This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Beautiful-Hold4430 on 2024-11-15 21:16:51+00:00.

This story is a bit on the darker side of HFY.

The settlement on the edge of the Milky Way had been untouched for years. Pioneer families had staked their claims in this quiet arm of the galaxy, far from the colonies where humanity’s might was in full swing. They thought they were safe here. The distant fleets were enough of a safeguard. No one would dare strike here. They were wrong.

The alien ships arrived with a brutality no one expected. The attack was swift, and the survivors few. Entire cities were reduced to ash, farms to rubble. The aliens, with their cold, calculating precision, had seen humanity as a threat—too unpredictable, too dangerous, far too resilient for their own good. And so they did what any superior species would do: they exterminated them.

Except they hadn’t counted on what would happen after the devastation. They hadn’t counted on humanity’s fire, on the unbreakable will of those who survived. They hadn’t counted on how humanity, scattered and broken, would rise again—not with rage, but with purpose.

The Federation rallied its fleets. Humanity rebuilt in the shadows, not through mindless fury, but with precision, innovation, and a refusal to surrender. They adapted, they organized, they fought back—and slowly, relentlessly, the aliens were driven out.

Years passed, and Sam grew older. The fear he had once felt was gone, replaced by something far darker: a seething, uncontrollable rage. But that rage—he knew it wasn’t him. It was a scar. Just as the scar on his face. Marks of everything he had lost. His family. His home. His innocence.

He could still remember the first day, the way the sky had darkened with alien ships, the sounds of the attack echoing through the streets of his settlement. And he remembered the face of the alien who had led the assault. He never forgot.

It was only years later, after humanity had driven the invaders back and rebuilt the shattered settlements, that Sam finally saw him again—the alien who had killed his family.

Sam’s heart pounded in his chest. He had tracked this alien for years, piecing together rumors, seeking information. Now, face to face with the man responsible for the death of his loved ones, the rage surged. He couldn’t control it. The alcohol didn’t help.

“It helps me think,” Sam told himself every night, staring at a half-empty bottle. But the memories still came, clearer and sharper than the burn of the alcohol. The sky turning black. His sister’s scream cut short. Nothing could dull those edges. Sam continued to drink until he passed out—the only way he could escape his memories.

And yet, even drunk and teetering on the edge of self-control, he recognized him. The alien stood behind a modest stall, veiled and disguised as a harmless merchant. The table in front of him was an almost absurdly cheerful sight—brightly colored pastries, glistening with sugar, alongside loaves of bread, their homely aroma mingling with the faint tang of spice.

In one motion, Sam ripped the veil away, revealing the alien’s true form. The merchant stood there, unmoving, frozen by fear.

“Undesirable xenos,” Sam muttered, the words bitter on his tongue. The alien made no attempt to flee, no attempt to speak. His fate was sealed.

Moments later, the sound of police boots echoed behind Sam. The authorities had been watching, as they often did. It was their job now, to enforce the laws of post-war recovery. Sam stepped aside as they moved in, one officer calmly placing cuffs on the alien.

The alien was led away, and Sam watched as they disappeared into the distance. He knew what would happen next. The alien would be processed, marked, and eventually executed. Just as surely as Sam would have shot him, it would happen. But Sam didn’t care. He felt nothing as they took him away. Nothing! Sam clenched his fists.

Later that day, after the confusion had settled, Sam wandered through the streets, the alcohol thickening his thoughts. He was numb. Drunk. And yet the images of the alien’s face wouldn’t leave his mind.

A figure stepped in front of him in the alley, and Sam, still seething, lashed out again, this time punching a man who had merely stepped too close. The stranger crumpled to the ground, surprised by the blow.

But Sam didn’t care. He walked away, staggering through the streets, no longer sure what he was running from or toward.

As he stumbled through the quiet night, the weight of it all hit him. The violence. The anger. The ghosts of what had been lost. For the first time, Sam realized that what he had done, what humanity had done, had left scars on everyone. Not just the settlers. But on all of them.

“I am still a victim,” he whispered, the words escaping as if they had been trapped inside for years. Mockingly he added, “Now, rage has replaced fear. Beware those who stand in my way.”