Hilargi stood at the back of the Fortress of Nymphs, testing out a new piece of technology. Or rather, having the soldiers of the tribe test out the technology. Being a small woman who was afraid of gunfire, she refused to have anything to do with the shooting of guns—even if she was the one who had developed the new technology.

The soldiers of her tribe wielded the pulse rifles with ease. They pressed the butts of the newly developed pulse rifles into their armpits, keeping the barrel of the guns steady with one hand, and keeping their fingers on the triggers with the other.

Hilargi cleared her throat, ready to describe what improvements she had made to the rifles, even though she thought her explanation would most likely fall on deaf ears. Tribeswomen cared little for the science behind weapons, they only cared how well the weapons could hurt their enemies.

“Th-these guns…” Hilargi tripped over her words as she always did when speaking to the soldiers. She cleared her throat. “These guns were made of lighter steel than the previous batch. Additionally, it was constructed with a thinner barrel to produce faster—albeit less damaging—beams. It will be very effective if utilized by those of you who are quicker on your fee—”

Hilargi yelped, clapping her hands to her ears and ducking as the tribeswomen fired several blasts of energy from their guns.

Hilargi was shaken even as the women ceased firing. One of the women remarked, “They feel great, Hilargi. Good work.”

Hilargi felt like screaming at the woman for scaring her, but she somehow resisted. She forced a smile. “Thank you. Well, I guess the weaponry has been tested and you all agree it feels good, right? Are there any improvements you would like me to make?”

“Can you make it so that it fires at this same rate with more power?” One suggested, throwing her gun to the ground, not bothering to put the safety on.

Hilargi cringed, her teeth gritting.

Hilargi clasped her hands behind her back, standing up straight and trying to make herself look tall. “Well, that would be quite difficult. I could try to—”

“Don’t try, mutant. Do it.” Another woman said as she followed suite and dropped her rifle to the ground.

Hilargi held up a hand, intending to protest and tell them why such a thing could not be done, but they were already done with her and heading back inside their metal-igloo of a fortress. Once they had gone, Hilargi stomped her foot into the sand, grunting angrily. She wished she could gain their respect--wished they would appreciate her for something more than her intellect.

Once her blood had stopped boiling, she smoothed her stringy red hair back and looked at the horizon.

Wind gently kissed the sandy incline ahead of her, wispy tendrils of sand blowing westward as a result.

The sun began peaking over the incline, blanketing the world in pale, purple light due to the stormy, thick, purple clouds that were rising with it.

Like many times before, Hilargi had a chance to run into the sunrise, leaving her life amongst the tribeswomen behind.

However, her courage became faint, and she remembered that, even if she ran, she could not survive on her own out in the wilderness. She was too small, too weak, and too unused to foraging and hunting to possibly live by herself.

Sooner or later, the Wild Mutants would get her and tear her to shreds for working with the tribeswomen. Or worse, the aqrabuamelu—hideous, humanoid scorpions--would find her and eat her.

Hilargi turned around with a sigh, intending to get some sleep after pulling an all-nighter. Her eyes lit up when the hand-print locked, automatic doors opened and Yair stepped out.

“Thank god! You’re alive!” Hilargi exclaimed. She ran up to her creation and examined him, making sure he was okay. Hilargi gasped. “Oh no! You’ve been dented! And your hair is a mess… Come down to the workshop. I’ll fix you up right away!”

Hilargi grabbed her creation’s hand, slamming her own hand down on the hand-print identification on the fortress door.

There was a whirring noise, followed by a high-pitched ding, and then the metal doors opened. Hilargi and Yair stepped inside.

“You are tired, Hilargi. My repairs can wait until morning. You need to rest.” Yair told her.

“Don’t worry about me! You’re the one who matters—we need you to protect the Last Man, and if you get destroyed, our ability to do so plummets.” Hilargi was frazzled as she dashed down the wide hallway, dragging Yair behind her.

Yair stopped in his tracks, planting his metal feet firmly on the ground. “Hilargi, you may make a mistake when repairing me if you try to do so when you haven’t slept in an entire day.”

Hilargi was about to protest, but she realized he was right. She sighed. “I guess you’re right. You go power down in the workshop and I’ll fix you up first thing when I wake up.”

Hilargi made a left down the hallway, intending to descend the stairs to her living quarters.

“Would you like me to read the bible to you while you sleep like your mother used to?” Yair asked before she descended the stairs.

Hilargi was embarrassed that that he suggested such a thing, and was doubly embarrassed for imparting that knowledge to him, even though programming him with such knowledge made him more empathetic. It was also a dangerous thing to program him with, considering that if the Nymphs found out she was a Christian they would kill her on the spot. They were Zironists like all the tribes were, after all, and the Zironist Church dictated that anyone who did not follow their religion should die.

Ellia was the only one who knew Hilargi was a Christian, and she would have killed Hilargi by her own hands long ago if she wasn’t so useful to her.

“No, that won’t be necessary! I’m an adult, I don’t need to be read to any longer.” Hilargi said hastily. "Besides, you could really get us into trouble." Hilargi was glad no one was in the hall at the moment.

Data files passed in front of Yair’s unblinking eyes. He ignored her pleas. “According to my databanks, your mother used to read passages of the bible to you to help you sleep. You liked Samson the best, shall I read you Samson?”

Hilargi lowered her eyes, she shuffled her feet awkwardly. She couldn’t deny that she would love to be read to. She felt like she hadn’t been able to enjoy a true, deep sleep since the last time her mother had read to her. She decided that it couldn’t hurt to let Yair read to her.

“Very well. You can read me Samson.” Hilargi finally agreed. "But be quiet, and never speak it out loud again."

Yair smiled, following her down the stairwell which echoed eerily as they went.

“Just to confirm, I captured the Last Man.” Yair informed her.

Hilargi giggled. “You didn’t need to confirm. I knew that you must have. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have returned.”