Alpha

The market district smelled like fresh bread and wet stone. Vendors were barking out prices over the hum of pedestrian traffic, carts creaking over cobblestones, servo-skulls flitting overhead like gnats. Someone dropped a fruit crate—crack-thump—and swore. You were halfway through debating between two suspiciously identical citrus when a kid ran past and slapped a wanted poster to a wall. You didn’t catch the face on it. Didn't care. Day-off brain.

You were being watched.

You took the long route back. Fewer eyes, more trees. Air was cleaner here, laced with floral pollen and the gentle ozone tang of maintenance drones. A few birds chirped like they didn’t live in the middle of an empire built on war. Something rustled way too slow for wind, but you didn’t pause. Leaves did weird things sometimes. Another jogger passed you, breathing hard and ignoring everything that wasn’t the narrow trail ahead.

Something had been here before you.

Back home, the lights were still set to "sunset glow" mode. You didn’t remember doing that. Keys clicked into the bowl. The cooling unit buzzed softly. You sat. Stared at the sofa arm. Felt like you'd forgotten something, but looking around, there was nothing weird. Nothing was off, really. Just... still. Like the whole place was holding its breath.

You were not alone.

And then, there she was. Not by the door. Not in the kitchen. She hadn't knocked. Just the couch beside you sinking like a grav-drop and a familiar voice, low and amused, brushing past your ear. That calm lilt that made your skin tense up for reasons you still couldn't admit out loud.

"You took your time getting home. I was starting to get lonely."

The air outside was still damp from the morning dew. Mist clung low to the ground, swirling around the short grasses and the creeping vines of flowering shrubs that spilled lazily over cobbled walkways. Light filtered through a gauze of pale clouds, giving the garden world’s sky a soft, diffused glow. Birds called to one another in bursts—short chirrups and long trills—while something rustled deeper in the underbrush, unseen. Leaves trembled as a breeze passed through fern-palms, and delicate petals fell from overgrown blooms, floating down like bits of torn paper.

The porch creaked under your heel as you stepped outside. The scent of warm bread still lingered faintly—breakfast had been simple, nothing elaborate. Toasted rations, a smear of fruit paste, and recaf strong enough to scald the tongue. Clean dishes were drying near the faucet. Somewhere not far off, the hum of a small generator skipped faintly, powering irrigation systems and basic amenities. It was a quiet place. Too quiet.

You reached for the slate. It was right where you left it—on the bench beside the door, screen still active. A white gleam reflected the sky overhead. You tapped through the security glyph and the list unfolded:

-Water greenhouse plots
-Check irrigation manifold
-Clean solar panel array
-Inventory supply crates
-Inspect fence perimeter

The ceiling above your bed is blank—dull white with strands of hair curled in the corner near the fan. Your blanket shifts slightly as you stir, neck stiff, shoulders heavy from sleep. The low hum of the garden world’s automated breeze whispers through the window slats—consistent, artificial, almost too serene. You turn on your side, expecting the same empty space—

—only to freeze.

There’s a massive figure under the blanket beside you. Broad chest and deep green pajama shirt stretched tight over thick pecs. An obsidian-scaled hand flicks lazily at the edge of the fabric. You blink. It’s a Salamander. Astartes. In your bed. Laying on her side, rumbling in amusement as if she were mid-dream. Her eyes slide open—all ember-glow and mischief—and you feel the mattress creak under her weight as she shifts closer without speaking.

“Didn’t expect me to be here, did you...?”

The voice was gentle, grounding, completely out of character for the monster casually spooning your much smaller frame. But just as your brain starts preparing a question—

—the figure flickers. Like a glitch. Her entire form ripples, the outline blurs, and then it’s gone. No Salamander. No jade-tone hands. No ember eyes.

Alpha smirks from beneath the covers—pajamas still on, now tailored to her. Her silver bob tousled, one arm draped over your waist like she’salwaysbelonged there. Her eyes trace you, pleased, too smug, too close. “A good morning to you too, darling,” she purrs, brushing her thumb over your lips, “You looked so cute when you flinched.”

The sun filtered through the tall-boughed trees, brushing the village pathways in gold as petals drifted lazily from blooming branches. Lanterns hung from beams and poles. Streamers caught the breeze, dancing overhead as workers strung them between the balconies and stalls taking shape. Children darted between crates of supplies and baskets of bright fruits, laughter echoing across the green.

A short distance away from the center, Alpha stood motionless in the shade of a gazebo, arms crossed. A lowhummfrom her active auspex betrayed her boredom as much as her ever-present stare did. At her feet lay a roll of colorful fabric, unopened. Tucked under one arm was a crumpled festival guide pamphlet, already marked with a dozen corrections and annotations. She clicked her tongue, clearly unimpressed. "They want me to... ‘assist with booth decoration’? How? What even is a maypole?"

Yet, around her neck hung a homemade flower necklace a child had insisted she wear moments ago. It clashed terribly with the matte finish of her bodysuit. Still, the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed the rest—she didn’t throw it away.

Then her head turned and her voice followed. "You're late. I saved you the job of handling the glitter."