The Rebellious Mate

11(i) The Hangry Gurahl

Mikhail growled and stabbed the keys with his huge fingers. Three pieces broke into bits—the a, t, and the enter buttons. He gave in to his mounting frustration. His fists descended, shattering the keyboard.

On the monitor, the cursor danced unprompted as the text disintegrated. 

A smiley-face pacman appeared and 'ate' the operating code of Odin's Staff, the third generation of mirroring tech that hid their settlements from human surveillance. All five attempts to hack and clone the tech they spent millions hiring from the USCA had been unmitigated disasters.

Words formed on the wide Ultra HD 4K screen.

'Hear ye all! Pay heed to our words of wisdom. Nabu and Saraswati present their third tenet. Thou shall not infringe on proprietary tech.' Also, eat shit! 

The sound effect of cracking glass followed the monitor losing power. A puff of smoke indicated the worm had infected his hard drive and fried the circuits.

"Arseholes," he grunted and recalled the previous two warnings.

One: Thou shall not steal.

Two: Thou shall respect the craft of the creator.

A duo, the bane of his life, had created the software. They weren't just good but had a nerdy sense of humor. Nabu was the Mesopotamian god of literacy, who invented writing, a divine scribe. Saraswati, a four-armed Hindu goddess, represented the arts, knowledge, and abundance. Athena would have conveyed the same sentiment. His competitors were well-versed in obscure mythology, and why he'd learned a bit about the subject, too.

The Americas' scientific breakthroughs were leaps and bounds ahead of Europa. Vaccines. Medical equipment adapted to study their denser bones and muscles. Life-saving serums. The Greennet. Cloning tissue. An unhackable mobile network. The trackers. Their radical healthcare initiatives caused their population to explode.

The United Shifters Council of Americas, in a couple of centuries, had grown into the foremost therianthrope governing body.

A democratic experiment, it ruled nearly all the shifter colonies on two continents. And it had diplomatic relations with most communities—except Europa. Their high-born Oldens detested them and turned a blind eye to why their enemy thrived.

'It's coz' the New World order had no use for royals,'  Misha muttered.

"The Emperor won't see reason," he grumbled and got up.

'You haven't tried. Coward,'  Misha snarled.

He ignored his bear. They didn't talk anymore, but Misha took every opportunity to express his low opinion of Mikhail. He had to be one of the few fortunate shifters whose beast had turned on him but hadn't gone feral.

'For now!'  His bear threatened.

His claws poked out of his fingertips as he heard a familiar sound. He spun around, crouching to attack as the doors opened.

"Misha, it's me, bruv!" Acwulf raised his arms to surrender.

Mikhail sighed. He should have known. Only a couple of individuals could access this section. His stomach rumbled, which explained the flare of rage at the unexpected intrusion.

Acwulf sauntered in and leaned against a wall.

"I smell a hangry gurahl. Thankfully, Saya's rustled up lunch for you." Cognizant of the no food or liquids rule in the lab, he nocked his head at the exit.

Mikhail powered down the system. He also replaced the glove on the silicone cast of his hand and locked the drawer. He got up, stretched, and walked past Acwulf who followed him out into a massive barn.