Page 133 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
They make polite eye contact, then look away.
One of them, a man named Rallis—who used to smirk when I mentioned ethical oversight—tries the old angle.
“Chairwoman,” he says, voice too smooth, “can we temper these initiatives so we maintain competitiveness? Investors are starting to fret.”
I look at him without blinking.
“I am not here tomaintain competitivenessby sacrificing humanity,” I say. “CY8 thrives when it lifts up the people who power it. If investors can’t see that, then they’re welcome to their own obsolescence.”
The room goes quiet.
He flushes.
Another board member—a woman named Soren, pale and precise—clears her throat. “Perhaps a phased integration?”
“Phased,” I repeat with a slow smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “We’ve already implemented the first cycle. The data is live. The morale metrics are up. The public index shows growthandsocial impact. We’re not phasing compassion. We’re strengthening it.”
“You’re… relentless,” Soren says after a moment. Not a question. Arealization.
“Damn right I am,” I tell her, because I am not here to appease timid men hiding profit margins behind moral veneers. “This company isn’t a relic. It’s a responsibility.”
It’s why I reclaimed CY8.
And I’ll keep shaping it until that legacy stands for something real instead of shadowed profits and paper deaths.
That evening,as the sun bleeds into dusk, I walk through the courtyard—water features burbling in the background, the scent of jasmine and ozone lingering like a lullaby for survivors. My communicator buzzes with another threat. This one is more cryptic:
“You think you can rewrite history? You’ll need a bigger sword.”
I tuck the message away.
Grau materializes beside me before I can ask if I imagined him.
“How’s the sword?” he asks, voice low against the whisper of fountains.
I smile. Not cocky. Not dismissive.
Certain.
“I’m wielding it,” I say. “And I’m not afraid to use it.” I pause, eyes dipping to the ground below. “Not because I have to—because Ican.”
“You don’t need approval,” he murmurs, watching me with that strange, steady gaze that sees me all the way through.
“No,” I agree. “I need results.”
I turn to him, and for a moment the world stills—the city, the courtyard, the threats, the futures pressing in like hungry hands. I breathe in the jasmine, in the hum of human persistence, in the strength that hasalwayslived in me, unclaimed until now.
I’m not the girl afraid of shadows anymore.
I’m the woman who taught darkness it answers toher.
And as dusk folds into night, I know this:
We haven’t just survived.
We’ve begun toshapetomorrow.
With justice.
