Insubordination in a beehive—it almost sounds like a joke, doesn’t it?

I never had many expectations after emerging from that solitary egg in the middle of a forest, alone, confused, and surrounded by a world that wanted to eat me before I even understood how my own limbs worked. But never in my new life did I imagine I would have to deal with something like insubordination. Let alone the possibility of betrayal.

I mean, as the queen of a hive, shouldn’t my most defining trait be my ability to control my descendants? At least, that’s what my skill tree, titles, instincts, and the entire absurd biological premise of my existence seem to suggest. Of all the problems I expected to face in this life—starvation, monsters, winter, magic, gods, demons, suspicious old men with corpse-smelling hobbies—the last thing I thought I would have to worry about was being stabbed in the back by one of my own children.

Thinking about it… in my old world, queen bees weren’t exactly “queens” in terms of authority. Humans gave them that title, but inside their colonies, they were little more than living reproductive organs—protected, fed, controlled, and eventually replaced when they stopped being useful. Prisoners with crowns made of instinct. Destined to spend their lives laying eggs until the colony decided their body had given enough.

Maybe that’s what’s happening here.

The thought was ugly enough to make something cold settle in my chest.

Still, it doesn’t feel right. First, although the inner circle always encourages the laying of new eggs, that only happens during times of abundant resources. They don’t pressure me when food is scarce, when danger is high, or when the hive’s structure can’t sustain more mouths. Moreover, our numbers haven’t declined—no one has died yet, which I personally consider nothing short of a miracle considering our luck so far. There’s also the fact that my role in the hive isn’t purely reproductive. Of course, in terms of value, being the only one of my species capable of creating new members makes my worth skyrocket, but I’m not just an egg factory. I am literally the reason the link exists. Without me, it ceases to function. A scenario where I am truly dispensable is essentially impossible.

However, being indispensable to the hive’s existence doesn’t guarantee me a comfortable life.

For the link to exist, and for me to continue laying eggs, I only need to remain alive.

That alone puts me in a dangerous position—one where my hundreds of children, the very ones who should protect and care for me, could just as easily become my jailers. A queen does not need freedom to lay eggs. A queen does not need happiness to maintain a link. A queen does not need dignity to remain useful.

Honestly, this is a terrible situation.

Steve, and everyone directly connected to him, seem compromised; their loyalty is no longer fully guaranteed. As for the rest of the hive? A complete unknown. Maybe Steve’s influence has spread too deeply, winding through the collective mind like fungus beneath rotten bark. Or maybe it has barely scratched the surface. It’s hard to tell because, frankly… I’m incompetent.

I should have focused more on learning how to use and manipulate the link myself. Instead, since I had Steve handling it, I left everything in his capable hands. At the time, it seemed like an excellent strategy. Delegate specialized tasks to specialized individuals. Let the one most skilled at managing the hive’s thoughts manage the hive’s thoughts. Simple. Efficient. Reasonable.

Until I realized he might be plotting something against me from inside my own home.

The obvious solution would be to confront Steve and settle this once and for all, but the real question is…

How do I resolve this?

Do I punish him? Physical punishment is out of the question. It would harm the hive as a whole rather than Steve individually, so that option is immediately discarded.

Trying to reason with him might be just as difficult. Even if I say, “This is wrong, and this is right,” the concept of morality for hive members is directly tied to the hive’s integrity and survival. If they determine that an action benefits the hive, then that action automatically becomes “good,” even if it involves murder, theft, betrayal, or suicide. Are they insane? Maybe they are. Maybe we all are. And the problem with a madman is that it’s almost impossible to convince him he’s not mad when his entire world has been built to reward the shape of his madness.

Perhaps I could retire him as punishment. In the hive, being deemed an “invalid” carries heavy cultural stigma. Being a burden is deeply despised, with the worst cases involving soldiers rehabilitated after past battles. A member stripped of function is not simply unemployed; they are wounded in identity, severed from purpose, turned into something the hive instinctively pities and resents at the same time.

It’s not a bad solution—but it’s not the best one either. First, Steve is vital to the hive’s operation. Second, I still don’t understand the psychological impact suppressing their “workaholic” nature might have on my children. For them, work isn’t just labor. It’s meaning. It’s belonging. It’s the shape of existence itself.

Maybe I’m rushing to conclusions. After all, this all began with a rumor. And even if the source is almost certainly Steve—or someone close to him—that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty. Maybe I’m throwing Steve into boiling oil without properly considering all the alternatives. The situation is worrying and deeply problematic. Yet, strangely… I’m not nervous about it.

Which, honestly, is very strange.

I feel like I should be tearing my hair out or pacing in circles, but my mind is clear and focused. Even when I imagine the worst possible outcome, I can still reason calmly, without letting emotion cloud my judgment. That, too, is strange.

I know the “me” from my old world and the “me” of now are not the same. Why? Because my consciousness seems to have slowly merged with the hive’s collective consciousness, blending human memories and emotions with the primordial instincts this body naturally possesses. I’m not just a human mind trapped inside a monster anymore. I’m something layered. Something rewritten. Something that remembers being human but no longer reacts to the world like one.

The evolutions only drove the nail deeper.

At first, there were two distinct consciousnesses sharing the same body: the panicked human soul that remembered another world, and the newborn monster queen whose instincts screamed for growth, hunger, territory, and survival. With each evolution, the line between them blurred until they became something uniform. I honestly can’t tell where the “old me” ends and the “new me” begins. Everything is me—but parts of me didn’t exist before.

Does that make sense? Or am I just rambling to myself?

I know there are other versions of me—more distinct personalities, more pronounced aspects of my being. I also know that my actions are common during their… appearances? Possessions? Manifestations? I don’t know the correct term for when one of them emerges. I only know that when I sink into deep depression, it appears.

I don’t know how to feel about the idea that I’m becoming numb to the world around me. I can still feel emotions, of course, but they’re different now—less spontaneous, more restrained. I felt anger when I learned that Steve might be plotting against me, but it never blinded me. It didn’t drown my thoughts or tighten my throat or make my hands shake. It was more like background noise than a dominant emotion.

Maybe this is the influence of “Noble Self.”

That version of me was always emotionally controlled, and the last time we spoke, she made it clear that I’m manifesting her more often, allowing her presence to grow stronger within me. It’s confusing… but unlike some of the others, Noble Self doesn’t seem to want to harm me. She seeks prosperity and order.

It’s still too early to label her as good—especially since I only have her as a point of comparison. But it can’t be that I harbor only negative versions of myself within my subconscious. For this system to function, I need competent, positive versions of myself as well.

Otherwise, we’ll all sink very quickly.

---

Why did the queen mother suddenly summon me here?

If she wanted to discuss expansion plans or survival strategies, she would have sent a mental message. If it were something of great importance, she would have called a meeting. That leaves only two possibilities: the queen mother’s classic unpredictability—or the chance that she has discovered something about my actions.

Steve thought this as he was guided toward the back of the cave by several [Royal Knights].

If she finds out what I did, she must personally order my execution—at least, if I succeeded, she will. I shouldn’t have been able to escape the shackles of the link so easily, and yet… I did. The queen mother’s link is too weak to keep high-level individuals under control. If measures aren’t taken, the hive as a whole will be destroyed by the queen’s inadequacy. Since it’s impossible to create a new queen, I must do everything I can to correct her flaws before it’s too late.

Lost in thought, Steve glided silently toward the back of the cave. The tunnels narrowed around him, their walls breathing faintly with the warmth of packed wax, damp soil, and living roots. The presence of the [Royal Knights] pressed against his senses from every side—not merely physical bodies escorting him, but hostile nodes in the link, sharp and watchful.

Soon, they arrived at an improvised wax chamber. Its walls were coated in beeswax to make them uniform, while the sides were reinforced with pebbles and hardened resin. The room had a “door” that was nothing more than a curtain made of animal hide, stitched together with fiber and pinned to the wall with bone hooks. Upon reaching their destination, the [Royal Knights] quickly pulled the curtain aside and gestured toward Steve.

“Enter.”

That was all they said.

Their hostile stares had already told Steve what awaited him beyond the curtain.

As he stepped inside the chamber, Steve was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of herbs, ink, burnt leather, wax, and old mana. Dozens—perhaps hundreds—of incomplete or flawed scrolls were scattered across the floor, alongside diagrams that looked like blueprints for recent constructions and projects discussed during the latest inner-circle meetings.

At the center of the room, both imposing and unassuming, stood a massive wooden table carved directly from a tree trunk. Its surface was cluttered with jars of magical ink, Iverne’s blood, sharpened bone tools, treated parchment, and various prototypes made of wood and wax. Seated at the table was a familiar figure—yet one that felt entirely new to Steve.

The queen of the hive, the great mother, sat relaxed in a wooden chair. She muttered private thoughts to herself, seemingly oblivious to those around her, while simultaneously reviewing papers, discussing matters with several [Mages], and inscribing runes onto parchment. Her fingers moved with distracted precision. Her eyes shifted between three tasks without fully resting on any single one.

Perhaps my actions were worthwhile… Steve thought as he looked upon his queen.

She hadn’t been like this before—never even close. She had once been chaotic, erratic, emotional, and problematic. But how could she not be? Her mind had been as confused and disordered as her behavior; her nature was simply a reflection of that mental chaos.

So Steve had done the unthinkable for a member of the hive.

He had attacked the queen’s mind.

Unlike physical attacks, mental assaults leave no obvious trace—unless the target is trained to detect them. And Steve knew the queen never would, not if the attack was subtle, constant, and precise. Piece by piece, fragment by fragment, memory by memory, what was deemed useless was sealed away, while what held value was brought to the surface.

The evolutions had helped immensely. With each one, the queen became more vulnerable to manipulation, more malleable. Her sense of self stretched and softened as new instincts, titles, skills, and monstrous impulses layered themselves over the remains of her old humanity. It had taken enormous effort, but in the end, Steve and his small group of [Archivists] had succeeded—slowly, methodically—in altering the queen’s very nature.

It was meticulous work: blending collective consciousness with individual awareness. Like assembling pieces from several different jigsaw puzzles into a single image that somehow made sense in an abstract, unsettling way. They had used fragments of their own natures to rewrite the queen’s. Perhaps that was why Steve had ultimately been discovered. He, too, had changed—like the queen—not drastically, but enough.

“Oh, Steve. Come here. I want to talk to you.”

The queen mother spoke without visible emotion the moment their eyes met.

Steve approached and quickly noticed that she hadn’t dismissed the other hive members present in the room. In the past, she would have insisted on speaking “privately,” even knowing that the collective consciousness made such secrecy meaningless—at least, not so overtly.

“You summoned me, Queen Mother. Here I am,” Steve said, bowing slightly.

“Hm. I’m not sure how best to approach this…” The queen mother twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, thinking. “But rather than dance around the issue, I’ll be direct. Are you responsible for spreading rumors about my competence as queen—and are you the mastermind behind the potential revolt taking root in the hive?”

Her words landed heavily.

What Steve had done could certainly be interpreted as high treason. Creatures that bite their creators are discarded. But deliberately tarnishing the image of the queen—the image he himself had painstakingly shaped in the eyes of the hive? That wasn’t right.

“Queen Mother! I would never allow your authority or abilities to be questioned by the ranks,” Steve replied firmly.

“Hm…” The queen mother studied him closely. “You know, I thought I could compel the truth using my authority over you. But considering your mastery of the link surpasses mine, it seems I no longer have any reliable way to verify your words.” She chuckled softly. “Normally, you can’t lie to me—only evade the truth. But now… you’re too skilled. I can’t tell whether you’re being honest or not. Curious, isn’t it? My only ‘absolute’ power becomes meaningless once someone reaches certain levels or acquires specific classes.”

“Queen Mother! I would never harm the hive! You know that!” Steve insisted, sensing her growing suspicion.

“Oh, I know,” she replied casually. “Your own ‘natures’ prevent you from willingly harming the hive as a whole. But that doesn’t stop you from seeing me as an obstacle to its survival, does it?”

Her gentle tone clashed sharply with the implication of her words.

Steve felt it then—a subtle hostility radiating from the queen into the collective mind. Instantly, the hive responded. Thousands of once-welcoming presences turned cold and predatory. He felt minds brushing against his own, probing, searching for proof of whether he was ally or enemy.

Uncomfortable.

That was the only word for it. Even as a veteran hive member and the most skilled link user among them, Steve couldn’t withstand the pressure of so many minds pressing in at once. A single mind could be deceived. Ten could be misdirected. But thousands? Thousands did not think like individuals. They pressed, tasted, listened, and scraped against the edges of him like mandibles against bone.

“I—I have no intention of defying your authority, Queen Mother…” he tried to say.

Were these the fruits of his labor? Had he crossed a line that should never have been crossed? Perhaps only time would tell. Some would say he had overstepped, dared far beyond his station. Maybe he would be executed. Worse—banished.

Exile would not simply mean death. It would mean being severed from the collective, from the only thing that made him whole, left to decay alone in the outside world.

Perhaps that was the price for the hive’s future.

Whether his actions were right or wrong was for others to judge. Deep down, Steve knew that what he had done made the queen more capable of fulfilling her role. If he had to die for it, so be it. His life held no value compared to the lifespan of the hive. Even if his body perished and his memories were erased from the collective mind, it would only prove that he had succeeded in making the queen stronger.

She has no way of discovering what I did—not without delving deep into my mind, and she lacks the ability for that. Now that she no longer trusts me, the best course is to pass my position to a competent archivist and quietly step aside.

Forgive me, brothers…

That was all Steve could think as he met the queen’s suspicious gaze.

The concepts of family, love, and affection were foreign to him. His first exposure to them had been through the queen’s memories, and through Hans. Among his brothers, despite their numbers, there was no true emotional attachment. Everything revolved around numbers, resources, and efficiency. Soldiers were valued for combat ability and physical condition; workers only for their usefulness. No one held worth simply because of shared memories.

That meant the moment Steve was deemed obsolete—or worse, labeled a traitor—the “love” the hive showed him would vanish like a candle flame in the rain. As if it had never existed.

He understood this. He accepted it.

And yet… this lingering, outdated feeling of isolation—

It hurt.

“Hm… I don’t want to doubt your intentions, Steve… but all the clues point to you. These rumors have been circulating throughout the hive for quite some time, yet you’ve done little—or nothing—about them. And I’m certain you knew they existed. You didn’t bother to report them or track down their source, which strongly suggests that you are the source. Look, I know things aren’t easy, and I’m not exactly the embodiment of royalty one would expect from a ‘queen,’ but still… attempting to brew a rebellion behind the scenes isn’t exactly a wise idea,” the queen argued.

Steve could only stand there, searching for the right words to dispel his queen’s suspicions.

“I mean… if we were human, or something similar, provoking a rebellion against an unsuitable leader might make sense, but—”

“My queen! You are not unsuitable!” cursed the [Mages] hovering around her.

“Oh, be realistic, children. Anyway, what I mean is that our species lacks the social structures required to accommodate the concept of ‘rebellion’—not while I’m the only one capable of producing new members for the hive. I can understand that, from a more extreme perspective, imprisoning me at the bottom of the nest to lay eggs might seem reasonable, but… I lay eggs when I choose to. Leaving me embittered after a rebellion wouldn’t exactly be the best way to convince me to keep producing them.”

The queen began to ramble during the hearing, prompting the [Wizards] to nudge one another in an attempt to get her back on track.

“Ahem!” one of the [Wizards] coughed loudly beside her, snapping her attention back to the matter at hand.

“Oh—right, of course. In short, I don’t believe you would have done something like this without a concrete purpose… even if I don’t know exactly what you did, I’m certain you did something wrong. So can we just get this over with?” the queen asked, resting her chin on her hands as she leaned over the desk.

“What exactly did you do… and why?” she asked, her tone serious.

“I…” Steve hesitated before answering.

This scenario had played out in his mind countless times. No matter how “clean” his work was, there would always be traces—it was only a matter of time before something surfaced and he, along with his group, was exposed. In every version he imagined, the queen was furious, reprimanding him in her usual confused and chaotic manner.

Had the plan continued any longer, she might not even have summoned him. A perfect queen would have disposed of him through the [Soldiers] the moment she detected suspicious behavior. Luckily—or perhaps unluckily—she had only grown suspicious amid the chaos.

Continuing the project was now far too dangerous. Even if the queen somehow forgave him and reinstated him, it was unlikely he would ever regain the same freedom. With hundreds of eyes watching him relentlessly, scrutinizing his every move for the slightest mistake, doing anything meaningful would be impossible.

So what did that mean? That everything he had done was for the hive’s future? That planting seeds of doubt in his brothers’ minds was meant to keep the queen constantly alert? Would she believe him if he claimed he acted alone? That way, he alone would be punished, sparing his group—and perhaps allowing them to continue his work in the shadows of the queen’s mind.

Steve had always been a planner. Since birth, his nature had been calculating and cautious. There were times to advance, striking decisively, and times to retreat and tend one’s wounds. Perhaps, if he pleaded and showed regret, the queen’s sensitive nature would spare him from a fate as cruel as exile.

“I—I only wanted to help… I admit that I crossed the boundaries of my duty, and that even knowing the signs of insubordination, as the head of the information circle, I did nothing to stop them. But everything I did was with the intention of strengthening the colony and the queen mother! I would never allow a large-scale rebellion. Small challenges to your authority, however, would help solidify your presence once those outbreaks were extinguished,” Steve tried to explain.

The queen listened carefully, absorbing his words. Judging by her sour expression, she didn’t like what she heard.

“So your plan was to use your own brothers as scapegoats so I could ‘practice’ punishing them? What kind of idiotic idea is that?” she asked, clearly displeased.

“That’s not it! The only reason I haven’t reported or taken action against the growing dissatisfaction in the hive is because the reasons behind that dissatisfaction are irrelevant! I tried to suppress it when it first started to take hold, but every time I did, other points of focus appeared. Eventually, I reached a point where I decided that the best choice was to put this ‘rebellion’ on the back burner until I had enough resources and structure to eliminate it at the root!” Steve tried to explain.

“Hmph… so you did nothing because you feared causing a Streisand effect?” the queen mused. “You could have informed me earlier, yet you chose not to—knowing it would worry me. Why? Did you think it was better for me not to deal with it? Were you afraid of my reaction? Or was this simply an affront to my authority, and I’m overthinking it?”

“N-No! That wasn’t my intention!” Steve protested. “Given recent events and the hive’s vulnerable state, I judged that this morale issue didn’t deserve the same priority or visibility as more vital projects. The troops’ loyalty remains absolute—it’s merely a matter of morale and general satisfaction, insignificant to the hive’s survival!”

To Steve, it didn’t matter whether the troops were unhappy with the hive’s new lifestyle.

Who wasn’t?

Compared to Aurum, this place was a filthy hole—literally. Comfort was a joke, monsters prowled the camp day and night, the food was atrocious, and as if that weren’t enough, the hive was being forced to open its doors to that thing the queen insisted on calling “Master,” reeking of death and entrails.

That thing possessed a nature fundamentally incompatible with the hive’s own. Worse, it was an Outsider—something that should never have been allowed so deep within the nest.

The troops were enraged, but the queen ordered them to be receptive. There was no choice but obedience. Even so, they made sure the Outsider knew he wasn’t welcome. No one but the queen ever spoke to him or even met his gaze. They watched him with hostility and suspicion, making it clear this was not his place.

Perhaps it worked, in a way. He came and went, sometimes staying for days or weeks before disappearing again, only to return months later.

The queen didn’t seem to care—but the hive did.

What was his purpose? He claimed he approached the queen out of mere “curiosity.” Nonsense. The hive would never believe that. They saw how he studied their creations with fascination, how deeply he pondered the [Echo of Life].

Where did he go when he left? Whom did he speak to? What was he planning?

Why was he here at all?

He called himself a “world-renowned and feared Summoner, known throughout history.” There was no way to verify that claim. His power, however, was undeniable. Making him an enemy was not something the hive could afford—at least not yet, not until they fully understood his nature.

But still…

Why here, on these plains?

When the hive found him, the story was that he had merely been passing through and that we met by chance—unlikely, and almost certainly a blatant lie. Then the story changed: he was supposedly camping in the region, attacked by a local group, and stumbled upon us by coincidence. Possible, perhaps—but why was he camping here? Was the Flame of the Earth the reason? And if it was valuable enough for someone like him to travel all this way, why did he give it up so easily?

There were too many unanswered questions, and Morthak showed no intention of answering any of them.

He seemed content with the limited, question-free relationship he maintained with the queen—a tacit agreement in which both sides avoided topics they didn’t want to address, yet still benefited from the interaction. For the hive, accustomed to unrestricted access to the thoughts, ideas, opinions, and doubts of everyone connected to the collective mind, having someone outside that collective interacting so intimately with the queen was profoundly unsettling.

This only intensified the hive’s underlying discontent. While the troops’ loyalty was unquestionable, their satisfaction with the hive’s structure was a separate issue entirely. A hive filled with unhappy troops was bound to experience elevated stress, and when stress took hold, murmurs inevitably followed:

“What is she doing?”

“Doesn’t the queen mother care about us?”

“Life was better when the inner circle handled things.”

“Argh—so, to summarize…” the queen said, scratching her head in disbelief. “The hive is unhappy, and this dissatisfaction manifested as criticism of my abilities as queen. In response, you used your authority to suppress that discontent and pushed it aside until you felt the timing was right to address it?”

“Hm… y-yes… that’s exactly it, Queen Mother,” Steve replied, a note of satisfaction creeping into his voice. “I’m glad you were able to understand my reasoning.”

In the past, it would have taken her several minutes—and multiple explanations—to fully grasp the situation. Now, she seemed to understand it almost immediately. That realization filled Steve with pride and reinforced the belief that his actions had been justified from the beginning.

He had expected the queen to suspect his “secret plan,” but instead, she seemed to believe he was merely the source of the hive’s dissatisfaction with her. Now that she understood he wasn’t the cause but rather a consequence, the punishment awaiting him would likely be far lighter than if she had known what he had truly done inside her mind.

“Ugh… you’re so black-and-white, Steve,” the queen said suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Excuse me?”

“You thought the best response to widespread dissatisfaction was suppression and punishment,” she continued. “You’re great at crisis management and long-term planning, but guess what?”

“What?”

“You’re terrible at human relations,” the queen said bluntly. “Are you telling me that if someone complains about poor living conditions or my personal decisions, the immediate response should be punishment? Damn it, Steve, who would be happy after being punished just for voicing an opinion? If they want to talk about me, let them. We have mouths for a reason.”

“Hm… I thought our mouths were for eating,” Steve replied. “We don’t strictly need them for talking.”

“It’s a saying, Steve. Don’t take it literally,” the queen sighed. “What matters to me is loyalty. If they’re complaining about living conditions, tell them to deal with it. I miss our old life and its little luxuries too. I hate our streak of bad luck, and I don’t like living in a hole in the ground either. But complaining won’t make resources fall from the sky. Once resources accumulate and the hive begins to grow, our quality of life will improve again—but until then!”

Her irritation finally boiled over. She slammed her hands on the table and stood up abruptly, startling everyone present.

She remained still for a few seconds, eyes closed, head lowered.

Confusion rippled through the room—until the answer came.

Through the mental link, the entire hive felt Radyo’s mental waves surge outward, flooding the collective consciousness in seconds. Normally, this was reserved for emergencies, moments that demanded the immediate attention of every hive member.

[Hive-Wide Transmission Initiated]
[Source: Queen Mother]

“Attention. This is the queen speaking.”

Her voice echoed through the link, carried by Radyo’s waves until every worker, soldier, mage, larva-tender, scout, and half-awake idiot in the hive could hear her.

“It has come to my attention that most of you are unhappy with our current standard of living. I share your dissatisfaction, and I understand that many of you felt wronged after being punished simply for speaking out. For that, I apologize.”

“QUEEN MOTHER!” Steve shouted, losing his composure.

Apologizing would be seen as weakness—confirmation of everything the disgruntled troops believed. In Steve’s eyes, it was like hammering the final nail into the coffin with her own hands.

“The treatment you received for expressing your displeasure was unfair and unnecessary,” the queen continued, ignoring him. “That said, this is all I’m offering in response. If you want to complain, whine, or cry, go ahead. If you want to dwell on what can’t be changed, do it quietly and don’t disrupt the hive. Unhappy with our situation? I’ve been unhappy for years too, yet I’m still here—still fighting. I’m not perfect, I admit that. But I’m all you have, and you are all I have. So if you could all please shut up for a moment and stop worrying about meaningless nonsense—even for a single day—I’d be very grateful. With love and affection, from your queen. Good night.”

[Hive-Wide Transmission Ended]

With that, the transmission ended.

“Alright… now.” The queen opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on Steve. “What do I do with you?”

Steve stood frozen.

I take back everything I said… he thought bitterly. She hasn’t changed at all. She’s still the same disaster as always.

Damn it…

All that effort, for nothing?