Sophia steps closer, her blonde hair catching the dim jungle light, those purple-hazed eyes locking onto me like I’m a puzzle she’s already solved. “I’m Sophia,” she says, voice smooth and cool, dripping elegance. “And these—” she gestures to three brunettes nearby, all vaguely alike, staring off into space like they’re zoned out—“are my triplets.” I squint—two women and a guy, not identical, but close enough. They don’t even blink, just stand there, heads tilted in different directions.

  “Triplets?” I echo, still gripping my dumb stick.

  “Not by blood,” Sophia says, a faint smirk tugging her lips. “By talent. They’ve focused their telepathic paths—linked their minds into a network. Camp info flows through them.” She waves a hand, graceful but sharp. “Workers chop lumber, scout water, build shelters—progress reports hit the triplets, they pass it to me, I brief Simons. No messy meetings, no shouting across camp. Efficient.”

  I nod, half-listening, because—damn—she’s mesmerizing. Her wild gestures, the way her chest rises with every excited breath, those bountiful breasts bouncing like they’re demanding attention. My eyes drift—smooth skin, taut stomach, down to that ripe, perfect spot between her—

  %,?}□￥ --- PERVERT---,:%￡*?◇$

  The word explodes in my skull, a psionic sledgehammer—echoing, stabbing, vibrating with migraine spikes of pain. I stagger, head spinning like that uni party when I downed ten pints of beer, then chugged half a liter of whiskey because 'it’s not that strong.' Spoiler-- it was. I spent three days regretting my entire existence, puking my soul out. This? Same vibe, but shorter. I’m not out long—just long enough to look like an idiot.

  I blink back to reality, sheepish, meeting Sophia’s icy glare. Those purple eyes are frost now, pissed, and I’m pretty sure she’s the one who slapped my brain. “Uh, sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my temple, stick still dangling in my hand. “Got… distracted. How about I, uh, make something useful? Undergarments! For everyone! First project, yeah?” I force a grin, desperate to dodge her wrath.

  She arches a brow, cold but intrigued. “Undergarments?” Her voice is a blade dipped in honey. “Fine. Prove you’re more than a lech with a stick.” The triplets don’t move, but I swear one smirks—did they feel that smack too?

  Before I can respond, a grunt cuts through—Big Guy stomps in, arms piled high with stuff, his usual scowl carved deep. I tense, stick raised, ready for round two, but a short-haired brunette—one of the triplets—beats me to it. She hops up, perky as hell, and grabs the haul with a squeal. “Thanks, hon!” she chirps, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. Big Guy—freaking Big Guy—blushes, red creeping up his neck, and mutters something gruff.

  Sophia nods at her. “That’s Alex. She insists he’s not so bad.” Alex winks at me, defusing my standoff vibe like it’s nothing, then flits back to her brunette boy, whispering something telepathic-style.

  I shake it off, eyeing the pile Big Guy dumped—twigs, branches, pebbles, bark shavings, big green leaves. Forest junk, but it’s my junk now. “Okay, Timothy,” I say to myself, cracking my knuckles. “Let’s get crafting.”

  I squat over Big Guy’s pile, sorting through the mess like a kid with a junk drawer. Pebbles? Useless for now—tossed aside. Twigs and sticks? Maybe later—into the “meh” pile. Bark shavings? Nope. That leaves me with a stack of big, green leaves—waxy, broad, perfect for some Adam-and-Eve-style underwear. I grab the fattest one, holding it up like a trophy. “Alright, leaf, let’s make you into sone sexy lengire.” I channel the ether, warm and tingly in my chest, pushing it through my hands. The leaf shivers, edges curling as I try to shape it—fold here, stretch there—into something wearable. It’s slow, clumsy, but it’s starting to look like… well, a leafy thong. Progress.

  ____________________________________

  Alex POV.

  --Psionic link established.

  I’m sorting through Gideon’s haul, arms full, grinning at him. “Knew you were a keeper, Gideon,” I say, nudging his elbow. He’s a mountain, all scowls and muscle, but I saw it from the get go, grumbling the whole way. Big ol’ softy at heart. He grunts, cheeks pinking up from that kiss I snuck earlier—total surprise attack.

  I pick up an alert from crew 3 with my psionic link. “Lenny on Lumber Crew 3’s tangled in carnivorous vines again—idiot’s a magnet for ’em.” Sophia’s cool voice echoes in my head “Deploy Beta. Extract him—quietly."

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  “A big softy who just hauled all this crafting gear,” I say, hefting a leaf, eyes still on him. “Tim’s gonna owe you—went out of your way for this, didn’t you? Weren’t you supposed to be catching some shut-eye?”

  He shrugs, flushing deeper, muttering,

  “Just carryin’ Stuff, ain't hard.”

  I get a psionic ping from the south-west, “Southwest Guard’s got eyes on something—possible non-friendly, stand by…”

  Sophia responds; “Updating network—stand by for Alert.”

  I observe and relay the events as it happens-- "Oh My God it's a squirrel-- such a cutey. Oh no! An Archer is shooting at it… now it’s dinner." I sigh, "Situation Green.” Sophia responds relieved, “Standing down.”

  “Your cute when you frown?” I tease, leaning in close, still all about him. “Stayed up for me, didn’t you?” He blinks, red creeping up his neck, and mumbles, “Ain’t cute…” I laugh, light and easy—keeper for sure.

  Aha a ping clmes through from one of the scouts. “Scout Unit 1’s found water, stagnant but usable.” Sophia comes back, “Marked it—coordinates locked. Good job guys!”

  “Thanks for helping Tim,” I say, clapping his shoulder, sticking to that softy thread. "You've been a big help!” I glance over at Tim, who’s waving his first craft like a prize—a leafy thong, simple but kinda clever. “Ooh, look at that!” I chirp, snagging it from him. I give it a gentle tug—rip—and it tears apart like, well, a leaf. Gideon scowls, arms crossing tight.

  “Hey, no worries,” I say, patting his chest, all cheery. “Tim’ll get it next time—you’re still the haul hero!” I ping quick—“Crafting fail—leaf’s too weak. Need stronger stuff, vines maybe?” Sophia’s sharply orders back, “Lenny, get back to the strangling vines—Timothy needs strong vines-- it's a priority." I can imagine him cursing her psionic message. I grin at Tim. “You’ll do better, promise— strong vines are coming!

  ___________________________________

  Timothy POV

  I slump back, leafy thong scraps in my lap, staring at the mess. “Great,” I mutter, voice dripping with doom. “Dreams of Wizardry dead, and now I can’t even make underwear that doesn’t fall apart. I'm living the NPC life for sure.” Gideon’s scowling, Alex is all sunshine, and I’m just… sulking. Make some clothing out of Vines? Sure, whatever! I’m doomed to be the camp’s lamest crafter, forever bemoaning my fate.

  Hours later, The Sun is starting to set.

  I lean back, panting, wiping sweat off my brow—crafting’s exhausting, who knew? Took a quick breather, eyes shut, just to cool down after wrestling those damn vines and leaves into shape. Now I crack ‘em open, and there it is: my masterpiece. A his-and-hers Adam-and-Eve collection, laid out like some jungle runway show. On the left, for the gents—leafy boxers, sturdy vines woven tight, plus a toga top, loose but functional. On the right, for the ladies—a delicate undergarment, vine-laced for strength, a brassiere with leaf cups for ample support, and a matching toga, draped just right. Not bad, Tim. Not bad.

  I spot Sophia nearby, her icy purple gaze scanning the camp, and wave awkwardly, holding up her set—same as the ladies’ but tailored sharper, fancier. “Uh, Sophia! Garments for you!” I call, voice cracking. “Not gonna lie, it’s not exactly comfy—still feels like leaves and vines for now.” She glides over, takes it with a nod, her elegant fingers brushing the fabric. “Adequate,” she says, cool as ever, slipping the toga on like it’s silk. That’s as close to “thanks” as I’ll get, I guess.

  The camp buzzes—people swarm in, spirits high, snagging their pieces. “Finally, some dignity!” Pete whoops, tugging on his boxers, twirling his toga like a cape. Rebecca smirks, adjusting her brassiere, “Not half bad, Tim.” Gideon grunts approval, pulling on his set, scowl softening. Alex is all grins, handing out some type of berries—“Perimeter’s quiet, firewood’s stockpiled for the night”—keeping the vibe light. I pop a Berry in my mouth-- eugh, Sour.

  Teddy’s stoking the fire, squirrel roasting, and the smell’s got us drooling. “Oi, Tim,” Teddy calls, grinning, “we’re all dressed like bloody forest fairies now—your fault, ye daft bugger!” Pete cackles, “Yeah, nice going, glowstick—next time, craft us some dignity that doesn’t itch!” I roll my eyes, but I’m laughing too—everyone’s in on it, even Sophia cracks a faint smirk.

  Mr. Simons strides up, clapping his hands, that Texan drawl booming. “Alright, y’all, gather ‘round—time for a catch up’!” We shuffle closer, fire crackling, sun setting, a chill creeping in—the leaf gear’s a godsend. “Been a wild ride today,” he starts, hands on hips. “Woke up bare as the day we were born, no clue where that Emoticon dumped us. Took grit, but we’ve scratched out a start—fought off vines, found water, turned critters into supper, patched up the banged-up. Me? I spent half the mornin’ wranglin’ folks into teams, haulin’ lumber myself ‘til Gideon took over like a damn ox—good man. Watched y’all pull together, and Tim here—” he nods at me, grinning—“whipped up these leafy duds. Ain’t fancy, but it’s ours. Tomorrow, we focus up—shore up some shelters, scout wider, keep the fire burning hot. We’re survivors, y’all, and we’re just gettin’ started.”

  The camp cheers, a ragged whoop—Pete slaps my back, Alex winks, Teddy raises a squirrel leg like a toast. We’re digging in, laughing, feeling human, guessing how long this weird Eden holds.

  Then—“Multiple presences detected, north side!”—a scout’s shout echoes. I choke on my squirrel bite, heart lurching. Sophia’s head snaps up, eyes flaring purple. “Status?” she barks. It's clear she's doing her Psionic thing, Alex eye's flaring purple too.

  Gideon’s on his feet, fists clenched. Pete’s ether flickers, ready. Rebecca tenses, hand hovering like she’s prepping to heal. Mr Simons stands, smile gone— “Let's all get ready for anything.. ” —and I’m just standing here, leafy thong guy, wondering what the hell’s coming now.