Taking in a deep breath, Bianka blew out the eleven candles on her cake, amid the cheering of her adoptive siblings and adoptive father.

It had been a relatively uneventful day, barring the party, of course. She had expected something grandiose from her adoptive father for this occasion, seeing what he could build, but it seemed that he was uninterested in grand gestures today. Perhaps he simply wanted simplicity for today? Either way, it was still a nice birthday. Mr. Flame may not have gone for the spectacular, but he had still made a point of decorating things quite well for her special day - humble banners and streamers hung along the walls, party hats had been lain out on each seat for each of her siblings, and he had even taken the time to get her a strawberry flavored cake - made by someone else, she assumed. Her new guardian was, by his own admission, only an acceptable cook.

With the candles on her cake now blown out, it was time for the best part of her birthday - opening the presents. The first one she unwrapped was from Konrad, and was a wooly coat, albeit one with a beautiful pattern on it. While it would be unnecessary at the moment, as the weather where she was now living was currently very mild, she had seen all the worlds her guardian had added to his domain, and knew that some had climates that would necessitate some form of warmth.

Her next gift, from May, was a set of rulers, protractors, and the like - things that would help her amply with her artistic hobbies. She smiled at the sight - all the new worlds she had laid eyes upon had provided stunning new visuals for her to capture, ones no one else likely even knew about. It was a shame that she was restricted to portraying those sights only with pencils. She hardly had any good painting tools to work with, and the paints she'd acquired were made out of fruit juice, hardly something you wanted to use for good pictures. Still, she could make do with what she had.

The rest of the gifts were a blur after that - mostly new clothes, a few new drawing pencils, and more paper. Soon, it came down to her final present, which had been made for her by her adoptive father. She knew this wasn't something hi-tech, for she had seen him working with hand tools in his room on what she assumed was her gift. The fact that he had regularly had to treat his hands and feet for small cuts an sores also gave credit to the idea that his gift was a hand-made one. She wasn't sure what he had made for her, nor what he could possibly have made for her, only that it involved wood. Whatever it was, though, it was rather big, and appeared to be stored in multiple boxes. Carefully, she opened the largest one to see what her new possession would be.

The minute she laid eyes on her gift, the world seemed to stop.

Before her was an easel, the one that great artists used to realize their visions. Packed right next to it were at lest ten canvases for her to work on, each unmarked by even the tiniest smudge of paint. An examination of the other containers revealed them to contain brushes and paints, and even the funny little wooden wheel-thing that people put paint on. All in all, a perfect set for her to start her artistic career with.

As she began to take in just what had been given to her, Bianka turned her attention back to her father, who merely smiled sheepishly. HE was forced to take a step back when she practically charged into him, embracing him in a hug.

This gift...it was perfect. It was just what she had wanted. And it was hand-made. It wasn't something he had just put a moment's thought into and forgotten, oh no. This was something he'd put blood, sweat, and tears into making, and it was fantastic.

It was good to have a dad like this. Even if he wasn't her birth father.

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Across the desert plains, Mythuras stared out. Sensing movement, he dove into the sand.

A moment later, a Drengin soldier passed over him, followed by another, then another. Soon, an entire squad had passed over him, heading off deeper into the desert, oblivious to his presence.

One of the group was lagging behind, partly to make sure they weren't being tailed, partly due to being mildly delirious from the heat, partly because a small sandstorm was blowing through and had separated him from his comrades.

Perfect.

The minute the soldier passed over him, Mythuras worked himself out of the sand as swiftly as he could while still being quiet. Once he was free, he charged the straggler, grabbed his head and twisted. A loud snap filled the air before the Drengin fell over, lifeless.

His comrades couldn't even hear the sound of his neck break over the roar of the wind.

Good.

Carefully, Mythuras chased after them and picked the squad off one by one. Some he broke the necks of, others he slit the throats of. Soon, the only one left was the leader of the squad. Unfortunately, he had realized this and turned his gun to Mythuras.

No matter, it would not save him.

Abandoning stealth, Mythuras lunged at his opponent, knocking him the ground, sending his helmet flying away. Mythuras took a moment to savor his foes shock, before opening his mouth very wide. A moment later, and the sound of tearing flesh and broken bones filled the air.

Cleaning the metallic fluid off his lips, Mythuras advanced in the direction the patrol had been heading before their untimely demise. His travels lead him to a camp, albeit one eerily devoid of life. Well, Drengin life, any way - he could smell his scout-pack in the camp, which they had been ordered to claim as their own. A suddenly glint from a nearby tower caused him to dive into the sand, and not a moment too soon - a sniper bullet soon followed, missing him by inches. He responded by taking out his rifle symbiote and firing. A moment later, the sniper fell to the ground, a plasma hole burned straight through their heart.

After checking to be sure there were no more snipers, Mythuras joined his pack in the camp. Some of the lesser ones were busy burning the bodies of their slain foes, others were trying to regain communication with home base. Mythuras, sensing that he was not needed at the moment, went to go and fill his thirst, before his acute hearing alerted him to a faint whimpering nearby. He had a good idea what the source of it was. He took a moment to fill his canteen, before approaching the source of the wimpering. There, just as he suspected, was a group of various aliens, all adorned with collars and chains - slaves.

Mythruas stared at them for a moment, before offering them his canteen. For a moment, the aliens were unsure what to do, before one of them - a Drath if he remembered right - took a sip, then passed it on to another. Good - they were sharing.

Once the slaves had each had a drink from the canteen, Mythruas gestured for them to leave their hiding place, which they reluctantly complied with. A transport would soon arrive to pick the pack up, and then they could send the slaves back to their people.

As Mythruas headed toward the command post to search for intelligence, though, he noticed a peculiar sight - one of the pack's engineers was busy working on some kind of machine. It didn't look like one of theirs, or one of the Drengin's. It took him a moment to realize that it was a Progenitor tech derived machine - a scout, based on the amount of sensors it had. It appeared his pack-mate was attempting to doctor the scout's memory.

Good. Very good.

There was only one being in this galaxy who had access to Progenitor technology, and they did not want to meet him.

Not yet. That would only happen when there mistress commanded it.

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AN: Read and Review! This is Flameal15k, signing off!