Sunundra's mind listed aimlessly through a thick syrup of blurred perceptions—weightless, but oh so heavy. Time was a lost concept, meant for those more material than the ephemeral existence she had become. Years were but moments. Moments were an eternity. Each infinitesimal fraction was also an immeasurable landscape of possibilities. She floated upon the current of the almost stagnant waters, waves of change infrequently brushing her thoughts, though steadily becoming less as the blackness firmed its hold.
It pushed and pulled slowly, each cycle growing weaker as pressure closed around her chest. The promise of cessation and the release of responsibility, the end of life and meaning closing in with stalwart finality.
And then, she came back to reality. Violently.
A jolt slammed through her entire body in the haze. An echoing crack resonated in her ears. Her bones scraped and creaked. Bitter sand crushed and dissolved in her muzzle, stinging the tender flesh with its potency as it penetrated the membrane.
A pause. The waters of the intangible seemed to suck inwards, dragging her with it.
A thump. Another. Stronger. Again. The waves pulled her under.
A rhythm was established—laboured, yet steady. Water filled her lungs. Fire lit up her core.
The pounding of a heart stressed beyond measure fired blood through her system at pressure, the stuttering, faint pulse now replaced by a symphony of cannons, loading and letting loose fluid thicker than tree sap.
Consciousness came first. Pain followed. Then suffering.
Roaring infernos seared her muscles from the inside. Scorching bolts of torturous lightning flared, the branching sparks tearing through her chest. Acid gnawed and bubbled through her skull. Each sensation overpowered the others until the urge to scream drew on a body that had no voice to give, and no coherence to supply.
Another thump. Her ribs throbbed from the impact, yet she had not the chance to register why until another blow originated from inside.
A gasp for air forced its way down her throat, tugging and pulling at her windpipe, threatening to collapse the cartilage as her lungs filled themselves with oxygen and drowned her in crimson waters. A sputtering cough yanked at her insides until she ejected the obstruction, then the contents of her stomach—stale iron and digestive juices coating her tongue. The smell of bile covered the pungent odour of rot and decay.
Skin and wounds screeched their protests as she curled into a ball. A shove with her responsive arm tipped her off the perch she had landed on amongst the piles of garbage, plunging her into a tumble down the rest of the refuse, only to crash into more muck. Every bruise and cracked bone lit up in synchrony as she hit the bottom. Her backpack flew off in the roll, landing in front of her face as her widened eyes stared into infinity. The shredded suffering paralyzed her long enough to remember.
The running, the kind one, and then the detonation that ended both. A single moment gave her a frozen frame where shards dug into Greg's flesh, his apologetic expression holding remorse and hope that she would succeed in the pursuit of her other. Then, unmanaged by the blur of adrenaline, she saw the expression fall flat, blood dripping from the lacerations as his kindness was repaid.
They had found her. They tried to end it with a shoddy explosive, recklessly letting loose kinetic fire when she survived, uncaring of the slaughter they brought upon their kin. Several rounds had hit her, eventually crumpling her legs under accumulated injuries and blood loss, letting the enemy surround her, their weapons prodding her supposed corpse before the final dregs of energy left.
She should be dead, and yet she drew breath; shaky, unsteady breath tainted by clotted ichor and the repugnance of decomposition, but breath all the same. It was still drawn by that which should not draw upon it at all. It still fuelled her beyond the pyre, dragging the abandoned soul from the Void’s grasp.
Her heart pumped a slurry of thickened blood, each stroke forcing the life-giving mud through strained veins. The painkillers had faded, leaving the suppressed agony to return with a vengeance. Her tongue was coated with the bitter remains of overindulgence and overreliance on stimulant tablets, the swelling of her jaw hinting at the fall being what crushed the final two doses she had stored between her teeth. That would be enough to condemn her to be frail and weakened as her organs were overtaxed by stupidity, yet the shock had been enough to tear her from the Void before it could truly claim her. She could still feel the constricting tendrils languidly toying with her soul before losing their prey.
Somehow, she survived…
She didn’t deserve to.
She had hesitated. Even while being so close to her goal, the failure of a female had gotten so distracted by a yearning for kindness and good that it struck her apt to reward such when it was found, regardless of if she was in a position to do so. Greg paid the price for her mistake. He might have lived if she had simply fled the moment she had the means to proceed. She should have left him behind without a moment's consideration…
But she didn't…and now here she was in a dank, putrid pit as little more than a discarded cadaver, tossed out like the trash she always was. Alone. The dim lights of a platform far above her taunted the crumpled form down below. It mocked her stupidity and stubborn clinging to hope. It threatened to cast her off again. She wouldn’t survive a second fall.
____ ___
Even the voices had returned to warping white noise. They combated the shock for prominence, clawing for attention and tearing chunks out of her psyche. It was only a matter of time until her system shook off the overstimulation and submerged her in personal damnation. There were only a fleeting few moments of clarity left before everything resumed, the pain intensifying. She would writhe and suffer, welcoming back the blackness as it came to relieve her of obligations to the material, the Mother seeing fit to give the pathetic kit yet one more opportunity to regret what might have been. To beg and plead for forgiveness.
The open pouch of her bag came into view, its contents expended, save for the linkage of a few firecrackers which had survived the events. The red paper stood out amongst the deluge of monochromatic entropy—her reminder that even when lost, she was not forgotten. That she had not forgotten him, the other who drove a cornered soul into action.
Find him.
She had already tried. She had tried and was subsequently gunned down after getting so close to her desire. A few turns and an elevator were all that stood between her and Bill. Between her and a future worth living in. She had nothing now.
Again.
HOW!? How was she supposed to accomplish anything? She had no weapons, no tools, no materials, and no ability to flee if they tracked her down once more. The best she could hope for was to limp along until the drugs wore off. She would either bleed out or her heart would simply give up after pumping sludge for too long. There was no middle ground.
Den. Mend. Resupply. Resume. Find him.
Assuming they had not circumvented her defences yet, yes, but there wasn’t much to go back for. The remains of her possessions were rations, patches, and—
—Demolition. Embrace.
…The last of her more dangerous creations. Weapons that would tear the complex asunder…yet were left behind due to their excessive power. What use were they if Bill was harmed in the process? How could she implement explosives that required razor-thin precision to utilize?
For him.
…Why? Why did being away from him hurt more than her wounds ever could? Why did she feel so hollow, the embrace of the Void almost welcoming in comparison? Why did it feel like a part so critical had been torn from her soul, leaving only the bleeding mass in its place? Why had she been so ready to take life after a career of trying her best to prevent needless slaughter?
What was that strange alien to make her feel so happy?
___ ____
What was he, for a life of grey misery to finally gain joyous colour?
___ __nd
What drove her to madness once he was removed from her touch?
_er __nd
Why did it feel so right?
She rejects.
She knew the answer, didn’t she? Something so fundamental to her very being had been encountered, completing an existence that had been destined to fade away like so many like it, unloved and unfulfilled. It was never supposed to happen. It couldn’t… Yet it did—a heretical occurrence that brought the church’s teachings into question.
A defect had been given the gift, found within a human instead of one of her own. It was withheld from her the moment that she could begin to thaw the ice of rejection.
Despite ageless tomes of documented knowledge, the Hunt Mother’s unloved had merely been crafted for another, their purpose unknown and detested throughout history as a consequence. Yet she had been born to find what others thought was never meant for her kind. She had endured far too much, driven so far away, and then found it within one who was so different. It was held over her head, taunting her with every breath absent of its influence—the one thing that meant more than anything else.
Her bond.
The pale-furred female suffered her wounds, air building in her lungs as a primal force begged to be used.
For the pain that wracked her form, she used it to scream her agony. For something that she should never have achieved, yet received despite all odds, she shouted her elation. For the frustration of being so close to reclaiming it, only to fail due to her fragile heart, she roared her ire.
Many things tried to be voiced in one utterance, but the resulting sound was a keening of sorrow and loneliness. The cry of a kit lying broken and bled amongst the detritus. It was the haggard weep that slipped against gritting teeth as she persisted through injuries to her feet, grabbing her bag and limping towards the edges of the disposal room. It was the hitching sob as she picked herself back up after falling again and again, each tumble agitating her injuries more and more.
It was a determined yell echoing through the chamber as she drove claws into her stomach, pulling free the odd terminal from her wound and slapping it onto the access panel.
It was the growl of an ironclad will and bitter malice when a maintenance tunnel made itself known.
Sunundra pulled the map from her breast pocket, the splintered screen offering a distorted image, but still allowing enough information for rudimentary navigation.
She trudged into the depths with lurching steps, scraping her shoulder along the walls for support.
Find him. Tear them asunder. Claim what was hers.
A manic smile spread across her muzzle as she dragged blood through the tunnels. They thought her dead.
It would be their last mistake.
- - - - -
The maintenance tunnel opened back into the hallway, winding and elevating to accommodate the various repair requirements and utilities provided to the complex, forcing her to traverse ladders and inclines. Each junction of multi-species viability somehow managed to strike the fulcrum between beneficially designed and maliciously compliant—a torturous exercise in learning just how damaged she had become.
The map told her that she was near the temporary den, but she had come into the corridor from a side that she had yet to see, so the lack of visual markers provided little confidence. Not that she had much hope in gleaning her location from featureless walls, anyway. Still, she progressed, blood starting to seep out of the wounds scattered across her body as it dissolved the coagulant. She was on borrowed time.
Progress was slow, the walls now sporting red streaks from cuts being rubbed raw against them, her leg refusing to support her weight. Her destination came into view sooner than expected, but that was a welcome divergence. How long had she been walking? Did she climb three ladders, or four? Did she pass out during the times she fell and just woke up before it registered? Possibly. Thinking was getting difficult.
Her paw stopped mere fractions from the door, a scratch in the material marking it as what she was looking for. Right. Bomb. Easy fix.
She looked down groggily at the limp arm covered in cuts and a perforated shoulder.
Well, it would have been an easy fix, had she not been shot and caught inside the blast radius of an explosive…
A wary stare at the marking on the frame accompanied the slow churn of thought that worked out how best to open the entrance without activating the explosive linked to the hinge. The initial idea was to use a weaker charge to crack the latch, open it just a hair, flick it closed, then languidly open it fully. Pull the trigger taut, detach it, and ensure that step two was completed by feel. It was such a delicate pressure that she had difficulty telling when she was in good condition, but now? She regarded the damaged limbs and likely shock-numbed sense of touch.
…Needless to say, such was not the case at the moment.
The pale-furred female dug out the firecrackers with a grimace, her muscles hitching at the angles required. There were more inside. She could use these. It was fine. She wasn’t giving up on what he saw in her. She wasn’t betraying what Bill valued, nor what he said. Yet her paw shook as she pressed the small cylinders into place, not entirely due to fatigue. It felt like she was killing a piece of herself as she friction-lit the fuse.
The recreational explosives let out a series of cracks, the door’s latch getting forced out of alignment. She hooked a claw in the seam and pulled the slightest amount, a whisper leaving her lips when her paws were too numb to feel the resistance.
“Boom.”
It was small, but the memory of her other shouting with adolescent glee at the simple devices detonating with such paltry volume warmed the cold within. She hadn’t killed. She hadn’t used it with the intent to bring harm. Though for utility, she had likely used more than strictly required. It was a whim, no matter how clouded the source. It was something he would find interesting or exciting.
She hadn’t lost herself yet. She was still Sunundra. She was still his Sunshine.
The defect drew a deep breath, ignoring the pain in her chest.
Pull. Push. Drag… Nothing. It worked.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
She slipped into the den, a subconscious sniff turning up nothing but the scent of decomposition as she re-engaged the trap. Her eyes flicked to the staff member she had left behind, bile crawling up her throat at the sight. She bit back the urge to vomit, stumbling to her room to grab whatever medications she didn’t take during her first attempt: a package of pain patches, another coagulant, and some stimulants. There were some miscellaneous items as well, but she couldn’t muster the cognizance to remember what they were for. She stuck a patch to her tongue, deciding that cardiac arrest was too likely for either of the other options, then hobbled her way to the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the evidence of what she had done.
The stove turned on with a click, and a metal knife laid on the heating element while she disrobed. Her top fell easily enough, but peeling her pants off of the matted fur was a difficult and painful process, the fabric tugging and pulling open the holes left by kinetic fire. Blood spilled from the wounds like a thickened slop—thinner than it was before, but that only spoke of the urgency required.
She grabbed the blade once it began glowing a deep red, stuffing the discarded shirt into her muzzle to bite down, ignoring the taste of copper and garbage. Heated metal hovered just above the hole in her calf, her teeth gritting against the fabric on her tongue.
A sharp inhale was taken. The flesh sizzled. Her cry came muffled through the shirt.
Sunundra crashed back against the floor, tears building in her eyes as the smell of singed fur and burning skin filled the air. The knife had turned a sickly grey, blackened where blood had scorched onto the surface. She shakily put it back on the stove, whimpering and struggling to keep her arm still when she reached for it again.
There were so many wounds that needed to be cauterized, so many lacerations that would bleed her dry if left untended, yet her paw trembled before she could treat more. Stuttered breaths were forced steady. She closed her eyes.
The stifled whining resumed, followed by a clatter as she vocalized her agony. Again. There were still more. She would bleed out if she stopped now. She would fail. She would leave him.
A clink on the stove. Hyperventilation. Shaking made lining up the glowing red difficult. The hiss broke her silence once more. Muted howls of pain reverberated off the walls.
Again.
The screams turned to dulled grunts as the pain became too much, her mind shutting it down lest it do the same to her. Endorphins blocked the sensations, only a single determination piercing the veil.
More.
Keep going. She must find him. She must rectify her folly. The boiling blood was but weakness burning away. Mend and prepare.
The knife hovered over another hole, a soft hiccup preceding the strangled whine of suffering, yet she smiled. Another one sealed. Another step closer.
By the end of it, she was a mess of pained tears and saliva, the wound in her shoulder burned shut before the blackened implement fell to the kitchen floor. She wanted to curl up and wallow in misery, but she couldn’t waste time. She needed to keep going. She needed to reach him.
Yet the gash in her stomach remained as it was—the blood stymied, but the wound left open. It held the small terminal that the kind one had gifted her. She couldn’t afford to lose it. A morbid and macabre pocket that none would search. Come explosive or shredding claws, it would remain.
And if it didn't… Well, she would hardly be in a state for it to matter.
- - - - -
The strips of cloth around her seared flesh chafed, but it kept the wounds closed and gave some much-needed rigidity to her otherwise weakened limbs, so she tolerated the discomfort. She bit down on the fabric as she tugged the last knot taut, gaining some range of motion back in her shoulder, though not as much as she would have liked.
New clothing had been donned, her remaining supplies stored, and even her most volatile explosives now occupied space in her bag—this time, adding the basic compounds where space allowed. She hesitated when she reached for the aerial drone made for Recon, the warning about expecting to find someone who would care for her echoing in the recesses of her mind.
Ignorant.
The voices snarled at the foolishness. At her. They growled in disgust at her ignoring her bond. It was wrong. Recon was wrong. She had experienced kindness. She had met one who cared. She had found her reason for living. The male had been but one of many who knew not the Hunt Mother’s plans, nor the defect’s place within it. Sunundra was created for something more. She had tasted it.
Now she would consume it. It would consume her. It would be right, and it would be the only thing to which she surrendered.
The drone was tossed in with the rest, a rudimentary remote hastily crafted with spare electronics. It wouldn’t be some purpose-built device, but it would allow her to use it offensively, if in a limited capacity. The lack of a screen meant that the recording and video transmission features were moot, but she might be able to retrofit something should the materials become available. The late addition signified that there was no further reason to stay, save for quickly eating the rations that crumbled like tasteless dust. Unpleasant, but she doubted even a luxurious meal would be much better at the moment.
She referenced the map, an examination of its intricacies suggesting something of a security office elsewhere on the floor—a boon to utilize, if true. The pathways there had largely been collapsed by her earlier venture, but the tunnels should still be quite usable. As long as she kept up on the pain management, she might be able to reach it somewhat quickly, and there may be other elevators which were accessible in the region. All she had to do then was get to the fourth floor and check where the hangars that Greg mentioned were—
A deafening explosion blew her door open, her paws grabbing for her charges before she recognized the smell of familiar chemicals and the stringent odour of flash-boiled flesh.
They came. They perished.
But how many?
Remove.
It hardly mattered. She needed to leave. They were in the way.
- - - - -
Four. That was the number of corpses thrown across the hallway, much of their anatomy now unidentifiable between the explosive trap and the mutilated armour they wore. Based on how far the weapons were tossed, she doubted they had come specifically for her. Especially since two of them seemed more equipped for disposal of what she had left behind, rather than to confront the defect which brought the need.
She almost started on her trip in haste, eager to get into the tighter confines of the maintenance tunnels and stray from known collapse, but the voices stopped her, drawing her eyes back to the newly created deceased.
Integrate.
Some of their items were in functional states, and the ablative plating that one sported was mostly unblemished, shrapnel ending its life where armour failed to cover. Her paws searched through the remnants of pockets, but when nothing particularly promising was found, she settled for tearing off a pad or two where the material would rip. Affixing it to cover her vitals was difficult, though worth the effort; it further supported her injured limbs, giving back some degree of utility. Her chest, leg, both arms, and the small of her back were covered, allowing some defensive capability.
The weapons were another matter, however. A kinetic pistol proved operational despite the blast, though it was unknown how many shots she'd have, or how effective it would be against the plating they would likely use. Regardless, it was strapped to her form all the same. Anything was better than just blowing the vicinity to rubble at the slightest provocation, and with the narrow pathways she was about to traverse, it was much more effective to save her explosives for strategic use.
So she left the den behind, electing not to set a charge on the casualties in fear that it would alert the rest of her survival. A could have been set in the den at any point, but that? That could only have been done recently. She needed to keep any element of surprise that she could.
The corridors remained grey, bland, and featureless, but the markings on the map guided her to an embedded scanner, a grimace forming on her face as she pulled free the odd terminal from her stomach to access the hidden passageway. She winced again as she put the device away. She needed it to reach him; any discomfort was worth the trade in morbid security. Disinfectants could be applied later.
Keep it. Find him.
Her injury stoked hope and determination with every painful throb as she wiped the blood off the wall and listened to the entrance close behind her, a dim passage replacing the clinical. A shakily drawn breath was released as she stepped into the depths.
- - - - -
There were several points where the tunnels bent and jutted out awkwardly before resuming a more natural path. Gaps in the densely packed map suggested that the curious deviations were either done to accommodate colossal pillars, or to avoid pockets where construction wasn't worth the cost of excavation. A brief analysis made her lean towards the former of the two for most of the curiosities she encountered; the dimensions and uniformity were too consistent. She attached her latest breach charge to be safe, setting each one up to work on either a massively delayed timer or a manual trigger that would be relayed in sequence before detonation.
A single signal could spread throughout every bomb in the facility; she just needed to be close enough to one of them. She was setting up the sixth when she checked to see where to go next. Time was slipping through her grasp, it seemed. She was already there; only a few turns left to go.
The dreary machinations of the maintenance tunnels differed suddenly when a previously unseen blast door closed behind her, preventing any regression, followed by the path forward getting a similar treatment. She was locked in. An alarmingly deep voice played over speakers she couldn't locate.
“Ah, welcome. The cat finally joins the bull.” It ended on a dry, mirthless bray of a laugh, the tone turning more gentle. “Hands off the explosive, please. If I intended to get in your way, they would already know you survived.”
Sunundra kept stock-still, her ears twitching as her eyes scoured the hall, a paw fixed on a charge. A sigh rolled through the speaker, rumbling the floor with its presence.
“I know where your cohabitant is staying. I'm afraid the fourth level is a rather vague destination. You would die long before you reached him.”
Her fur bristled as a growl all but shredded its way out. “Where is Bill!?”
“Keep going, please,” it replied tiredly. “As confident as I am that they'll take some time to notice, they will discover your movements. I've locked the extra passages so you won't get lost. Just follow the tunnels.”
It lies. It prevents.
“If I were to simply breach the barrier?” she prodded, gesturing with her good paw and the explosive gripped in the other.
“Then you would announce your survival to the very people holding him, and my repentance would end before it even started.”
She glared at every corner and wire, hoping to find a recording device to more accurately direct her vitriol, but nothing stood out. “Repentance?”
A longer pause prefaced the surprisingly soft cadence. “Indeed. Though, I believe you will need to see why before accepting my words.”
“Tell me where he is.”
“Soon,” it assured. “First, I need you to see something, but I doubt you'll be any more inclined to trust me.”
Her claws gripped the explosive as more soft thunks told of barricades down the tunnel closing. “Why would I heed your words?”
A sardonic tint coloured its voice. “Because I was the security member tasked with overseeing your room, the one who advised separation of you and your friend…and the one who sent the guards to the depot.”
It brought death to the kind one. It took her bond.
“And you expect me to obey!?” she roared, blood staining her tongue from the sheer volume.
“…No. I hope to make good on the attempts my friend made to help you.”
“You will die by my paw,” she stated simply, her arms going limp. There was no poetic declaration of malice, only a promise. The alien had stripped away what made her whole, then claimed the kindness of another for itself?
“With the charges you've laid, I’m counting on it,” it agreed airily. “Though, you missed some more hidden pillars. Come on. I'll update your map when you get here. If this place is getting…‘blown to hell’ I believe the saying goes, then we should be thorough.”
The barrier blocking the way forward released, sliding back into the walls silently.
“You seek your end?” she asked blankly.
“I…grow tired of this,” it admitted slowly. “I grow tired of pretending all of this is necessary. If death is what brings everything else to an end, then yes, I accept it.”
She leered down the tunnel before taking an unsteady step. “Then explain.”
“…I will. It's not far.”
- - - - -
She reached an eerily closed-off room, the thick metal doors parting for her entrance. Again, she hesitated, the alien explaining that she needed to be inside to see what was so important.
Why would she listen? It admitted to getting between her and Bill. It admitted to sending those who had killed the kind one and tried to kill her. It was an enemy, yet the voices were oddly silent. Unsure. Eventually, she acquiesced, flinching when the doors closed behind her.
“They will open again,” the alien informed, its deep voice vibrating her feet as the sound reflected off the floor. A screen embedded in the wall flicked to life. “But first, you must know what exactly the Union has been doing.”
“Taking from us?” she spat, eyeing seams and support columns as she weighed her choice in explosives.
“Studying,” it countered softly. “From your culture to your biology, from social tendencies to your taboos.”
“Such is what they claimed,” she pointed out, settling on the multi-stage breach charge she had finished with Bill's suggestions.
“And it was just that.” The alien paused. “Until the last batch of testing with humans…”
A recording of a temporary den filled the wall, furniture shifted from its perfectly aligned position by lackadaisical use. Possessions occupied the shelving, and plates of food laid on the tables. A Lilhun and a human were depicted laughing on the couch, the latter lying across the former's lap as they exchanged stories of youth, a gleam of affection in both of their eyes. Care was had, and it was shared freely, plans of meeting each other’s dens were traded and future friendships suggested. They were together and happier for it, two souls meeting their other where least expected, so many worlds apart.
Or rather, they were…
The screen changed to show the den destroyed. Tables and chairs had been tossed and broken, plates and cups littered the floor as nothing but shards of glass and cracked metal. The doors were ripped off the hinges, only one still barely hanging on by a single pin. The lights flickered and buzzed sporadically, a circuit having been damaged by violence. A mere glimpse of the bedrooms told much the same story—clothing and possessions lying carelessly strewn across the floor. She looked at anything that wasn’t what drew her eyes, yet that failed to stop the thing begging for attention. The visage of misery, the end of affection…
…Of the human female skewered to the wall across from a Lilhun male, the latter strapped to a chair, one arm hanging limp after being torn from its bindings.
Lacerations marred the flesh of the human female, regular in size and purposefully placed. The deceased male had been frozen mid-cry, the dead eyes immortalizing fear and helplessness, his limbs mutilated from possible hours spent trying to escape.
The defective’s heart thumped. Then again. Another, each subsequent hammer in her chest driving blackened wrath through her veins, more caustic than any of her creations. This was practised. This was procedural. This was…
Torture… They had both been tortured. One was subjected to pain and suffering, while the other sacrificed all they could in an attempt to stop it.
The male’s unbound arm was broken above the wrist, welted and flayed from wrenching against the straps. Gouges told of it being pulled free before he attempted to use the crippled limb to release the rest. He had clawed and struggled, but the result was clear; the digits had been rendered useless, leaving him with naught but an illusion that he could have done something. That he could have saved the female.
There wasn’t a single doubt in the defect’s mind that this male had done such damage to himself for the human’s sake. Even now—his form limp and lifeless—his gaze remained fixed on her, an expression of despair and apology etched into his visage for eternity. He had spent his last moments begging for forgiveness, lamenting his weakness when he was needed. He had prayed for the Hunt Mother to accept the alien female as her own, to shelter the strange soul from the Void.
Like she had for Bill.
Anything.
She knew he would have done anything to prevent this. The male had nothing left to give, yet he had broken limbs and shredded flesh to try anyway. He did it for something as much a part of him as his very soul…
No. He did it because the female was one with his soul. Connected.
His bond was broken.
Her blood was viscous, the thick substance felt across every part of her form as it crawled through her capillaries. The static buzz in her ears ceased. The voices resumed—calm and quiet. They knew she was listening, even as her paws shook and her fur bristled.
Sin.
The Union had sinned against her people.
Taken.
They had stolen a gift. Shattered it. They had spurned the Mother.
Retribution.
They brazenly provoked the Mother’s ire. They assumed themselves above requital.
Clarity muted the remnants of pain and stiffness more than any medicine she had access to. The Union did this, and they had a method for it. There was no circumstance where a Lilhun would have this happen, their only wounds being self-inflicted. This was practised. Repeated.
They will do it again.
How many? How many times had they ravaged something she would have given everything to have? How many have had it ripped from their paws, tearing life and meaning with it?
They will do it to him.
The screen changed, showing another pairing holding each other close, far more intimately than mere companions.
But it was the same as the first.
The screen changed. Another grisly scene seared into her eyes.
Then again. Souls torn from form, leaving nothing but regret and sorrow in their wake.
Again. Time blurred and circled meaninglessly, only the moments of joy contrasting the macabre staying in memory. A beaten human across from a female Lilhun, her tendons severed to render her still as she watched the light fade from her other. A male riddled with holes after escaping his confines, executed before he could save the one he needed to survive. A male lying bifurcated after he had overpowered their captors, their bond holding the departed before being sent after them.
Recording after recording, pairing after pairing, she was shown what the Union had been doing. She witnessed the vile scenes that were left to degrade and decay as files, never known about by her people. They couldn’t have known; this was an affront to everything her people believed in.
Another video played out in front of Sunundra. A female of both species sat strapped to their chairs at a table, a spent canister resting between them. No injuries or the like were visible, and the den had been spared of any destruction. It should have been promising, but something felt wrong. She eyed the device on the table, vents along the top for gas to escape.
A poison? Paralytic? Both? Whatever it was, it worked. There were no wounds from the bindings because they were robbed of movement, trapped within their bodies. They had been left to fade while watching the light of their other dim—a distress marring the Lilhun’s visage, and a sympathetic sorrow on the human’s.
She could only picture Bill in the same position, sitting across from her as what she had grown to cherish more than life itself was tortuously torn from her, taking every piece that kept her breathing with it. Her mind conjured the kindness and affection in his eyes when he looked at her, a well of love and care stirring in her chest.
Was this what the human on the screen felt for the Lilhun across from them? Had they taken each other as mates and the furless one tried to reassure their other, even as their body failed them? Was it an attempt to offer solace when faced with such vivid despair? Were all the Lilhun who perished here bonded, only to have their gifts sullied? Was it the gouging of heart and soul that proved so interesting? The death of one who had their other removed?
Would Bill face the same fate because of her?
Her thoughts came to a stop.
They will break him.
The response was automatic, a growl crawling out like metal shavings cutting her throat. “No.”
Then find him.
She swallowed back the bile, closing her eyes to banish the recordings of broken bonds. Prayer slipped out from her lips as a whisper.
“O’Mother of this soul, your faithful asks of you to give safe passage to the weary kits who have been cast into your domain, for they had been wronged by another. They have had their boons removed by those who intend no recompense, yet fought valiantly against impossible forces to the bitter end. She asks you to be proud of your offspring who have returned, for she knows you will find few more deserving.”
“Your Goddess has little power here, I’m afraid,” the alien intoned weakly, the grim display changing to an arrow pointing towards a recess in the wall. “Place both your terminals here. I’ll update your map and clearances. You’ll have a direct map to him and blueprints to the facility.”
She did as asked, a righteous fury keeping her expression from flinching as the wet suction sounded out from her stomach, the bloodied terminals slapping on the surface. “The Mother’s influence extends past that which you can fathom.”
The alien grunted neutrally before a small elevator absconded with the devices, followed by soft clicking sounds picked up by whatever microphone it used. “These will be ready in a moment. I’m including everything we have on the project, as well as anything else I can think to add.”
Sunundra nodded, struggling to keep herself composed. Her eyes drifted back to the screen to see it mirroring a strange operating system—likely what the alien was currently doing. Without knowledge of the glyphs, she could only guess as to what was specifically happening, but she watched as images and progress bars flickered by, blueprints and files appearing in their new destination.
“Why?” came the desperate curiosity from her lips. “Why betray your pack after all you have tolerated?”
The clicks and clacks ceased, the screen displaying a picture of a rather bovine biped holding the shoulder of a familiar human. An infant of the new strange species rested in Greg’s arms, a broad smile spread across his face. The alien’s tone grew bitter.
“Because I had found a brother…and because I have turned a blind eye for too long. They killed him, ignoring my warning of how close he was to you and my begging for them to wait... I killed my family…my herd’s first trusted…but at least I mourn the loss.”
The voices stilled. “Even so, you will be cast to the Void by my paw.”
A muted scoff of self-deprecation punctuated the image closing and the small elevator returning her items. The doors to the room opened. “I know. Go, cat. I’ll keep them off your trail as long as I can.”
She took back the terminals, pausing as she crossed the threshold back to the tunnels. “I pray your end is swift.”
The barrier reestablished itself behind her, the alien’s tone dark. “I don’t.”
The speakers clicked to mark their future silence. She referenced the new map and plotted the path she needed to take, as well as the newly highlighted structural supports she had to rig a charge to. She shrugged the weight of her bag; she had enough.
“Good,” she whispered to the empty corridor as she took the first step. “None of you deserve it.”