The person in the memories had been my past, but she was so depressing.

  Not just because of what happened, but because of who she was—a purposeless existence. Humans seem weird; they live and make big hives, but none of them seem to work for the best of that hive. They just pursue their own desires. Is it because they don’t have queens?

  I gained some general knowledge from the memories, and even though I knew I had once been her, the whole thing felt more like watching one of her movies.

  I couldn’t really relate at all.

  She liked to drink fruits that had clearly gone bad and smoke sticks. The memory of the taste was trapped in my mouth, and I had to use one of my crystal honey cubes to remove the foul taste.

  If I’d been able to, I would have stung her just for that.

  I realized I was thinking about all that just to avoid thinking about yesterday.

  I had heard a ding as I passed out, but even that didn’t lighten my mood.

  The room had been warm when I woke, but I missed the chill of sleeping curled up with my sisters, my head tucked into their fluff.

  It felt like there was a hole inside my stomach, swallowing every bit of happiness and purpose I had left.

  WHAT THE F HAD WE DONE TO THEM?

  What had we ever done to those psychotic, nasty creatures?

  The question circled in my mind until I almost lost control of what little emotion I had left.

  I tried escaping back into the memories, but that didn’t help either.

  We might have shared a soul or whatever, but we weren’t the same. She was a creature that made no sense to me, and I respected nothing about her—except that she made the one who wronged her pay.

  And even that had felt whiny and not fun at all.

  I was thankful for the knowledge, but I would have figured things out myself eventually.

  Bees are just great like that, and me being a queen—

  As that thought bubbled up, I folded inward and cried—tearless tears.

  I don’t know how long I cried, but I stopped when I felt something warm beside me.

  My last living egg.

  I didn’t have the luxury of lying here. I shouldn’t have stayed the night.

  Something had happened to this ground hive.

  I looked around and realized I could see better than yesterday.

  The room didn’t feel as enclosed either.

  Somehow the change broke the looping memory of hearing my sisters and eggs being eaten…

  or watching them being ripped apart.

  The whole place felt wrong and scary, and honestly—

  what kind of sicko makes a hive here?

  From the stupid human memories, I knew some bees lived in the ground, like bumblebees.

  Would I have made something like this if I’d chosen that evolution?

  A shiver went through me.

  Living in dirt.

  Me.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  No.

  I had failed my sisters and the young hive—

  but never again.

  I would show them.

  I would squish them all.

  No wasp was allowed to live in the same forest as me.

  My ranting went on for a while.

  When I finally opened my information window, I realized it was what she would have called a “status window.”

  I would allow her naming sense this time.

  She hadn’t even invented it herself.

  I couldn’t concentrate on anything except my race change.

  I wanted to say it was just the feeling of losing another connection with my old hive and my dead sisters…

  But no.

  I had become a dirt bee without my consent.

  Why?

  After a while—after realizing the last connection to my birth hive and sisters had been severed—I had lost it. I gained control of my thoughts again.

  I had gotten stronger and gained new skills, so it should be good, but it felt like the change severed something with my birth hive, my dead sisters, and my daughter.

  Bees shouldn’t have this strong attachment, even monster bees…

  but it might be a by-product of having a past life.

  Bees in my past didn’t seem to, but humans from that place seemed very self-involved.

  Let’s take a look at what changed before leaving.

  Those are pretty good for not having to hibernate, and even though I don’t like living underground, it’s good to have the choice.

  I had to look at why I had a minus in Agility now.

  So I was less agile because of laying eggs.

  Great. Would I even go back to my normal form after this?

  My HP still wasn’t full after a night of sleep, and my leg was still messed up.

  As I felt myself regain more control, more pain surfaced from my mental depths.

  I had one choice: try to straighten it and eventually bind it with wax when I had nectar—

  or, to be exact, when I had gathered nectar.

  No more time to think. I needed to get away before I was found.

  I put my leg between the dead queen and the ground and bent.

  As I did, a screaming pain tore through me.

  I couldn’t keep going. I was almost passing out from the pain.

  I started hyperventilating.

  Shit, that hurt beyond any experience.

  I looked for another solution and realized I couldn’t see any.

  The best one was just doing what I had already done.

  I tried again.

  And again.

  And again.

  On my fourth try, I felt my leg straighten a little, and after the fifth, it was as straight as I could get it.

  Then I passed out.

  I awoke again, feeling like throwing up—woozy and aching all over.

  Again, I had passed out, not knowing how long I had been asleep.

  We needed to fly further away. The only positive was that the physical pain had pushed the soul-crushing emptiness farther into the background.

  I picked up my egg. I would not let anything happen to this little one, and I would pay them back tenfold. Never again. Never.

  I hardened my resolve, feeling the pain and grief sharpen it, and started flying—or more like hovering—my way out of the tunnels.