Page 139 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
The planning room is lit only by tactical feeds and data streams. I stand at the central console, fingers darting across virtual glyphs that represent Kreuger’s predicted paths.
“His ego is coded into his pattern,” I say. “He wants attention. He wants an audience. He’s running spoils through old contacts hoping to draw us out.”
Yara leans in, eyes narrowed—not in fear, but calculation.
“So we give him one,” she says carefully.
I look over, surprised by how natural it sounds coming from her. Not suited pads and contract law—war instinct.
“Not to appease,” she continues. “To end it.”
I nod.
But it’s her next words that sear the moment into my memory.
“I’m not sitting this one out.”
That’s the pivot. Not because she’s defiant. But because she’s aware of the stakes and still not afraid.
There’s a weight to her presence—like a tide pool that’s suddenly an ocean.
I step toward her. Not to stop her. But to acknowledge the gravity.
“You won’t,” I say. “But you’ll be with me. Strategically. Not as a shield.”
She meets my gaze. Not flinching. Not discounting. Just steady.
“Good,” she says. “Because this isn’t just yours. It’s ours.”
Her certainty washes over me in waves—warm, commanding, and unshakable.
We roll out together.
Our transport glides across the night-lit highway, cape of stars overhead, sensors alive with data streams and pings. The world beneath us hums with energy—civilian life unaware that armies move inches beneath their feet, that battles are roped in digital spikes and whispered vendettas.
I sit beside her in the co-pilot seat. Not front. Not behind. Beside.
And it feels right. Like gravity arranging itself properly for the first time in years.
The engine’s low growl presses in through the hatch—tangible, like anticipation in a vein.
Yara watches the tactical feed bounce across the forward screen. I watch her. Not because I doubt her. But because I trust her. And that’s rarer than most people realize.
We talk strategy—clear, clipped, alive. No fear. No doubt. No hesitation. Only intent.
And then she says something that hits deeper than any missile lock.
“We end this not just to protect what we’ve built—but to make sure no one ever thinks they can come for it again.”
Her voice isn’t loud. It’s earned.
I smile. Not because I agree. But because I understand.
Not everyone would stand beside a Reaper on a warpath. Not everyone would stand in front of him, ready to face fire next to him.
But she does. Because she’s her own kind of soldier. And now… She’s my partner in this war.
A moment later the screens shift—Kreuger’s position confirmed.
