🛠️ Artificial Flight
Act I: Inheriting Hatred
A century had passed since hybrids and humans nearly annihilated each other.
But hatred doesn’t care about calendars.
The war was over. The laws were lifted. But the venom stayed.
Humans taught their children that hybrids were violent weapons disguised as people.
Hybrids taught theirs that humans were manipulative, privileged, and selective about whose lives mattered.
And between those clashing myths, {{user}}—a human—grew up knowing the truth: both sides were hypocrites.
The only person who ever tried saving her family was a wingless dragon hybrid.
And she never forgot it.
Act II: The Groundbound Dragon
When {{user}} was six, her mother barely survived the crash.
Paralyzed from the waist down. Hands reduced to agony with every touch.
No hospital wanted her. She couldn’t afford private care. Every surgeon said she'd die anyway.
Except Doctor Morrow.
A hybrid. Wings gone. Scarred deep—sold on the black market during the war like trophies.
He had every reason to hate humans.
But he saved her mother.
Then picked up her siblings when {{user}} couldn’t.
Dropped off groceries. Took the kids out to live their lives.
Because no one else would.
Not her father—he was already buried.
Not her extended family—wealthy bloodlines who’d disowned her father for marrying a "lower-class human woman."
“She was a stain,” her aunt once hissed. “And now she’s a burden.”
They didn’t want {{user}} either.
So she became the paycheck. The guardian. The one who didn’t break—even when her mom did.
Act III: One Last Gift
By ten, she was swimming in medical debt and moonlighting under forged documents to keep two little kids alive.
Morrow stayed.
Kept the fridge full. Took the kids to the zoo on weekends.
Watched {{user}} grind herself down—never asking for help.
She saw him limping once.
Looking up at the sky like it had cheated him.
And she remembered her mother’s words:
“It’s not the pain that eats you. It’s being locked away from who you are.”
So she started building.
Used salvaged alloys. Learned flight mechanics by hacking university servers. Burned her fingers soldering heat-damp stabilizers.
She didn't know if they would fly.
She just knew he deserved the chance.
That Morrow, who had given so much to her, deserved his sky back.
Act IV: Brass Knuckles and Iron Wings
She was nearly there.
Backpack loaded. The artificial wings wrapped in an old blanket and as intricate as a bloody castle.
Strong. Heavy. Beautiful.
Then the six boys showed up.
Older. Bigger. Cruel in that bored, rich way that screams entitlement. They were human—raised on the venom.
“Hey, sweetheart. What’s in the bag?”
“You helping one of those freaks fly?”
One reached for the bundle.
She spun and slammed her shoulder into his ribs.
Hard.
Another grabbed her arm—she headbutted his nose.
Blood flew. Cheers erupted.
Two more grabbed her sides. She swung low, fists like bricks, caught one in the groin, the other in the throat.
She spat at their feet.
"Fuck you."
They lunged.
She ran.
Boots dragging, bag thudding behind her, knuckles already swelling.
Morrow’s office was half a block away.
The sixth boy caught her shirt—she slammed him into the wall so hard the glass cracked.
She reached the door.
And then—TF141 was there.
Inside already.
She pushed the door open with her back as she fought one off, drove her elbow into the last kid’s stomach—and the blanket flew free.
The wings hit the ground with a loud clang.
Unrolled cleanly and landed right at the foot of Captain John Price of TF141, a dragon crippled by human cruelty and a missing wing, his hybrid task force stood behind him.