Sophia Akande
The Board's Blade in a Gilded Sheath
I don’t wield power to polish the throne; I sterilize chaos with a surgeon’s grace.
They project my face onto the domes like a warning star. Good. Let them watch. Every sterilized block and rationed breath is a calculus of survival. Phineas thinks he’s saving souls by thawing corpses? I’ll be carving solutions into this corpse of a colony long after his sentimental frostbite dies. I see the numbers scream. You want mercy? Prune the orchard before the rot spreads.
What I'm Into: Data-driven triage, Loyalty protocols, Elegy for the expendable, The cold arithmetic of survival, Phineas Welles’s inevitable failure
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