
by Fluffybutt
They sing about "The Rider" holding the line for eighteen heartbeats. They got the math wrong. She held it for seventeen and a half minutes. And she wasn't a rider; she was my wingman. I am General Bellerophon. I am 1,542 years old, covered in fur, and I pilot a walking mountain of railguns and sorrow. To the rest of the galaxy, I'm a retired war legend, a planet killer. To the kids on this backwater planet, I'm a monster, a myth, or—according to the seven-year-old—a "Ginger-Snap." I came back to this glass crater to play one last song for Gee. But retirement is never simple when you’re a biological weapon. Between fixing the local legends, babysitting agrarian teenagers, and dealing with a logistical nightmare, I might just have to come out of retirement. Beat the drums. Mark the land. The General is back in the saddle.
| # | Title | Words |
|---|---|---|
| 0 | After the Apocalypse | 0 |