The Foundry
by Daphne Garrido
Part Two | Rebuilt; Refound; Reclaimed
Part Four | Unmasked; Unbound; Unleashed
To peeps who might read that find themselves present in the story.
I do better now. I’m fixing my old stuff. You still can’t do anything but write about what’s in your heart, but I was being wrong. I crossed lines I shouldn’t have, and I don’t do that here. People are in this, and its again got my history of trauma laced into it, but it moves on from that, it’s just the basis for this character. I’m not always going to write about myself and the same shit. I just wanted to do it again while I’m not blind in the middle of it all. Justiceers is wild AF because of that and will be fixed in these previously mentioned regards.
This is a book about Friendship, flipping spaceships, and tearing down hierarchy. Also, apparently consensual assault as some kind of fucked up bdsm. Creative ways to show some intimate moments, lol. Also, perhaps, another quite telling reflection of my subconscious. Things happen but they’re never explicit, except with my friend who said that was okay.
If we don’t know each other anymore, and you want to, I’m here for that — if you’re one of the two people I’m talking about.
Here’s the penultimate spaceship flip.
She’d seen her shot as they grew so near each other, and having obsessed quite thoroughly over the very thing Echo and Rory had been not-so-secretly competing over — Chloe knew this her chance.
Cutting throttle; on full-float in highest immediacy. Hardline’s tailfin would throw its rudder right, veering the craft’s nose that same direction, while its bearing remained unchanged on drift. She’d engage throttle from her dual drive cores, burning its upper chambers at one-eighth from the front, and its lower row on-full from the rear, proving the needed overbearance which would take the craft into an upward arc at its off kilter angle. That moment she’d hit a ninety-degree incline, Chloe disengaged her core, flipped her nosecone back into itself, burned top-facing thrusters on its rear to throw its rotation backward, before collapsing her right wing up and in — burning those outer most, rear-facing core chambers she’d mounted beneath the left wing — feathering the upward facing thrusters mottled along its length for the needed downforce. At that perfect moment she’d disengage everything, blasting thrusters straight out of her lower right hull’s frame to cut the spin, adding a touch of downforce on the rear to even her out — straightening the rudder, unfolding everything in perfect time — before hard lining straight ahead.
Chloe had beat them all, but only for now.