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Hi everybody. I'm willing to and it's story time. If this is your first time listening, I am so grateful that you are here. I hope you enjoy our story today and I hope you come back. If this is not your first time here, thanks so much for coming back. If you would like subscribe do all of those things that I can ever remember to tell you to do, I would be ever so grateful. Thanks a lot. Let's get started. For the entirety of my life, wars have been started by men who sit comfortably behind desks, safely separated from the battlefield by hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles. They send men and women into the line of fire to die for what has consistently turned out to always be a lie. And when those men and women come home from the war, many of them bringing the war home with them to their families, the men who put them in danger conveniently forget about them until those men need to put new pawns on the board. Because war, war never changes. Today I am grateful and privileged to bring you a story about what happens after the war is over. And the people who have been forever changed by it don't have the luxury of simply moving on and leaving it in the past. This is a story about how we treat our veterans. That landed on me like a laser guided precision bomb. And I have really been looking forward to narrating it for you. This is a story with teeth. Teeth by Kemi Ashinagiwa. Originally published in KaleidoTrope January 2025. Tendaji Kahinu dies. Whenever he closes his eyes. The same nightmare haunts him each time. A wretched dream whose hold on him never wanes. It's the same night that plays in his head over and over again. Such is his curse. It always starts with Ten spilling his guts in a meadow. As hot blood flows out cold acceptance creeps in. He tried his best. But sometimes the job is just the job. He's served as a gray coat for 10 years now. He knows the risks. He knows the enemy. You can't wage war against the Kivular. They're too smart for that. You send lone hunters as bait, dispatch predators in the guise of prey. Then all you can do is pray that the balance will tip in the favor of your dull, cloaked soldiers. But today is not 10's day. The kibble he was tracking has taken him down. All he saw was a millisecond long flash, the sharp glint of a meter long claw and. And then he was on his back. A shallow but screamingly painful slash across his middle. Now the kivul stares down at him in triumph, or at least he gets the impression it does. It has no face, no features a human could recognize. The enemy is neither living nor dead. It is neither flora nor fauna. The kivular are a virus summoned from the hells of ancient folklore and have a fitting appearance, impervious angular shells no larger than a human head balanced on 6 spindly 2 meter limbs. A Kival does not want, it only needs and it needs to reproduce. And as with viruses, the kevular require living beings to do the hard, bloody work. And now 10 will become a living kevular nursery, kept just barely alive until its offspring are ready to claw and cut their way free. Glutted on his raw insides, the kvil unfolds its ovipositor. The serrated needle like curve of the appendage gleams with the reflected light of the planet's four gargantuan moons. Ten, immobilized with pain and fear, can do little more than tremble as the ovipositor nears his slashed stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut. And then nothing. Ten wakes up in bed to find nothing but the silence and shadows of very early morning, the same as he saw when he finally opened his eyes on that balance forsaken night. He doesn't know why the Kibel spared him. He doesn't know why he survived the war when better soldiers, better people died, when Kyota died. Ten suspects he never will know, but those questions haunt him all the same. The telltale chime of an official summons interrupts his musings. Ten groans, but he's fooling no one, not even himself. He needs this. All he knows, all he ever will know, is that he has to make the life he was given worth it. Otherwise, what's the point of anything at all? Ten rolls out of bed without another second's delay. Duty calls, as it always does. My least favorite gray coat greets the silver pontifex, waving 10 inside her office. Come in, come in. Ten chuckles as he sits down. They're distant cousins, not that they ever talk about it. The rumors of nepotism are already loud enough. They look more like twins than far removed relations. They have the same dark brown skin and thick black hair, the same sharp chins and obsidian eyes. Get right to it, Ten, says the silver pontifex. I have a mission for you. Just tell me when and where. Sir, he replies. I'm sending you out to the Fringe tomorrow. There's a long pause, one meant to be filled with a response. The fringe. 10 is thrown too far off balance to reply at first. He's being carted off to the jagged edge of explored space, a lawman delivered into a den of lawlessness. Smugglers and thieves aren't all that end up in the outer worlds, those ungovernable clumps of rock and ice and dust spinning between the stars. With fewer than a hundred scattered settlements in the fringe, there's not much light to fend off the dark. So many shadows, so many places for people with something less than a soul to hide in. But the job is the job, even if it's increasingly become a massive pain in the ass. 10 will do his duty because no one else will. The people who would have carried out the gray coat mission far better than he are dead. His best friend included. Oh, if 10 could have switched places with Kyota, Balance knows he would have. Aren't you curious as to the what of this job, 10? 10 assumes a curious expression. Of course I am, sir. The silver pontifex arches a brow. Tell me everything you know about Eclipse. Way back when the Interstellar Federation, AKA the if, was in charge, a top secret government project named Eclipse got their grubby paws on some Kivular biotech. They attempted to raise living weapons to combat Kivular, people with superhuman capabilities that could be dropped into enemy territory to wreak havoc on the monsters. Or they were supposed to be, anyway. Most of Eclipse's efforts resulted in utter failure. What Eclipse ended up creating were people only a little less nightmarish than the Kivular ravenous, hematophagic beings that attacked, killed, and ate anything living. Or at least that's what the recovered files claimed. The soldiers had little to no control over their bloodthirsty rages, which Eclipse had fruitlessly attempted to restrict to programmed time intervals. Eclipse called the poor bastards they created unmortals. Ten cannot believe that someone got paid to come up with that name. In his last year in power, when the IF was losing what little control it had, the unmortals escaped. Or perhaps Eclipse released them, hoping to distract the populace from the government's myriad failings. Look, you need us to protect you. Don't think too hard about how we created the monsters in the first place. There were a lot of closed caskets that year. Unmortals that couldn't or wouldn't learn to control themselves were gradually tracked down by the eventually victorious Republic and given a choice. Confinement until they figured out how to manage their condition, or lifelong banishment to some uninhabited world beyond. Even the Fringe. Flash forward to the present day Besides the sporadic trade argument or border dispute, humans coexist unmortals and mortals both. And that's basically it, Ten concludes. Good enough. The silver Pontifex steeples her fingers over her desk. Unmortal citizens have begun to disappear in the Fringe. I want to know why. Ten blinks at her. Who'd dare? He asks. Or rather, who has the strength to take out a single unmortal, let alone multiple? That's what you're going to find out. Her mouth presses into a razor sharp line before she opens it again. I suspect the worst, that it's one of the terrorist cells from the days of the if. You know, the ones that liked to scream about the loss of human purity and the end of human civilization. Well, I think one's been resurrected. But that's all I have. Suspicion now it's up to you to investigate. Ten, like pretty much every other denizen of the human settled galaxy, is glad that the Blessed Republic took over from the Interstellar Federation. Honestly, no one liked the IF in its last decade, not even its own leaders. It was a mostly bloodless and mostly popular coup. Ten's grateful the Republic founded the Ashen Order and gave him a job. He's proud to be a Graycoat, proud to protect the citizenry from the Kivular that the IF let ravage the Fringe. He truly believes in the balance, the natural and net positive order to things, though he doesn't quite worship it. Like most of his brethren, he is so painfully proud to have a purpose, something to give the life he doesn't deserve, some semblance of meaning. It's just the Qivular are on the run, crawling back to whatever awful planet birthed them. He's getting older and he's not quite sure what to do with himself now that the danger is gone. It's terrifying. 10 was more than happy to fly into the Fringe, blasters blazing, when there was good reason, when there were millions of lives at stake. But, well. But the job the Silver Pontifex just assigned him to is obviously busy work. There's peace and prosperity as far as the greatest telescopes can see. The Republic doesn't need gray coats anymore, but it cares for its veterans too much to sack them. The jobs 10 and his fellows have been getting lately are just something to keep them occupied and a way for the Silver Pontifex to burn surplus taxpayer dollars and look good doing it. A win win in theory. This isn't something 10 can turn down, because if he can't do something with his life. Then why in all the worlds is he still breathing when the people he loved aren't keen? K had a mission, a purpose. K should be alive. It's the worst joke in the galaxy that they aren't. He swallows a sigh. I'm on it, sir. May the balance Damn it all. 10 lies flat on his stomach on a dusty roof terrace, peering through the painted bars of the balustrade. He's slept atop this balance damned apartment complex for the last three days now, hoping that his contact was right, that this is where he'll finally find who he's looking for. If not, he'll have to go through the trouble of tracking down that contact and making him understand the importance of not wasting a gray coat's time. Not that tense. Time is nearly as valuable as it used to be. He scratches moodily at the bristle on his chin, squinting into the infernally eternal gloom of this particular fringe world. His search has led him to Curisit 7, a web of subterranean settlements hidden away on a rocky outpost world. The surface is an unremarkable shell of dark stone, but underneath lies a natural labyrinth of tunnels connecting underground city states and vast lakes. It would be beautiful if it wasn't also drab. There's a gorgeous yellow star burning away the darkness of space in this system, but it's not as if its gentle golden light can be appreciated way down here. By now, 10 is 30 to 34% sure his boss just made up the story of the vanishing unmortals to justify her greycoat salaries. Whatever. As long as he has a chance to put some good into the universe and the bills get paid, he's not complaining. There. Movement. 10 nearly missed it. Rok encases this city state like an unyielding dark bubble, the swirling darkness cut by a few scattered floating lamps. It's hard to pick out his own two hands, let alone his target. A man slides from the shadows at the corner of Ten's periphery and slips into the adjacent building. He moved too fast for 10 to pick out any key details besides his long black overcoat, but that's all he needs and all his contact told him about the possible culprit. He could have the wrong guy, of course, but he can't risk letting this opportunity slip through his fingers. If he's right, 10 scrambles down the ladder carved into the side of the apartment building, dashes across the alleyway, and vaults through a broken window. He lands like an Orowan cat, making it inside with nothing more than a few faint Scratches from the shattered glass. Three slow claps. How impressive. Ten whirls around, a sleeper blade flying from his fingers. His target steps into the weak light, melting from the darkness. He catches the knife in mid air. The man examines the weapon with an expression that looks almost amused. Almost. You'll need more than this to take me, priest. Ten, already on his feet, shrugs. It was a test. Sleeper blades are non lethal weapons. More darts than knives though they're coated with enough sedative to bring down a Ngachog bull. But no human, no normal human, could just pluck one right out of the air and you passed. Or failed, however you want to think of it. So what now? The man asks and Ten can almost believe he's as lackadaisical as he seems. There's something oddly familiar about this guy. Something about the squarish cut of his jaw, the low slant of his brows. It sets Ten's teeth on edge. You have to come with me, he says, his voice only mostly flat. He's more taken off guard than he thought. The man flips the sleeper blade with a twist of his wrist and sends it right into the wood between Ten's boots. Hmm, I don't think so. Kyoto would have been so impressed by that move. And that was always the problem with them. They were excited by everyone and everything. They were constantly in awe of the universe when they probably should have been more afraid. Maybe then they would be alive. Maybe then take Ten could get some sleep. Ten lifts his hands in a placating gesture. I'm not arresting you. I'm trying to save you. And throwing knives at me is supposed to help you achieve that? As I said, it was a test. It wouldn't have hurt you anyway and you know it. Listen, unmortals like yourself have been vanishing all across the Fringe worlds. If you come with me, I can offer you sanctuary with the Ashen Order until we find out who's responsible for the disappearances. But what if I'm responsible for the disappearances? The man's mouth splits into a grin. The smile yanks at something in Ten's memory. Recognition pierces his his mind. Everything seems to freeze. He reaches for the emergency sleeper blade hidden in his coat. The man moves. He moves like a shadow over sunlit steel. He moves with the speed and silence of death itself. The man lashes out and grabs Ten's left wrist. The grin is gone, replaced by an ice cold frown. You should probably let go. His grip is the type of gentle that only comes from carefully learning how to manage extraordinary strength. Ten knows he isn't imagining the power in the unmortal's hand, the promise that a failure to comply will end with broken bones. Ten weighs his options, none of them ideal. He drops the sleeper blade, blood pounding behind his eyes as it clatters to the floor. You're Alexandru Ebon Botazatu, 10 says, the words squeezing between gritted teeth. Sure, says Alexandru. He has quite a few more teeth than seems normal. The last created unmortal, the man who hunted down every escaped Eclipse member after the coup and gave them each a death far worse than the Republic punishment they'd escaped when the if President had gone missing a few years into his house arrest. All fingers pointed to Ebon Botezatu. Some called him a saint, most a monster. 10 has to know. Did you kill the President? Sure, says Alexandru. But don't you want to know if I'm going to kill you? He takes another step, coming up much closer than 10 would like. 10 knows that the only reason he hears the movement is because Alexandru is consciously making noise, and that fact alone gives the gray coat his answer. I know you won't. Alexandru stares at him. There's a coldness to the man, that of fresh snow and dead flesh. Ten suppresses a shiver. Ten, his fingertips of his left hand going numb. After a long moment, Alexandru sighs a long, suffering sigh. He doesn't even bother arguing. He just lets 10 go and steps back, taking the chill with him. So what was your whole mission? To track down any unmortal you could and whisk us away to the core worlds? No. 10's original mission was to hunt down whoever was behind the disappearances. He had such ill luck with that, his plan eventually transformed into finding unmortals, getting them to safety, and hopefully catching the culprit in the act. Seems like a pretty big job. You have a partner. Partners? We decided to split up. 10 lies. He doesn't know this man well. Certainly not well enough to determine if Alexandru just has resting murder face or is genuinely homicidal at the moment. You're lying. I don't bother. I can hear your heartbeat, says Alexandru. Whatever. I don't actually care what your mission is. But it's over now. Ten shakes his head no. I need to know what happened to the vanish on mortals. All citizens of the Republic, with no due respect. It's none of your business, snaps Alexandru. Leave me and my people alone. What happens if I don't? You're about to find out. All citizens of the Republic, ten says again, are under the protection of the Ashen Order. If you're killing other Immortals, then go ahead and murder me now, because we're going to make you pay. 10 likes to think that Kyoto would have been proud. The thought makes him stand a little taller. Alexandria's eyebrows lift. I'm not killing other Immortals. Then prove it otherwise. I have no choice but to arrest you. To try to arrest me, you leave. Sure, replies Ten, mimicking Alexandru's tone. Alexandru looks him up and down. Walk with me. Ten's brows draw together in confusion. What? Walk with me, alexandria repeats, perfectly polite, And I promise you'll get your answers. Ten suddenly misses his blaster. Wild Thing. The Republic got rid of high powered projectile weapons when the Kivular left, reasoning that there was no real justification for keeping such potent destructive tech when the only things left to kill were other humans. But if 10 had been granted permission to remove Wild Thing from the archives for this mission, and he'd probably have a chance against Alexandra. Shooting him now would probably save everyone a whole lot of trouble. Certainly 10 himself. He never had much patience for slow intel gathering missions like these. He's a graycoat, not a spy, for balance's sake. But this never, ever changes. What choice does he have? Fine, growls Ten, but if you could hurry this up, I'd be much obliged. I have to report back to the Silver Pontifex sometime this century, you know, and there's a bunch of paperwork that needs to get done before that. And I have three leather jackets in slightly different shades of black. Excuse me? Sorry, I thought we were talking about things that don't matter. Ten is hit with a sudden punch of presentiment. He's going to die trying to murder an unmortal. Come along, alexandru says cheerfully, pivots around on his heel, and heads toward the door. 10 mist on his way in. He holds it open for the gray coat, and they step out onto a main road on the opposite side of the building from which they entered. It's chaos. The city has awoken in the core worlds. The streets are neat, orderly paths with clear sections for all categories of locomotion. Not so here. Unfamiliar sounds come from all directions, and the sights are worse. Civilians pack the road, dodging creaking rickshaws and levitating cars alike. Fluffy canine like creatures snuffle at piles of refuse and paw piteously at people's legs in search of charitable morsels. 10 sticks close to Alexander as He weaves between the tumult. If his mark's plan was to lose him in the masses, this would be the place to do it. But Alexandria doesn't run. He leads 10 onto the plant packed porch of a short, squat house. He lifts a gloved hand to knock at the door, but pauses. At the last second he turns to Ten, his face expressionless. When he speaks, his voice is grave. Can I have some money? No, 10 snaps, mostly out of surprise. Come on. If Alexander's voice wasn't so deeply monotone, he would sound pleading. I know you great goods are outrageously overpaid. Meanwhile, it's not like there's a lot of good job options out here. 10 wouldn't call himself outrageously overpaid, but he does have enough saved to retire comfortably in the core worlds whenever he wants. Which will be never, probably. He digs in his satchel, combing through assorted currency for a handful of universally accepted credits. That may be so, Ten says, but there are a lot of good job options for unmortals, what with your unique skill sets. You could join the Graycoats, or you could be a bounty hunter. Or I'm a pacifist, alexander says flatly. Ten arches a brow. Just out of curiosity, how many weapons are on you right now? I'm a prepared pacifist. Alexandru gives the most self satisfied grin 10 has ever seen in his entire life. What if you'd actually been a halfway decent fighter? Before 10 can pull another sleeper blade on him, the door flies open. A little old lady blinks blearily up at them with large brown eyes. 10 is appalled. What has Alexandru dragged him into? We're so sorry to disturb you, ma'. Am. How long are you two going to stand out here yapping? She snarls. Ten nearly gasps. Her voice is the most grating, awful sound he's ever, ever heard. How could such a tiny, sweet looking old woman produce such outrageously terrible noises? He almost wants to ask. Alexandru rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms and looks down at the lady with narrowed eyes. Do you have what I came for? Of course, she snaps, but she doesn't make any motion to hand whatever it is that Alexandria came for over. She gives Ten a deeply suspicious look. Who's your friend? He's dirty. Dirty? As in a dirty gray coat? 10 sputters. He's not the most by the books member of his order, but he would never abuse his power for personal gain. Very, Alexandria replies. Now hand it over, Eku money first, boy. Alexandru hands her some of Ten's credits. Ecku makes a deeply unpleasant noise that sounds like acceptance. She bustles away for a moment and returns with a package wrapped in ice paper. She shoves it into Alexandru's hands and slams the door so fast she almost takes their noses with it. What is that? Ten demands. Alexandria grins nastily at him and tucks the package under his arm. Guess. Oh, balance. It's probably drugs. Did I just get myself involved in a drug deal? 10 scampers down the porch steps after Alexandru and snatches the package away. He doesn't stop to consider that the unmortal definitely let him have it, just rips off the seal and tears into the ice paper. If it's temperature sensitive drugs or he doesn't know a stolen organ, then he's going to arrest Alexandru right now or die trying. It's a dozen filets of fish. Or something like it. Ted nearly drops the bundle in surprise. Alexandru laughs high and delighted. He reveals at least two rows of razor sharp teeth as he does so. Find what you are looking for? He asks. What is this? 10 demands. Kit Bike, obviously. Alexandri takes back the package and gingerly rewraps it. It's my turn to make dinner. Ten is unconvinced. Okay, but that was the sketchiest looking woman I've ever seen in my life. That's rude, scolds Alexandru. Then he chuckles. Yeah, nails on a chalkboard, am I right? 10's heard ancient recordings from Earth. He briefly considers smiling. Worse. Well, she has a whole hydroponic system. Out the back she raises fish that taste better than anything you can imagine. Ten follows Alexandria down yet another winding street. So what now? Now we gather the other ingredients. As thrilling as that sounds, I don't actually have time for this. You want to know what happens to us? Alexandria asks. Suddenly. He drops the fish into a nondescript black bag. Eclipse may have created us, but they didn't know the half of it. When we lose control, the lines between being unable to stop yourself, choosing not to stop yourself, and actively giving in are so very thin. Ten keeps his mouth shut, expecting more, but Alexandru doesn't speak again until they reach their next destination. A vegetable farmer waves heartily at Alexandru when he sees him giving a smile as bright as the flashing green sign above. Alexandru gives the farmer a hug. Have you been, Lutfi? I've been great. Lutfi spreads his hands proudly over his displayed produce. Business is booming. I'VE got onions, I've got carrots, I've got red peppers and celery and potatoes, all heirloom Earth strains. With Ten's money, Alexandru buys one of each, along with two tomatoes and an indigenous purplish herb Lutfi insists is a great replacement for parsley once cooked. They say their goodbyes, and then they head off in search for either a lemon or the local equivalent. In case it wasn't clear, I'm not killing other unmortals, alexandru says, apropos of nothing. Then what have you been doing? Ten asks, trying not to sound as exasperated as he feels. Alexandru takes a moment before he finally responds. Ten can practically hear him think, I've been gathering them so we can protect each other and other humans. Ten considers this carefully, turning the words over in his head. There isn't even a hint of nefarious intent in the unmortal's tone. Even if Alexandru isn't giving him the whole truth, 10 feels secure in the gut feeling that the man isn't up to no good, at least for the moment. Being on his best behavior with a gray coat would be the smart thing to do after all. Especially because this one arrived flinging knives, even practically harmless ones. Sorry I attacked you, ten mutters so quietly he knows Alexandru only hears due to his superhuman aural abilities. Eh, it's fine. All's well that ends well and hey, Alex. A trio of gap toothed kids ambush them, scampering across the street. The girl, who's ostensibly their leader, waves her arms wildly. I told them about the jaw thing. She yells excitedly. A creature that looks nothing so much as a chubby mantis shrimp bobs up and down on her shoulder, apparently equally excited. Oh, did you now? Alexandria maintains an utterly straight face, but his eyes dance with mirth. Do the jaw thing, do the jaw thing. The other children demand. What jaw thing? Ten asks. Alexandria gives Ten an almost bashful look before he goes down on one knee so he's at eye level with the kids. Then he opens his mouth and completely unhinges his jaw with a click. The children scream with delight, the way only children can when presented with a dislocated mandible and three rows of fangs. Alexandru pops his jaw back in and stands. All right, get lost. I'm on important business, you impolite rodents. Thanks, Alex, exclaims the girl. Good luck with your important business. I hate kids, alexandri says the moment they're out of earshot. An obvious lie. No, you don't. No, I don't, alexandria agrees. Not really. But they scare me. Kids scare you? They're so fragile, alexandria says softly. I mean, most people are. But on mortals, we. We have to be extra careful around them. He shrugs, the strap of his bag up higher on his shoulder. You know, the people who made me the way I am, starved me and let me loose near a village on my home world. Ten's mouth flies open. But what could he possibly say to that? He closes it. Kyota always knew the right thing to say, whether they were trying to make you laugh or fork over your dessert ration or keep it together after you saw a squad mate get torn apart right before your eyes. But 10 is not Kyota, and no amount of wishing is going to change that. He knows he's tried. The easiest way to create a monster is to make someone believe that they already are, alexandria continues. That's what Eclipse tried to do with each of us. At first we all had far too much control to be the obedient weapons they desired. So they did everything in their power to break us, to shred us at the seams. Also, they could stitch us back together into something they could use. What happened? What do you think happened? Alexandria's smile is a sharp thing, a thin tight curve carved into his flesh. No, I didn't hurt anyone. Barely. I flung myself into a ravine. I'm sorry. Alexandria shrugs. I'm not well. I'm sorry I was forced to do that. For a moment there, I thought I'd get to decide when and how I'd die. And I thought my death would mean something. That's a privilege few on mortals ever got. Then what happened? I made some friends. Alexandria's expression softens. I survived the fall, obviously, but I was stuck and still so hungry. But some villagers found me and sent buckets of food on a rope. When I had control again, they climbed down, carried me up, and nursed me back to health. They hid me when Eclipse came looking, said they found my corpse and buried it. We still call. Every week. Alexandria takes them to a port, a small patch of wood and steel creeping out into the massive lake this city sits upon. Vessels of all shapes and sizes knock against each other with soft thunks, crammed between the docks like the morning rush on the streets. What do you see here? Asks Alexandru. Ten looks around. He was trained well. He recognizes the symbols painted on the ships and stamped on swiftly circulating crates. High risk independent merchants. Smugglers hurry to move their wares. Contraband off boats and into secure storage chambers. Assistants in drab, nondescript garb hop from deck to deck, their backs curved with the weight of illegal goods. A good case for harsher trade regulations in the fringe, ten says. Alexandru snorts. Life. Gray coat people living. Okay? Ten looks again. He sees smiles where he first saw scowls and hears laughter where he once heard curses. They look happy. What happened after Eclipse left? There's a long, colorful row of trees across from the port, the branches hanging heavy with several species of fruit Ten recognizes and plenty more he doesn't. They walk over, leaving the docks behind. It took me a few weeks to completely heal, says Alexandru. Even with my advanced regenerative factor and all, almost every bone in my body was broken. But even once I was back to normal physically, things were rough. I thought I was finally free of Eclipse, but I wasn't. They'd sunk their claws in deep. I had no idea what to do with myself if I wasn't hunting down Kivo or enemies of the state. Alexandria brings the thumb and pointer finger of his right hand together. I was this close to having a mental breakdown. Your fingers are touching. Yeah, well. Alexandrew comes to a stop beside a lemon tree and starts picking. You know how falling is fine until you reach the ground? One day I woke up and just thought to myself, I can live better than this. I can help people. That's what I can do. When that realization hit me, it hit me. He sniffs a lemon and hums appreciatively. Truth is, I feel like I don't have a purpose in this universe besides doing what I can for others. And I know that's unhealthy, probably, but that's just how it is. Your heart's beating incredibly fast. His tone is a little too casual to be truly conversational. Is there a particular reason? Ken wants to be honest, but lies always come so much easier for him. I'm not sure you were right about me not killing you, alexandria says, a teasing note in his voice. He smiles with all his sharp, sharp teeth. I don't bite. 10 scoffs. He reaches up to pluck a lemon, buying himself a moment. I think. I think I'm like you. I'm sensing there's more. There's a lot of good work to do here. I'm excited for you. Excited? Yes. This, what you're doing, is good. I like good things. How articulate you are. Off 10 shoots back with no bite at all. What I mean is, some of us are just hoping for something to justify each breath we take to make the lives we live make sense. I pray. We pray for something or someone worth dying for. But you. You have something to live for. You don't know how rare that is. What 10 can't bring himself to say for fear of summoning tears, is this. You should hold on to it if you can. Beautiful things have a way of leaving you. The lamp posts lining the streets are flickering on warm light reflects off the dark water and dances over nearby buildings. What's your name? Alexandria asks suddenly. 10 like the number. It's a good number. Alexandria extends a hand for him to shake and 10 takes it. Call me Alex. No one I like actually calls me Alexandru. Makes me sound like a vampire. That's a surprise. At Alex's arch brow, 10 adds that you like me. 10. Do you think that if I did not like you, you'd still be breathing? 10 laughs. I suppose not. He looks around. Where are we? Alex gives him a thoughtful look. This is where you decide if you want to come over for dinner and see the unmortals I haven't killed or we go our separate ways. But I think we could be friends. Maybe. 10 doesn't quite trust Alex. Not yet. But he'd like to try. Kiata would have. He smothers a smile. I have to do my job. Of course, of course, alex agrees, smirking. Follow me. Foreign. Is the USA Today Best selling Compton Crook Award winning Ignite Award nominated author of the Splinter in the sky, this World Is Not Yours and the forthcoming the King Must Die as well as several short stories. She studied integrative biology and astrophysics at Harvard and is now pursuing a PhD in Earth and Planetary Sciences at Stanford. Its Story Time with Wil Wheaton was produced in 2026 by Traveler Enterprise Enterprises Incorporated. Who holds the copyright. Our producer is Harris Lane, our story producer and director. My partner in Crime on the Other side of the Glass is Gabrielle Decur. Our Content editor is Michael Thomas. Our podcast is edited, mixed and mastered by the great Alex Barton of Phase Shift av. Very special thanks to Wes Stevens, Christopher Black and everyone at Rhapsody Voices for helping me get this out there. The Door we are recorded at Skyboat Media. Oh, where is that? You wanted to know. I'm so glad you asked. Let me tell you. We are in the heart of the San Fernando Valley, the 818. The heart of Los Angeles. Contrary to what you might hear from people who live on the other side of the Hill. 818 for life. If you would like an ad free experience as well as access to tons of really fun behind the scenes extras. How we go into finding the character beats, how we make choices for what the characters sound like. If you want to hear me really struggling to pronounce common English words, then you could check out our Patreon, which is@patreon.com storytime there you will find a couple of options starting at five bucks a month for all kinds of fun extra stuff. I I would love for you to join us there. Thanks so much for listening. I am Wil Wheaton. You can find me@willwheaton.net that's all for now. Until next time. Take care of yourselves and take care of each other. Bye.