follow, they were cautious. The mark on their palm had ‘flashed’ a warning, but this was a common occurrence whenever Blake was near Acolytes, and no danger had ever followed. Blake had learned to ignore these subtle signals when dealing with these individuals.
And Blake couldn’t help but feel more than a twinge of desire. The female Acolyte was young, and that trench coat couldn’t hide those curves—curves in all the right places—and Blake was a sucker for soft buxom bodies. Jealous, in a way, coz Blake had dismal triple-A cups; flat-chested with few curves to speak of (as are all Perfectios).
She took Blake’s hand,
“Don’t worry about him,” pointing to her partner,
“It’s just you and me; let’s party!”
The male hurriedly left
while the female led Blake into the two-story townhouse.
It had an open floor space with a loft.
She pulled Blake along, leading them upstairs.
Blake noticed all the signs of her flirting
—giggling, twirling of hair, ‘accidental’ touches—
and purposeful touches as she stroked their palm in their clasped hands.
She wanted it.
But Blake wasn’t sure what she wanted,
or if she knew herself.
Once in the loft,
she headed straight for the couch,
gesturing toward the liquor stand,
“Why don’t you hang up your coat and pour us a drink?”
Though it sounded like a question, Blake knew it wasn’t.
They removed their coat
and walked over to the Martini table—facing the wall opposite the Junoesque Acolyte lounging on the sofa—on which stood only one decanter and two glasses.
Blake paused…
the decanter was in the shape of a cock,
and the two glasses were the shape of a woman’s body:
an ominous sign that she was expecting something.
Blake poured a shot’s worth in each glass and, both hands full,
did a one-eighty towards the couch—
Damn!
Her trench coat was splayed, and she, naked.
Naked except for those knee-high boots.
Naked and unashamed.
Naked and desirous.
Sybaritic.
Has she been naked under that trench coat the entire time?
Blake wasn’t sure.
Does it even matter?
She smiled, stroking her soft pubes—a perfectly waxed ‘arrow’— “Don’t just stand there,” she said
and beckoned them forth.
Blake squirted.
Squirted in both places.
They continued to the sofa, a glass in each hand,
expecting her to take one
—for the alcohol to take the edge off the moment—
to ease any lingering tension.
Though it doesn’t seem like she needs too much help!
She reached…
for their crotch, grabbing their erection—
and Blake froze.
Though they are androgynous,
their face errs on the side of the feminine,
so Ords—Ordinary people—
often mistake Blake for a woman.
But this one knew.
She knew, and she enthusiastically rubbed it
and confirmed it with her touch.
Knowing and seeing, however, are two entirely different things.
Her hands worked quickly,
unfastening their belt,
undoing the button,
and pulling down the zip.
Blake stood frozen, immobilized by a mixture of fear and uncertainty, still holding the drinks…
as she pushed their trousers to the floor.
“You know,” stroking the bulge beneath their black ‘Skinzwear’ micro trunks, “I’ve heard of people like you.”
Fearful eros.
Every instinct told Blake to pull away, to cry ‘NO!’
Yet those instincts were betrayed by the tightness down there as it strained to be released.
Blake tried to object,
but their tongue felt thick and heavy in their mouth—
they couldn’t say shit.
The only movement was their traitor cock,
desperately trying to stand to attention
but constricted by that ‘Skinzwear’ barrier.
She moved slowly,
deliberately pulling down those Skinzwear micro trunks,
marveling at the sight,
“But I’ve never seen one before…
‘til now,” her voice tinged with fascination.
Her fingers glided along the underside of their cock,
while her other hand fondled their vulva,
slowly slipping her long middle finger into the warm, wet folds. “Hey,” she cooed softly,
“Open your mouth.”
Blake complied, standing there, naked from the waist down, their mind a haze of conflicting emotions.
Something was placed on their tongue.
“Swallow,” she commanded gently.
Blake guessed it was some type of drug:
Chemsex addiction ·
She doesn’t need a relaxant ·
No shyness issues ·
She’s the eager beaver here ·
I’m the one who’s frozen stiff!
Blake raised the glass to their mouth—
“No!” she commands them sharply.
“You’re not desecrating that glass with your filthy mouth.”
But before they could pull away, her hand shot out—
A ridge hand strike—
PAIN—
they collapsed to their knees,
clutching their throat,
gasping for air.
A big fist headed towards their face—
WHACK! —
BLACK.
Blake awoke in S-Q’s private hospital, sore but alive.
The mark on their hand indicated that it had sent out an ‘SOS’ to another Perfectio.
Though their broken nose and crushed trachea were obvious injuries, Blake didn’t need doctor’s confirmation to know they’d also been raped.
The pain lingered, outside and inside.
Confusion set in as they noticed bandages on their abdomen, and the stitches on their right palm.
The doctor explained that the assailants had attempted to cut out the mark, trying to remove the invisible symbol from their palm. However, the damage to their stomach remained a mystery.
Blake’s thoughts turned to Frankie, their worry gnawing at them… but there was no news.
Though Blake’s body healed quickly,
they remained in the hospital as the staff completed all necessary checks.
When the bandages came off, there was no evidence of damage:
the mark’s restorative powers had done their work.
Its other abilities, too, seemed intact.
The incision on the abdomen was also healed,
though the specialists insisted on internal checks.
Blake was grateful for the haven S-Q always provided.
Even sitting in the medical exam chair, with feet in the stirrups, legs spread, and gown hoisted to reveal their nakedness—their genitalia—Blake felt secure.
A transvaginal wand inserted.
In an Ord hospital, such a procedure would require sedation, but Echelon technology has always been superior to that of the Ords, and this wand was more advanced and sophisticated, the process was almost painless.
Still, the sensation of the wand ‘up there’ gave Blake a hard-on.
The medical staff, trained in neutrality, responded with no judgment, just acceptance. With permission, a nurse handled the situation—and with no fuss or discomfort—simply taking their cock in gloved hands, milking them efficiently.
But the scans revealed nothing.
Because it was gone.
Blake’s one and only fertilized egg.
Taken.
Stolen.
Then came the news of Frankie’s arrival:
dropped off at the hospital’s doorstep, dumped—
stuffed inside a body bag.
Frankie’s mutilated body told a horrific tale:
right hand cut off;
throat slashed;
abdomen sliced open—and the egg removed;
their penis, severed…
jammed grotesquely into their mouth;
and carved into their forehead, the word ‘Futa’.
Of the twenty, only Blake survived.
And they called that ‘the incident’
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Blake wants to tell Dar.
To warn him.
To let him unleash his fury, sever all ties with the Acolytes.
They know he would.
But Dar wouldn’t forgive himself, either. The guilt—though he bore no blame—would crush him.
And Blake refuses to allow another part of Dar’s fragile psyche to crack further. So, they say nothing, swallowing the shame.
Besides, telling him wouldn’t help ·
Wouldn’t change anything.
“Oh no. You too?” he asks.
“You know, Darion ···” Blake responds in Haiku, “never that way inclined ··· But to have been robbed ··· that choice stolen from me ··· a difficult pill”
Fucking bad pun!
No,
Blake doesn’t want to think about it,
let alone talk about it.
So, they guide Dar towards the entrance, focusing on the moment. Even stepping into this viper’s nest feels safer than dwelling on that.
Approaching the security checkpoint at the front door—
‘CAWWING―’
A grating, unrelenting noise growing louder with every step, like a murder of crows is closing in.
Darion glances upward, his pace quickening as he pulls Blake along. “What is it,” he snaps, half-frantic, “about those damned birds? I swear that they’re following us!”
More paranoia?
A black-cloaked Echelon guard—holstered HK45s glinting at his hips—steps aside, allowing them to enter the building.
Inside, Darion visibly relaxes,
slipping an arm around Blake’s narrow shoulders.
“After we deal with this,” Dar says casually,
“let’s head up to your penthouse.
We’ve got a few days to catch up.”
What the fucking Ord? ·
That was my earlier suggestion ·
Ahh, dodging crows!
But being here is the last thing Blake wants.
The ringed ‘pretenders’ were going to be in their apartment building for the foreseeable future…
unless Dar could explain it—and dismiss it—as an Ord anomaly.
“Or could take that car ···” Blake blurts out in Haiku, latching onto the alternative ··· “head to your hotel room!”
Especially if Rosa was there ·
Was she?
“Would Rosa be cool?” Blake hesitantly inquires.
Darion shrugs, trying to appear unflappable, “She isn’t here.”
“But I thought—”
“She’s halfway through a week-long health spa treatment,” Dar interrupts smoothly.
He glances at Blake,
his lips quirking into a faint smile.
“Besides, you know, Rosa—she’s remarkably accepting.”
That’s true ·
No, the ‘remarkable’ thing:
Dar married her ·
No, not remarkable, just strange ·
She passed all the tests, proving that she was now human ·
But then why would Dar, with all his insecurities ·
And conspiracy theories about—“Urgh!” Blake groans,
shaking their head sharply,
rubbing the skin under the bangle.
“What’s wrong, Blake?” Dar’s voice pierces through the spiral.
“Nothing… I, ur ··· lost my train of thought ···”
Blake forces a smile,
“what were you saying?”
“Rosa,” Dar repeats patiently.
“She won’t mind if you come back to our hotel room.
Nothing’s changed.
We’re still a throuple.”
“All right,” Blake concedes softly in Haiku, “that’ll be nice.”
“Great!”
Dar’s tone shifts to businesslike precision:
“So, what’s all this security about?”
Blake inhales deeply.
“You’ve been away for ··· a month on your”—
they cough teasingly—
then turns serious:
“It started last week.”
“Exact time and specifics?”
I thought you would ask for that, Dar
“I’m prepared for you ···” pulling out a small notebook from their jacket’s inner pocket, flipping to a dog-eared page, “ummm, ahh! April 25th ··· time 1957 ··· that is UTC, or ··· 2:57 pm ··· with dayligh―”
“Hahaha, still operating with a 12-hour clock?
And still talking in Haiku?”
They smile.
So, he did notice!
“Fucking beta-shit!” Blake replies in joviality.
“Blake,” Dar says sharply, ignoring the jab,
his tone darkening as they step into the elevator,
“what happened?”
“It came from nowhere ··· just suddenly appeared ···
no explanation.”
“Do I have to tease it out of you?” frustration creeping into his voice as they reach the elevator.
“What did?”
“The bizarre mirror ··· it’s in an apartment ··· the fucking fifth floor.”
“A mirror?” His exasperation, obvious.
Blake waits to answer,
holding off until the elevator doors open,
entering the aluminum box,
waiting for the doors to close.
Only when the thrum of the motor begins do they speak.
“Mirror, reflection ··· whatever it is, Dar ··· appeared from nowhere ··· scared the Ords half to hell ··· I was put in charge ··· cleared all of the Ords out··· and sealed the building ··· still clueless about it.”
“I’ve entered my Mentor phase,” Dar mutters, baffled,
“so why did they decide to call me?”
Mentor phase?
Blake’s heart sinks
Oh no, he’s suckling Dion ·
I thought they wouldn’t ·
That they didn’t want this for Dion?
“Blake?” Dar questions.
“Well,” Blake hesitates,
knowing this will set him off,
“um,”
they clear their throat,
stalling.
He’s gonna have a coronary
“ur…”
Here goes nothing…
“’Coz, you married her ··· The Council thought that you ···
might be priv—”
“She’s not one of them anymore,” Darion interrupts, irritation seeping into his tone.
“No,” Blake mumbles,
wishing they’d kept quiet,
“but Rosa—”
‘DING’―
His cell phone interrupts them just as the elevator lurches to a stop.
Darion reaches for his cell phone as the elevator doors open,
steps out into the corridor as he glances at the screen…
his stride falters,
his face twisting into disbelief,
“Already named it?” he growls.
“What’s happening, Dar?” Blake begins in Haiku.
“It’s Rosa,” he mutters, voice strained. “She’s, ahhh…”
“Pregnant?”
“H-how did you know?”
“Dar,” Blake grins, smiling, “I’m observant ··· Rosa went to a Spa ··· before confirming ··· conception with Dion.”
“Oh,” He grimaces.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“It’s a girl.”
Blake raises an eyebrow. “It? Don’t a macho—”
“It’s not that,” Dar cracks,
then hesitates.
“Blake, it’s just, well …”
“Well, what?” Blake snaps, dismissing the Haiku pattern.
“Our line has never produced girls, never!”
Blake rolls their eyes.
“Gender arguments ··· are so ridiculous!”
“Oh,” Dar’s tone softening,
“sorry. That was insensitive.”
“You should be happy ··· that Rosa is healthy ··· and the fetus, fine.”
“Oh, I am,” Dar assures,
“but she’s already named it.
Who does that?”
“Rosa. And her name?”
“Celia.”
“Celia? Umm, Cely ··· I so like that name ··· congratulations, Dar,” stepping closer,
arms outstretched.
Dar moves into the embrace,
allowing Blake to squeeze him tight.
“I’m really happy ··· for you and for Rosa,” Blake murmurs,
pressing a playful peck on his lips.
“Does that mean I’ll be ··· an Auntle once again?”
“Yes,” Dar says with a quiet laugh,
leaning in to kiss them deeply.
Blake pulls away, beaming. “I’ve missed you also!”
Taking his hand,
they tug him down the corridor.
“C’mon, Dar, it’s stunning ··· Just be careful, though ···
And whatever you do ··· Don’t fucking touch it.”
He glares at Blake.
They glare back, “Don’t look at me like that! ··· Put your hand in it ··· The mirror will take it.”
“I’ll be careful, Blake.”
Urgh, that guard again ·
Don’t acknowledge him ·
Ignore him.
“Here,” arriving at a door surrounded by five guards,
“inside this room.”
A burly Echelon soldier—garbed in full black—steps forward, scrutinizing Darion before glaring past him,
“What’s that blackbird doing in here?”
Darion freezes. “Wha—”
“It came in with you!”
“I’m sorry,” Dar says,
raising his hands apologetically. “I did—”
“THIS IS A SECURE AREA—”
“RAISE YOUR VOICE TO A COUNCILMAN AGAIN, GUARD,” Dar cuts him off sharply, “AND IT’LL BE THE LAST THING YOU DO.
Understand?”
Hahaha ·
So that’s the key to fixing Dar’s paranoia ·
Verbal abuse ·
I’ll have to remember that!
The guard pales, nodding.
“If you’re so worried about the bird,” Dar continues,
voice lowering to a deadly calm,
“then get rid of it.
Look, it’s egg-bound.
Probably just wants a warm place to roost.
Now, open this door.”
Obeying, the guard swings open the door.
“What the …?” Blake gasps.
From the doorway,
all eyes lock on the center of the room.
Floating…
an oval painting,
its surface shimmering with an otherworldly scene:\
A vibrant garden with rolling green hills, flowering trees, and a sky
painted in hues of purple.
“I thought you said it was a mirror?” Dar accuses.
“I don’t under…” Blake begins, but the words die on their
lips.
“It’s okay, Blake. This is just more information to
process,” Darion’s voice calm, but resolute. “Stay back.
Let me investigate.”
He steps into the otherwise furniture-bare room, his movements careful and deliberate, all focus on the mesmerizing object hovering mid-air. It is serene yet unsettling, a window to a world that shouldn’t exist.
Darion pauses
pauses
just short of the suspended scene.
Slowly, he extends his left hand beneath it, testing the gap, confirming it is truly levi-tating.
His brow furrows as he slowly wider-shins the anomaly, muttering, “Only two inches thick… and this image is on both sides.”
Removing his hat, he hesitates for a moment before pressing the brim into the surface.
The tranquil nature scene ripples like disturbed water, the movement oddly hypnotic.
“Oh,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with both curiosity
and unease. He retracts the hat to find its edge halved
cleanly; the once-pristine Fedora now reduced to a
jagged remnant.
Turning back to Blake, his expression is one of genuine bewilderment. “I’ve never seen anything like this in
all my fifteen decades.”
“Neither has Girsu,” Blake says dryly, arms crossed.
The traitor.
“And he has another ··· thirty years on you.”
Darion ignores the barb, his attention already back on the phenomenon.
He completes another slow circuit around the hovering image, taking in every detail.
“And this just… suddenly appeared?”
“Yes,” Blake confirms,
stepping a fraction closer,
their eyes locked on the nature scene with its pulsating ripples,
“but before it—”
“And have you tr—”
“We’ve tried everything, Dar,” Blake cuts him off,
their voice edged with frustration,
“we even—”
“CAW-CA-CAWWWWW!―”
Both heads snap up as screeching Raven streaks across the room, her bloated abdomen clearly visible.
Raven dives straight into the suspended image, ripples cascading…
Soaring through the serene purple sky…
Gliding into the dense forest beyond…
Vanishing.
Darion freezes, his jaw tight.
Blake stares at the spot where the bird disappeared.
Oh?
Hands on their hips.
That is very strange.
“When does a raven ··· sound like a fucking crow?”
Darion turns to Blake,
voice trembling, “When it’s not a raven.”
Blake’s brows furrow.
“What are you saying?”
“That ‘raven’ was one of them,” Darion shudders,
his emerald eyes wide with alarm,
“an Unnatural!”
Blake stiffens.
“Are you saying—”
“Your problem’s solved, Blake,” Darion’s voice growing hoarse,
his panic barely restrained.
“It’s a portal—a door—but only for them!”
Blake stares at him,
trying to process.
“What should we—”
“We shut this building down,”
gripping their shoulders tightly,
his fingers digging in.
“Forever.
The Ords must never know about this,” his voice breaking, raw with fear.
“We need guards on this 24/7.
And Blake,
please…
please…
make sure nothing comes through from the other side.”
The gravity in his words, chills Blake to the core.
They both turn their eyes back to the portal,
the picturesque image gone,
replaced by their reflection
as ripples mar the face of the hovering mirror.
Holy Fucking Ords!
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
End Notes
Harari, Yuval Noah. Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind
Community
Comments are coming soon
We are building a thoughtful space for discussion. Comments are still in development — stay tuned.