My Brob GF Ch 37: TERRORIST ATTACK IN BROBDINGNAG AND LILLIPUT

BREAKING NEWS – TERRORIST ATTACK IN BROBDINGNAG AND LILLIPUT! "We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this breaking

BREAKING NEWS – TERRORIST ATTACK IN BROBDINGNAG AND LILLIPUT!

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this breaking story."

The screen flickered, the gym's upbeat playlist fading beneath the serious tone of the newscaster's voice. The logo for Channel 9 News swirled into view, followed by the crisp image of a suited man at a news desk, his brows drawn tightly together.

"This is Lance Corrigan with Channel 9, and we're receiving confirmed reports of simultaneous terrorist attacks in both the Brobdingnagian capital of Lorbrugeud and the Lilliputian capital of Mirelia."

The screen shifted to a split view: towering skyscrapers of Lorbrugeud on one side, and the elegant, crystal-topped spires of Mirelia on the other.

"According to authorities, the attack occurred just under an hour ago. As of this moment, the death toll has reached ten Lilliputians and five Brobdingnagians—with no confirmed injuries."

That line hung in the air. Harper's heart skipped. No injuries? Only fatalities?

The anchor continued, his voice sharp with unease.

"What's most troubling, according to eyewitness accounts, is that there was no warning—no explosions, no sounds of conflict, and no visible destruction to surrounding infrastructure. Victims simply... collapsed. Right where they stood."

Harper and Darcy stood frozen, eyes locked on the screen. The gym noise dulled into background static.

"Authorities are currently investigating the possibility of a biological attack, though no agents have been confirmed. Hazmat teams have sealed off both affected areas, and autopsies are underway. Government officials from both nations are expected to make a joint statement later tonight."

The footage cut to a Brobdingnagian woman with a tear-streaked face, her arms wrapped around a police officer's pinky finger, her voice trembling.

"They were just standing there... just shopping... and then they fell. All of them. I thought it was a prank until I saw the eyes. The way they didn't move..."

The screen cut back to Lance Corrigan, now visibly more somber.

"Again, to repeat: no known property damage, no injured survivors—only fatalities. The implications of such a method of attack are deeply unsettling, and security agencies across both nations are increasing threat levels to high alert. Citizens are urged to remain indoors and await further instruction."

The screen dimmed slightly, showing a map with flashing red zones over Lorbrugeud and Mirelia.

"We will continue to update you as this story develops. Our thoughts are with the families of the victims."

Harper stared at the screen, jaw clenched. Darcy shifted beside her, her tone low and serious.

"...This isn't random."

Harper's eyes narrowed. No, it wasn't. And somehow, deep down, she knew:

This was just the beginning.

***

(Harper) 

Silvershade.

Just thinking her name made my jaw tighten and my fists clench. That little woman with her flaming red hair, fake smile, and eyes like poisoned glass—it had her written all over it. This attack, this sudden, silent horror? Yeah. It reeked of her style. Clean. Precise. Cruel.

I remembered her voice, the way she stood in front of Ethan, barely taller than my pinky, and still had the audacity to threaten him like she had the upper hand. That venom in her words, like she already knew how to break him.

"He's useful... for now." That's what she'd said. I hadn't forgotten.

If this was her—no, when it turned out to be her—she was going to find out just how far I'd go to protect Ethan. I don't care how small he is. I don't care if I've got to carry him in my hand, in my pocket, in a damn necklace. She wasn't laying a single freckled finger on him again.

I was gonna—

Ugh.

I winced, my train of thought derailing as a tickle started climbing its way up my right leg.

Right on my calf.

I shifted my weight, trying to ignore it. Maybe it was a hair or something, or maybe the sweat. But then it kept going, like a single tiny thread dragging against my skin.

Ugh. Nope.

"Excuse me," I muttered, squatting down just a bit and reaching behind my leg.

My fingers found the spot and I gave it a quick scratch—firm but not too hard. Didn't want to tear anything. Honestly, with how sensitive I was after workouts, I probably looked like a dog going after a flea.

"Geez, what's crawling up me today..." I mumbled under my breath, laughing a little to myself.

Darcy glanced over but didn't say anything. Probably thought I was just adjusting my leggings or wiping off sweat. Which, fair. I was sweating like crazy. We'd been going hard for the past hour, and those squats had just about finished me.

Still... weird itch.

The kind that lingered. That moved.

I paused, narrowing my eyes, hand still resting on the back of my leg.

Nah, I thought, shaking my head. Just your imagination. Or maybe a loose thread.

...

Right?

I stood up straight again, giving my leg one last rub and forcing the thought out of my head. I had more important things to focus on—like red-headed terrorists, collapsing civilians, and making sure Ethan stayed far, far away from all of it.

And speaking of Ethan...

I hadn't checked on him since I left the apartment. He was safe, yeah—but still. Maybe I should cut the workout short.

I glanced at the clock on the gym wall.

Just a bit longer.

Then I'd go home.

And check.

And make sure he was okay.

Because something in my gut told me...

This whole thing was about to get worse.