Chapter 43: Fighting a centroid.

BACK WHEN HIS mum, Elspeth, was alive, she called a centroid a scorpion. She’d always said she used to see the small bugs when she lived in Australia. There was nothing small about a centroid. The glistening black creature towered over Nigel, its segmented body casting a long, ominous shadow.

He was absolutely not in the mood for this today.

The scorpion darted from the dense bush, its segmented tail arcing high, ready to strike. That ...