Just blow up the ship. it’s the only way to be sure.
Please note that there was another commissioned mini-interlude focusing on Mateo and Roxa posted a couple days ago. If you haven’t read it yet, feel free to click the previous chapter button.
“So who’s rowing us over there?” Sands was holding up the oars as the seven of us (plus Vulcan) settled into the life raft off the side of the yacht. “Flick, you wanna do it since you had to go and get better enhanced strength than me?” Her tone was teasing as she poked me with one of the oars. Still, I figured she had to be at least a little bit jealous that after all that had happened, she hadn’t ended up with any kind of ‘flashy’ power, and the big thing she had, strength, I’d ended up getting more of. After all, she’d been waiting her whole life to be a Heretic. Now not…
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“a super-religious pack of wolves who thought it was their calling to turn kids like me into soldiers for the faith. ”
Good grief, even werewolves have religious extremists.
The following is a commissioned mini-interlude focusing on Mateo and Roxa interacting with the pack shortly after he introduced her to them.
The rhythmic, somehow soothing sound of a basketball bouncing against pavement mixed with the shuffling of sneakers in a sort of orchestra of sounds that also included the occasional grunt, bang of the ball against a backboard or rim, and swish of the net.
And if those sounds were the music of the song, the trash talk was its lyrics.
“C’mon, you ain’t got nothing. Nothing. I’m gonna take the ball, toss it, and then put you through the net, midget.” The words came from an enormous Samoan man who appeared to be patient zero for the stereotype about his people being large. His face was fresh and smooth, his head entirely hairless…
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