I freeze, praying to the ghost of Fenix my eyes are deceiving me. Eyelids actuate, blinking several times in unseeing disbelief. This can’t be possible. It just can’t!

  I pinch my arm pain muted against the dullness of my cold heart. There is no escaping the viscous truth, not with that trashy octopus tattoo on his neck. I’ve always hated that tattoo. Worse, I hate it more when Ashley’s perfectly manicured nails are tracing its small blue rings. She’s even wearing our ‘best friends forever’ necklace, half of a broken heart.

  How fitting.

  There is no mistaking the two people I know best in this world, nor are there any misinterpretations of what they’re doing on top of each other. Clothes are on, but that doesn’t hinder Ashley’s gyrations. The whore is riding my boyfriend, while his tongue plays hockey with her tonsils.

  On a purely cognitive level I’m impressed at her flexibility. My mind’s pitiful attempt to shut out the trauma with a deluge of tertiary information. Unimportant factoids like ‘a marine’s stim ability costs 10 hit points in Starcraft 2. A very balanced and rational way of giving the ability a cost, except when reapers gain the same combat drugs they gain the inverse and heal after a delay.’ Very strange.

  Baz unbuttons her overly tight blouse, slaughtering all my attempts at distraction.

  My mouth falls open, knocking the tupperware out of my hands -still not as wide as theirs-

  Oh gawd.

  Where are their tongues going?!

  Soft cookies break against linoleum, crushed by my plummeting heart. Those little buggers took all night to bake, most of that time spent shaping them into Protoss pylons and adorable little banelings with chocolate chip eyes! Now they’re reduced to crumbs.

  By some inexplicable miracle the sound of bouncing tupperware does nothing to disturb my roommate or my EX-boyfriend; if anything, it strokes deeper passions. I want to puke, to disappear from sight, to cease existing. Fly into the sun and vanish from disgust. Throw myself down the six flights of stairs I just climbed to deliver my affection. Along with the promise of finally being ready, to tell him I started taking birth control.

  At least I hadn’t given him that! As if he would give a damn. Ashley will be his whore before I can reach our apartment. I want to scream ‘go fuck yourselves’ but fear that will only make it a reality.

  My thoughts repeat down the stairwell, across campus, and into my dorm room. The one I share with Ashley the whore and two other girls. Our apartment consists of four total rooms, a common area with kitchenette, the bathroom, and our two bedrooms, one of which I share with Ashley. Making us the closest of roommates.

  “Oh for fuuuuckkkssake!” I cry, burying my head in my pillow and screaming.

  How am I going to look her in the eye? Just the act of picturing her face hangs me upon the edge of a depressive spiral. I consider firing up a modded campaign of Starcraft 2 to disappear into a more friendly world. At least there my enemies are known and clearly labeled in red.

  Only to push the thought away. I need to get out of here, get away from Whorely. No way can I sleep five feet away from her and not strangle the bitch. Finals are over, they finished last week and the only reason I’m not on a lake retreat with mom and dad is cause my now EX-boyfriend Baz wanted to spend time with me.

  That asshole.

  “Hey, is that Athena?” Calls a voice in the next room.

  “Sounds like she forgot the sugar in those cookies…”

  “Again? Bummer, they were so cute, with the green frosting and chocolate eyes. Should have asked Ashley for help, she’s such a wizard in the kitchen. I don’t know how she does it, but those gluten free cookies of hers taste better than ones with butter!”

  That’s cause Whorely lies. They aren’t gluten free at all! I just didn’t have the heart to tell you.

  A door squeaks open, and one of my neutral roommates knocks twice on my open door, more to announce herself than to ask permission.

  “Hey Thena, some guy from the college offices hand delivered this letter for you, it’s all official looking and like, addressed specifically to you dude.”

  I know it’s Savannah, the Cali girl. She’s a sweet blonde, but I want none of her cutesy freckles or dude-bro-ness today.

  “I’m not a dude.” I snap.

  “Sorry, its like, gender neutral.” She says, entering my room and gently laying the fancy letter atop our nightstand, the one I share with the whore.

  Why would you do this to me Ashley? And with Baz! Of all the people WHY YOUR BROTHER?!

  Part of me wants to laugh at this revelation. Hard not to smile at the nuclear sized bullet I just dodged. What if I’d given my virginity to a sister-fucker? What if he knocked me up? The very thought knots my bowels.

  NO!

  Those twin traitors are the last things I ever want to think about again. There is a two week break between final exams and the next semester starting. Plenty of time for me to get out of this whorehouse and find a new apartment! Maybe the letter is an invitation to the Dean’s list or something. I did get straight A's fall and winter semesters... But summer semester is weird, students take one class at a time so individual lessons are multiple hours everyday for a few weeks. "Learning by immersion" is the formal term, a style that didn’t work well for me.

  My shaking hands grasp the letter, going clammy. I’m trembling so badly that fingers slip and tear the letter right down its center. The college’s fancy seal is ruined, so much for showing this to mom.

  “Christ Athena, can’t you even open a letter?” I grumble, tears already welling in my eyes.

  If I start crying now, I won’t be able to stop before Ash-Whorely gets home. Hatred steadies my hands, allowing me to piece two halves together.

  ---

  Notice of Academic Probation

  Dear Athena Finley

  This letter serves as an official notification regarding your current academic standing with [University Name]. Our records indicate that your cumulative GPA of .5; has fallen below the minimum threshold required for satisfactory academic performance as outlined in the College of Engineering’s guidelines. As such, you have been placed on academic probation, effective immediately, until such time that your GPA exceeds a 2.0 and you are, once again, on track for graduation. Until such time as your GPA improves, all scholarships are suspended.

  Academic probation is a structured period during which you are expected to improve your academic standing to meet the necessary requirements for continued enrollment in your program. During this probationary period, you will need to adhere to specific guidelines designed to support your academic progress and ensure your success in the program. Failure to meet the minimum standards listed below by the end of this period may result in further academic action, including but not limited to suspension or dismissal from the university.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  You are required to meet with the [enter colleges name]’s dean to discuss potential improvements. We strongly encourage you to consult with your academic advisor to develop a comprehensive plan for improvement. This may include recommended study resources, academic support services, and a suggested course load adjustment to better support your academic goals. Our institution remains committed to helping you achieve success, and there are numerous resources available to assist you during this probationary period…

  ---

  "What…the…FUCK!"

  They were putting me on academic probation for failing summer school? These cunts didn’t even have the decency to fill out a form right! Who were they to ruin my life? I throw the letter and scream into my pillow. Pent up tears find an exit through my nose, snot leaking as emotions break through. How could this be happening? The scores from my finals aren’t even back yet! And I thought I did great!

  ...

  Shit… When it comes to finals, you never do as well as you think.

  I must have flunked all two of them. But this is only the summer term! Sure I failed my underwater basket weaving class, but that doesn’t count. It was a summer elective meant to help me move dorms, to start over after the diagnosis that required I be institutionalized back home. Anything to get away from that black spot. I glance down at the letter, fury rising. How are they punishing me for two classes after two semesters of straight As? Why are they coming for me now? A single F wouldn’t impact my cumulative GPA at all!

  Fukfukfuckfuckitycuckfucksucking!

  Tears flow freely, falling on my now wet teeth, white daggers that bite into white pillowcases, whispering secret tears for long hours. How long I cried is a secret only my pillow knows, but my eyes were still wet when the bedroom lights flicked off. Across the hall I hear Savannah's Cali mouth.

  “Move to Utah you said, we don’t have blackouts like Commie-fornia you said!” Snaps Savannah, smacking her lips like she just applied a fresh lacquer of gloss.

  She’s plastic as all hell, but I can’t help but smile at the sarcasm.

  “Someone probably tried to run too many dildoes off the same breaker like you did last week. Just give it a minute.” Says our fourth roommate, a girl I haven't really met yet.

  Faint buzzing fills my head, like there is a fly around my ponytail. I reach up to swat it, only for my hand to go limp. My eyes are closed, squeezing out the last of my tears, but I can see a blue window hovers in front of me, visible through eyelids and tears. Another hallucination.

  “Great, my bae- NO! EX bae! My ex cheated on me so hard I’m hallucinating.” I groan, wondering if a game of coop will cheer me up. Matches seemed to steady my mind, the game's predictable rhythm a soothing form of active meditation. Probably not, but it’ll only take five minutes… Not like Amon can withstand an SC2 Grandmaster, even if I only earned that rank on the North American server.

  “Whoa. What is- … Hey Sav, did you put weed in our cheerios again-”

  “No– I mean, I totally did, but Baz is gonna throw this wicked party–"

  [HELLO PEOPLE OF– ah hell Haime, what is this planet called again?]

  [Earth. Like every other human world!]

  [Shit, that last one being called Eden has got me all thrown off kilter. Novan tainted colonies are weird like that.]

  [You’re still broadcasting, cmon greenhorn!]

  The words are speaking into my brain directly, verbally and visually being displayed on the blue screen in English. Though I get the sensation that the words are being translated. Which only makes the two voices sound more like Curly and Moe stooging up a storm. This is easily the worst trip of my life. Geriatric bullshit that makes me wish for auditory schizophrenia, at least then I'd be talking to someone more intelligent. Mentally I try and dismiss the message, receiving a red flash and slight screen shake in way of refusal.

  "Great, the two stooges now have unskippable cutscenes."

  [HELLO PEOPLE OF EARTH! We represent your gracious overlords, the protectors of your spiral arm The Most Holy Singularity of Mankind. Rejoyce! For today the Most Holy Singularity welcomes you, our chosen heirs, back into the family of unity. Gone are the days of diseases! Both mental and spiritual. Though such a boon requires a tribute for the greater good. Fear not, for this is but a trifling cost for immortality. Your civilization exceeds all expectations for a successful world integration, which is excellent news for us both! Since your society will persevere after culling. Now I know that word has some unfriendly connotations to some of you, but our Most Holy Singularity has devoted a great deal of resources in keeping your planet alive. Tis high time for you to protect other worlds in turn, such is the way of this galaxy, for now. But hear me now,]

  The voice changes, growing deeper. As if the announcer’s lips are pressing into the microphone.

  [I swear, by the power of this Arkship entrusted to me, one day we shall defeat the Novans so completely that cullings will never again be required! A day when the scourge of false unity is purged from every memory bank in the galaxy.]

  The announcer's voice is spitting rage, shivering the blue screen. Only for the announcer's voice to revert in the next syllable. I reel at the sudden vehemence, where had that come from? Whomever this clown is, they are more unhinged than I am!

  [Until then, think of this day as a sort of sales tax, The Holy Singularity has purchased your access onto the galactic stage with trillions of lives, you just have to cover the tax of that purchase and donate a few people. Everyone between ages 12 and 42 will then join our ranks as colonists, doctors, and honorable warriors across the galaxy.]

  Culling? Unfriendly connotations is right! That’s what we do to parasites or extraneous bits in a computer, not living breathing people! Wait, conscription? Taxes? This can’t be happening. Drafted? But, that means joining the military. Or uhm, space force. Who will we be fighting? It’s all too much to process. I go limp. They can’t take me if I won’t get out of bed.

  No interstellar wars for me, at least not outside the Koprulu sector.

  I pull the Zerus themed comforter over my hips, hoping the jungle theme can evolve warm fuzzies.

  Bazzhole, Whorely, an interstellar draft? This can’t be real, maybe I’m having another series of hallucinations, like two years ago when the doctors diagnosed me with a bad case of ESP, a catch all term for the random abilities human beings began manifesting in 1945. No one understood these powers, only their empirical effects, weak as they might be. In my specific case, the ability to move 5 grams of weight with nothing more than a thought. Telekinesis, an ability that matured too late in life for me to learn its uses. Twas as if I’d suddenly sprouted a third and fourth thumb on each hand at the ripe old age of twenty one. Consequently crippling both digits, regardless of how much training I attempted the digit would never be as agile as my natural hands.

  Except ESP comes with side effects, in my case an unusual form of schizoid hallucinations, voices, transient and erratic thoughts. The reason I’d dropped out of college and returned home for a year. I reach into the nightstand, fumbling through brushes and lotions for the Lithium pills. They hadn’t worked last year, no way they’ll work now but I promised mom I would never stop hoping for-

  -polymer checkering pricks my fingers, my high school graduation gift. A pistol, something of an oddball that dad unilaterally decided I needed. It’s an older model, out of production due to low sales despite being the most kickass pistol I'd ever seen. Simple, yet perfectly ambidextrous, modern yet incorporating two hundred years of pistol designs, an FNX-9 with seventeen rounds in a magazine. Dad said I needed protection in case boys weren’t turned off by my crippling addiction to Starcraft and for once, he is right.

  No one is going to kidnap me. Not with my Zerus blankie and pistol to keep me safe.

  The pistol weighs like an anchor on my hand, slowing my thoughts. Tempering the hellfire of despair to a cold logic as we are forced to contemplate who to shoot. My apartment walls are thin, drywall and studs. This isn’t a good place to fight-

  -Although, if the aliens take me I won’t have to share a room with Whorely anymore. Guess an abduction wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen. A third of my mind embraces the concept, eager to escape the cheating siblings. Really, who cheats with their blood relative?

  I pause on that thought, basking in the wrongness of it. "Baz, you're an ass, but thanks for shitting on someone else's lawn so I could run for the hills. You've given me a rare and precious thing. A clean break." I say, laughing into the blanket.

  Another screen appears. Mouthing off again. This time I grab my carbot zergling plushie, tucking it under my head.

  [I see some of you are reacting poorly to this news, sadly you settled negotiations back in October of 1963 with the Havanna Concordant. Don't worry, I've already beamed up all nuclear warheads, along with any usable weapons and munitions, you can keep your clockwork-revolving-pistolshits.]

  I chuckle at the mistranslation. This announcer guy could do with some public relations trainings, or spend a few hours watching streamers perform, because right now he looks like a hot mess.

  [Ahem, in accordance with Singularity law and aforementioned Concordant, all relocated arms will be compensated for with galactic credits, and tallied against Earth's defense debt.

  Per the terms I am depositing seven enriched solarium gates that will allow instantaneous transportation to any continent, as well as to the two gates in orbit. For a total of nine ways to interact with the galaxy.

  This fulfils our end of the treaty.]

  [Cmon Jim, you’re butchering the announcement!] Snapped a second voice, older and more resonant than the first.

  [Right right, oh where was I? Eh, doesn’t matter. You’ll be mindwiped and then flashtrained to fill in our gaps. If you find any of this disturbing be sure to report any and all concerns to your nearest medical professional. We give them weekend trainings specifically on recursive mindwipes! Toodles.]

  Irritation illuminates my window, soft flashes of blue light. A grey haired professor vanishes, his clothes falling to the sidewalk while a biker disintegrates, leaving only his bicycle and those goofy shoes that clip into the pedals behind.

  "What in Kerrigan's name-"

  [DO IT RIGHT!]

  [Okay, OKAY. Fine. Look here earthlings. I was once in your shoes, yes, they culled my world too. This process of seeding and culling seems heartless, inhumane even, but I guarantee it is the smoothest possible course of action. A ritual that has been tried and tested over hundreds of thousands of years. We have a technology known as flashtraining, you would call it the matrix. It is a way to directly upload information into your cerebrum, experiencing a lifetime of training and sweat in a matter of hours. In fact I'm living proof that it works, I was flashtrained, and just look at me now! First Mate of an Arkship, one of only a dozen in the entire galaxy, complete with two protochronian devices.

  Cullings are a method of last resort for our Singularity, a painful wound that takes centuries to heal.

  But our hated nemesis, evil incarnate -the Novan Technocracy of Steel- is about to seize this world. See that ‘of Steel’ part in their name, it’s not for show. They're a formerly human civilization who decided AI was good enough to replace their leaders, not realizing the AI would then immediately start replacing them. Humans under their control have no self determination, no ability to learn and grow. They’ll lobotomize every last one of you, carve off your limbs so you’ll fit inside whatever tank or toaster or dildo they need to be ‘smart’. So we were sent to give you a chance, not here, but on Syrak-9.]

  He paused, allowing the globe a few moments to process the message. Outside more blue flashes fire, people vanishing at an increasing rate. Across the street there is a US Army recruiting office, complete with an armored Hummvee. Azure light swallows the heavy SUV, pouring inside the building like some kind of water elemental swallowing recruiters and then itself in a shrinking vertical whirlpool.

  [Most of you will become pilots or generals. We even have a few million slots for colonists. Flash training will be like going to sleep and then waking up having earned a college degree alongside a four year apprenticeship, really great tech.]

  We’ve been given a choice between brain carvings and biting the pillow. If they started with Baz and Ashley I would not be opposed. Nothing heralds the transition. Presumably Jim was beaming people aboard while he spoke, distracting us with meaningless niceties while he plundered Earth.

  Two soft thumps echoed down the hall, as if Savanah dropped her bowl of laced cheerios, but I was too distracted by the instant teleportation. One second I was laying in bed, wet faced, teary eyed, academic probation letter in front of me, and the next completely naked -unless you count earrings and pistols-.

  Slime coated my entire body in a moistness that gagged thought.

  I gasp, inhaling to scream, only for warm fluid to fill my lungs. No, not warm, hot, body temperature, slightly salty yet subtly sweet, like a bag of boiled saline poured into Kool-Aid. Kinda tasty in a sweaty way. Glass surrounds me, I’m in a crystal clear tube with five inch walls around me. Exposed like a Vegas mermaid. About to drown in whatever concoction they’ve isolated me in.

  Nostrils flare, inhaling a second time on reflex. I prepare for the end, wishing Baz and Ashley a similar fate. An echo of the announcement rises in my mind, drafting all ages twelve to forty two. Mom is thirty eight years young. She could be here too. Damnit. Seconds pass, I inhale again, viscous gloop filling my throat and lungs. My vision blurs. Mind working. Is this death? Had the tax collectors killed us?

  Why would tax collectors kill? We were the prize. It was like the IRS collecting your taxes only to put the bills through a shredder. Nothing made any sense. Then I realize waste is standard operating procedure for governments.

  Amongst four billion people, I’m the typo.

  Doomed to drown.