The rippling reverberation in the mirror doesn't shoots towards me like it did a few days ago, instead, stabilizes itself into an uniform, translucent surface that reveals the gorgeous silhouette of a woman, the Hot Aunt, Verulkya Vecturion.
"I am unavailable. Bother me during my business hours". I say without hesitation, my tiredness, soreness and heaviness making my slumbered motion to be even slower towards the adjacent bed.
With a raised eyebrow and a look of utter disbelief, Verulkya passes through the mirror, regaining her stern authoritative seriousness as she invades my bedroom.
I materialize the ergonomic pillow, letting it fall onto the top part of the mattress, jumping onto the bed face first. But the item remains in the air, a trick coming from Verulkya's telekinetic powers and prowess.
Bouncing on the bed, a displeased, burned out grunt resonates in my mouth, followed by the sudden crash of the pillow, hitting my nape, and landing at my left, observing the beautiful seductive silhouette of the Hot Aunt, leisurely lying down besides me.
Verulkya is unanimously taking possession of half the bed, making herself feel at home, so comfortable that she uses the ergonomic pillow to rest her head, ensuring her beautiful indigo straight hair doesn't get disheveled.
The glow in her purple irises intensifies with the narrowness of her slit pupils. "Cherished Nephew. We need to talk…".
"Not happening. I got stripped out from a Gift because of the Stupid Mirror Me trying to stab me. I deserve to sleep. Now return my pillow. Or i will use you as one…".
I don't give Verulkya a chance to react, grabbing her left arm, imprisoning it like a koala would cling to an eucalyptus branch.
Regardless of what she may want. I'm not in a position to have a serious conversation with anyone.
Which becomes evident when i close my eyelids, quickly losing myself in a deep restful nap filled with inexistent dreams, as my sleep is usually plagued with the inconclusive memories of my past.
•
The oily touch, ingrained in the viscous, humid, putrid stench mixed with the metallic aroma of dried and boiled blood, can numb the senses of the integrated instruments in our Combat Exoskeletons.
The thick fog that surrounds sporadically, is an active reminder of the frenetic, and frantic atmosphere in this wretched underground facilities of Fettiyio.
The scarce troopers accompanying my Unit are nervous, shaking hesitantly with the uncertainty that awaits us ahead.
My squad comrades are not different. They are tired, their lethargic steps resonating like weights clashing against the cold concrete, though everyone is almost on the verge of collapse.
We have been advancing for near 50 hours in these dark gloomy, redundant tunnels reinforced with rustproof steel.
No one will ever believe against what are we fighting here. Fettiyio is supposedly the worst disposable slums in Azthea.
Yet, we are battling well trained Paramilitary Forces, and Special Tactic Operators with equipment that far surpasses the combined technological capabilities of the Super Nations ruling the world.
The Mechanical Suits, Drons, Advanced Battle Droids and our Sixth Generation Vehicles are insufficient to face the threat posed by the «Standard» weapon carried by our enemies, «Railguns».
These babies are beyond the reach of our current technology. A single shot renders the barrel completely worthless, making it stupidly expensive.
But the Militia stationed in below Fettiyio, has a functional Railgun Rifle, a weapon that was surprisingly dotted by the Terrorist.
Even when we have Electromagnetic Deflectors, and Coil Rifles, we cannot compare, much less match the firepower of a Railgun.
The velocity is two and a half or perhaps three times what our weapons can achieve.
Each of their cartridges travel at hypersonic speed, coveted by a thick expanded layer of their electromagnetic field, which interferes with the Deflectors that protect our advanced Combat Exoskeletons.
The impact of those salvos can turn our greatest pride in our personal coffin, and not just with a good hit, because the sound transmitted by any strike, is thunderous enough to explode our blood vessels, reverberating through the armor with the sheer strength of the vibrations caused by the kinetic backlash of a Railgun Shot.
Nevertheless, what surprises me the most, is seeing a Lab, where a gigantic Mass Accelerator is being built, with the purpose of ensuring the moon's total annihilation by employing Antimatter Warheads.
Fortunately, we eliminated the threat before the Terrorist's plans come into fruition, which means they didn't perfected the way to produce, stabilize, and weaponize a substance as volatile as Antimatter.
•
{I still don't understand why the terrorists went to such trouble. With the funding they had access to, they could clearly build dozens, if not hundreds, of nuclear missiles, capable of wiping out a part of the world's surface}.
{Instead, they remained determined to destroy the moon. As if a threat where there, something so dangerous, as to make an enemy of all of Azthea without battling an eye for it, like if such decision were a no brainer…}.
A malleable, soft firm meaty object dances between my lips, the sensation is very pleasant and familiar, a stiff nipple, which wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for who i'm sharing my bed with.
"Are you going to keep pretending?". Says Verulkya, momentarily diminishing my sucking motion, after all, despite my new abilities and extraordinary speed, there is no chance for me to escape from the Hot Aunt's wrath.
Though she hasn't expressed discomfort or aversion to my touch, posing her palm on my head, ruffling my short indigo mane.
"«Perverted Trichophile»". I murmur nibbling Verulkya's nipple, as i'm fully recovered after the restful sleep and body reset.
Observing her piercing caring stare, she has her eyes glued to mine, constantly glancing my defined musculature, biting her lower lip, and boldly trailing her hand towards my bicep, tenderly squeezing it with light trepidation.
This inconsistent behavior of Verulkya is not because of shyness, or her inexperience, though it's evident she lacks overall practice.
Another aspect must come into play, and her ragged breath is an excellent indicator. "All Vecturion who don't have an «Authentic» Alignment, are Perverts. «Gynophile»".
{Weird, she is flattered by the label…}.
"Guilty". I mumble, daring to grope the still covered massive right breast of Verulkya, her burgundy bodysuit slowly retracting to give me full access to her exuberant bosom.
"I'm all ears now…". I say switching my mouth to taste her right nipple, not minding the tentative hands of Verulkya, wandering my frame more than i do with her mammaries…