In the heart of the Dracht-run branch of the Exploration Gentry, one Cecilia Astrant sat behind her desk, the corner of her mouth turned upwards just enough to bare her pearly-white teeth. Even when taking a sip from the exquisitely detailed mug in her hand, her expression didn't falter. Before her was her able-bodied assistant, Marcus Lough; despite being rather tall, his Zasprave lineage ensured his lanky appearance. His skin, seemingly made of pure shadow, sent wisps of darkness from his cheeks, flickering rapidly. His silver eyes darted about the room, trying to locate the next task he was assigned, as Cecilia continued to sip at her drink. She wasn't concerned about his oddly shifty appearance - he'd been working under her for half a dozen months and hadn't failed or betrayed her once. She sighed contentedly, standing from her desk and facing the jumpy man before her.
"So, you've not gotten the report back?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are they that concerned about letting slip their ace's failings?"
"M-maybe, ma'am," Marcus replied, scratching his arm. She had demanded he wear a tank top and long pants when around her, and despite the discomfort when going into her office, it wasn't necessarily a deal breaker. After all, he'd gotten his pay on time every week, and never had to violate his admittedly mediocre scruples; the least he could do was wear his emotions on his proverbial sleeve.
"Have any scouts reported the body - or, god forbid, bodies - to a camp?" she asked, and Marcus shook his head.
"N-no word at all, ma'am. Not e-even an image. They t-tend to be s-slower to these things..."
"Unfortunately," Cecilia said, nodding. "It's why I push for more urgency."
She tapped the rim of her cup with her well-trimmed fingernail, the clanking of porcelain causing Marcus to flinch.
"Yet, here we stay," she said, dramatically throwing her free arm out to the side, "stuck with mediocre performance and unacceptable quantities of properly completed jobs. How many monster breaches have we had in our camp this month? This week? Even today? How many times do we have to update all of our security around camp? It seems quite inefficient, putting it quite lightly."
She turned to look at Marcus, her expression that of a snake eyeing possible prey.
"Wouldn't you say?"
"Y-yes, ma'am!" he said, nodding vigorously. "I-it's totally unforgivable!"
"Isn't it just?" she cooed, before looking into her mug and frowning. "Alas, there's not much I can do. Even with all this power, nobody listens to me. The Foster Administration is absolutely immovable on pushing workers to speed up their projects. Doesn't he realize there's an entire planet to churn into a functional society? The longer we wait, the more that world changes and the less we can predict its ebb and flow."
Her eyes once again met Marcus's, though now, she looked more like a frustrated co-worker than an apex predator.
"You get that, right, Lough? Makes me feel like I'm going crazy sometimes, being the only one who wants work done fast and right. Outrun the storm outside, y'know?"
Marcus, simply nodding, tried to give his best reassuring smile.
Unfortunately, his best smile was not very good.
"Yeah, I'd stick to being an errand boy, Marcus," Cecilia said, sighing. "Your 'sympathy face' needs a plastic surgeon to function properly."
This earned nothing but a nervous, half-hearted chuckle from Marcus. Cecilia rolled her eyes.
"Come on, Lough," she said. "You must know by now that you're alright to speak freely in front of me."
"Y-yes ma'am!" he said, going into a salute on instinct. She raised an eyebrow, flicking her gaze between his face and hand, and Marcus looked up. He quickly shifted his arm down behind his back.
"I still wish you'd call me Cecilia," she muttered. "Even Astrant would be better. You know I actually enjoy your company, right? I'm not your parents."
Though he grew tense at the words, Marcus stood still. His shaking slowed slightly, and Cecilia had to hide a genuine smile behind her mug.
There was a moment of silence.
"With all due respect, ma'am," Marcus said, chest barely puffing out, "I-I'm proud of my h-heritage. My f-family knew I was w-weak for what they n-needed done, so they left me to f-find my own path!"
Cecilia's face softened just enough to be noticeable.
"I know," she said, tone significantly more gentle.
There was a longer pause.
"Well," she said, gesturing for Marcus to sit, "I personally think it's time we get to that bi-annual performance review. And might I say, I'm quite-"
The two paused, not moving an inch as the building shook around them.
"Earthquake?" Cecilia hissed.
"N-not likely..." Marcus said. "Not the r-right time of the y-year."
They waited a few moments, and the rattling passed. Marcus took a deep breath as Cecilia gently brushed off her navy blue suit.
"It's most certainly not an earthquake," Cecilia said, concern seeping into her tone. "It didn't last nearly long enough. 'Chouzlo?"
"N-no call, no alarm, so p-probably not," Marcus said. "C-crash?"
"No Clankers in camp to do any crashing for another few hours," she replied. "Maybe it was..."
She trailed off, briefly looking over the significantly more twitchy Marcus, then heaved a sigh.
"We can do the report tomorrow. Make sure we have a more secure place set up in case this happens again."
Marcus, once more simply nodding, bolted out the door. His footsteps were loud enough to be heard for a substantial amount of time after, and Cecilia chuckled softly.
"That boy's blossoming into a wonderful employee," she said, smirk returning to her alabaster face. "He just needs to learn-"
Another shaking caught her off-guard; she looked out of her window, flinging the curtains open wide. Marcus was running in a beeline for his house, no doubt to check in on it.
She squinted at his path, noticing there was no stumbling or pausing in his stride.
That would have to mean the quake - or whatever it was - isn't from the ground, she thought, face shifting between concentration and confusion. Her brow furrowed as she strode to her door to look around.
The door then extended a hand, clenching around her throat as it dragged her deeper into her office. She heard a slamming and metallic clicking before she was swung around to face whatever had grabbed her.
"Hello, Cecilia," Xandir hissed. "Fancy meeting you here."
Unable to breathe, she could only gurgle a quiet response.
"I have a question, and I've been led to believe you'll have the answer," he continued. His eyes, for all the venom in his voice, were blank beneath his bag-mask. His typical, approachable demeanor and friendly clothing was replaced with a void-like cloak and raven black leather armor. "I recommend you give it to me immediately."
His tone held no room for negotiation.
Cecilia did her best to nod, and was flung into her desk hard enough to shatter the legs and snap it in half. Fortunately, the reinforced metal and magically enhanced construction of it only allowed the former to happen.
"One of your assistants decided to give me a bad map," Xandir said, voice rising with every word. His eyes, however, remained cold and distant. "It caused quite the commotion. Maybe you've heard about it."
"But that wasn't-" she began, before a talon-tipped hand plunged into her back and pulled her forward. It stopped so quickly that her back and neck popped.
"Don't."
The word hung in the air, Cecilia slowly picking up every meaning Xandir intended to express.
"I-" she began, voice strained, before another hand clamped over her mouth, this time popping her jaw.
"If you so much as whisper how this wasn't your idea, I will rend your soul from your body and throw you to the first Sioramoeba I see."
After a full ten seconds of no talking, Xandir nodded once. The motion was small, but carried more weight than Cecilia thought possible. The grip of the disembodied arms loosened just enough to allow circulation she didn't realize was missing.
"I've been shown the evidence," Xandir continued. "Imprints, recordings, a paper trail that was sloppily covered in mud - in some cases, literally. I know you did it. I know why."
He leaned into her personal space, barely a centimeter from them touching noses. She knew she should have felt his breath through his mask, but couldn't; the wrongness set her further on edge.
"I have sat by and waited. I have kept track of, fulfilled and even overachieved for my promises. I know what binds me, and I know what doesn't. I know every single loophole in my contract with the Exploration Gentry, and the only reason you still breathe is because of my good graces."
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
She glanced down at his hands, which were digging into his leg hard enough to draw thin lines of silver-blue ichor that dripped down his pants leg.
"Nobody knows you're here, Cecilia. They all thought you had gone home by now. Your assistant won't be much help, either, considering he hasn't seen me. Oh, and the wilds you have to cross for twenty minutes are such a dangerous place. Why, the thought of you being found dead on the road, torn up by any number of things could be easily accepted."
A third disembodied hand rose from the floor, impossibly long and multi-jointed. As Xandir spoke, its shape shifted in tandem with his words.
"Why, it could have been a roc," he said, the hand becoming a massive bird's foot. Its talons glistened in the artificial light of her office; paradoxically, it also didn't seem to allow any light to properly illuminate it.
"Birds of prey are uncommon here, but not unheard of. Perhaps it was a Fialtog at the Violet Threshold?"
By now, Xandir had taken a couple of steps back to allow room for his arm. His talons shifted to grandiose claws, each one larger than the entirety of the bird's foot, and the rippling muscles nearly quadrupled the thickness of the limb. It looked like the hind legs of a cat ready to pounce.
"Or perhaps, it's a dragon."
His paw shifted and morphed, emitting grotesque squelching, crunching and wet tearing sounds. Its paw snapped itself in half, claws dividing evenly between the two sections of foot. The crease of the fold deepened and stretched, the entire limb nearly tripling in thickness. Small protrusions of jagged, onyx bone and void-like wisps formed teeth and eyes, and the gaze of such a reptilian predator caused Cecilia to involuntarily shudder. It was a part of Xandir, she knew, but it looked so alive, so detailed. So much like what she'd seen, way back when they'd...
"That's enough," she said, waving a hand. The ferocious-looking, too-detailed image of Xandir faded from her view. She felt the plush carpet against her back and watched as the mosquito-like monster dissolved in a flash of vibrant, blue-violet light. She felt the relatively large puncture wound from its proboscis in her chest - about the diameter of a pen's ink cartridge - and heaved a sigh, pulling a vial of healing solvent from her pocket. Dabbing a healthy amount on the wound healed it nearly instantly, and she rubbed her eyes.
She took her time getting up, grabbing a nutrient bar from her desk and nibbling on it as she opened the curtains to her office. With another wave of her hand, the remaining football-sized insects - probably two dozen strong - were evaporated.
"Damn mosques," she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck as she shut the window. "Fuckers never learn. Gonna have to get that repellent checked again."
She brushed herself off after standing, then froze as she saw Xandir in the doorway.
"Well, hello," she said, blinking. She reached out with her Chroma, looking for the telltale resistance of another user.
"This isn't another mosque-induced nightmare," he said, gently pushing away her magical senses. He allowed her just enough pushback to confirm it was him.
"How did you-"
"I found evidence that connects you to a recent incident. Again."
Cecilia paused for a moment.
"I was trying to protect us all."
"You could do that by giving an Arnik a chance."
"They grow out of control quickly!" she snapped, then deflated. "I mean... I don't agree with the commands the churches tend to give us in regard to Arniks, but..."
"Listen," Xandir said, "I know. They're from different times, different places. They're not all predictable, and certainly not stable. Often times, they're straight-up hostile."
"You're doing an awful job of selling them to me," she sighed.
"That being said," Xandir continued, ignoring her comment, "they're individuals. None of them asked for this. We have vast amounts of mental health accommodations for them, if aggression is the issue."
"How do we know they'll-"
"Oh, quiet you," Xandir said flatly. "You know I reject those flimsy excuses. It costs us literally nothing to try. Give them an intern or student willing to donate time. Plenty who join us wish to aid them."
"Okay, but this is a man's soul in a wild animal's body."
"And?"
"And that's a cataclysmic level of unstable!"
"Oh, so you mean to tell me none of our trained professionals have accommodated post-traumatic stress."
"You know that isn't what I meant."
"You certainly could've fooled me, with such immense implications."
Cecilia ran a hand over her face, then growled in defeat.
"The paperwork is already done, Xandir. It's been approved. You owe me for this, by the way."
Xandir scratched the side of his bag mask.
"I don't think there's enough time in the world to apologize for my own past behaviors," Xandir said, tone oddly gentle.
"You've said that much before," Cecilia muttered. "Every time you bring in an Arnik, in fact. Every time, I have to agree with you."
For a long moment, the pair was silent, heavy memories and past events weighing down their minds.
"You know," Cecilia said, voice breaking for a moment before she cleared it, "I did find out about your last Arnik."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Apparently, she applied for a scouting position. As per my word, I made sure she was given a fair shot."
"Did she pass?"
"She did," Cecilia said. "With flying colors, from what I've heard. She asked me to thank you the next time I see you, so... there you go."
After another long moment, Xandir sighed.
"Lunch at Devo's again? I fully pay and tip?" he asked.
"What?" Cecilia asked, clearly confused.
"My portion of the arrangement. You just said I owe you one, though now it appears I owe you double. I'm inquiring about where I take you for lunch."
"Well, I can't say I don't want to go, but I haven't enforced that part of the agreement for so long. It caught me off guard, truth be told."
"Honestly?" Xandir said, "I'd prefer to dine - even if it's not part of what I owe. This pech Arnik you just approved? He has immense potential."
"Is that so?"
"It is. He's already slain two monsters, both of which were above the Red threshold."
Cecilia's jaw dropped for a moment before she cleared her throat again.
"Well, I'm glad I could help," she said, rubbing her neck. When she found another two holes, she took out more of the ointment and applied it as she spoke. "I could go for a solid few plates of seafood."
Once she was done treating her remaining wounds, she paused.
"When did you get here?"
"Approximately the time you were struck by the second mosque."
"I see."
She rubbed her eyes, then slumped into her desk chair with a loud sigh.
"Ever the drama queen," Xandir said, and Cecilia snorted a laugh.
"You're a dick," she chuckled. Xandir's eyes betrayed his own smile behind his mask for a moment, before growing mildly concerned.
"I'm unsure what vision the mosque forced upon you," he said, "but I'm relatively sure whatever it was, you screaming my name in bloody murder is explanation aplenty."
Her face twitched with a note of painful sadness.
"Yeah," she said. "Unfortunately, you've got no methods of torture worse than what you were threatening."
"I imagine death of some variety?"
"Violent death, yes," Cecilia said, awkwardly laughing. "Just like the good old days."
For a long moment after, they sat in silence, the grim irony of Cecilia's words hanging in the air.
"Which church?" Xandir asked with a sigh, taking a seat at her desk.
"Guess," she said.
"Freedom?"
"Freedom."
"Fuck's sake," Xandir hissed, rubbing his temples through his mask. "Every time. Are they not practically synonymous with Contempt these days?"
"You're not wrong," Cecilia said. "Orders are orders, though, and we did sign that contract with them."
"Not exactly a contract," Xandir said, rolling his eyes. "'We'll grant concessions when you fulfill our desires in equivalent value.' I despise such pointless pomp and poise."
Cecilia raised an eyebrow, corner of her mouth twitching up.
"...Yeah, alright," Xandir said, deflating a little. "Everyone's a hypocrite, correct? Isn't that what you say?"
"It is," she said. "I will say, I enjoy a bit of drama despite my complaining." She ruffled around in her desk drawers until she pulled out a small pin and a handful of red drops, then offered them to Xandir.
"I can also say for certainty that our end was upheld. They specified we only had to hand you the wrong map, and not ensure the Arnik died," she said.
"Such a pointless waste of their time and resources," Xandir said. "They continuously beat around the bush in vain attempts at 'moral superiority'."
"It does often keep them from getting what they want," Cecilia said. "Maybe if they weren't trying to spread such fucked up ideals, people would be more accommodating."
"Maybe," Xandir said, taking the drops and pin. "Thank you, Ms. Astrant. You're on top of the issue, as always. I greatly respect and appreciate that."
"Thank you, Mr. Xandir," she said. "Not many appreciate the effort I put in. I understand people need breaks, but they also have to learn someday that lazing about gets you nowhere. Seriously, why is the FA so hesitant to do anything?"
"I believe I've heard rumors of a new series of devices meant to terraform land at far faster speeds than our current equipment could hope to approach," Xandir said. "They're dragging their feet on the project, though. Something about draining every drop of time for their perfectionist work ethic."
"Gods above," Cecilia said, "I'll never understand how such a sluggish company ever got on top."
"Quality," Xandir said, shrugging. "You have to admit, they make excellent equipment."
"And horrible progress," Cecilia added, grumbling. "Regardless, I digress; Cog 'last name here' is all set to come in for paperwork. We're already screening individuals to run his citizenship initiation, and I've set you and your team as the responsible party should he cause legal trouble. I can at least trust you enough to control a fresh recruit, mentally stable or not. Did you have a specific annex in mind for him?"
"Zeta Annex 2, about two days' Clanker travel from here," Xandir said. Cecilia nodded approvingly.
"It is a solid choice for him, especially since they have a mental health facility built in that sees genuine use. Everybody there who teaches is vastly overqualified for their positions, and nobody who's there for learning knows what's going on. He'll fit right in."
She squinted at a pile of papers on her desk, the image of a sleeping Cog held on the front with a clothespin. His jaw was hanging wide open, revealing his massive fangs that could puncture solid steel. His metallic rat's nest of hair was slightly hooked into the fabric of the Clanker seat beneath him.
"Probably," she added tentatively, nose scrunching.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cog awoke with a start, then violently wretched for a solid minute before he could wipe the heavy tears from his watery eyes. He looked around, seeing nobody in the garage. When he looked out the window, he saw it was already turning day - dawn, and almost as early as he'd awoken here one day ago. He went to rub his eyes, then felt the vomit on his hands and slowly dropped them back to his sides, shaking some of the refuse off. He was slightly disturbed to see that a vast majority of the excrement was pure bile, though blood and a viscous, brown-yellow substance - mucus, he assumed - were also well established portions.
"Gotta be a mop around here," he said, actively fighting his gag reflex and panic. "Paper towels, normal towels? ... A hose?"
While looking around the garage, he took stock of himself; despite being sore, his body didn't feel damaged anymore. Instead, it felt... better. Better able to handle exercise, better able to accommodate his needs, and better able to adapt. He hadn't felt that level of energy within him since he'd taken three energy drinks in the span of an hour; unfortunately, the queasiness he'd felt alongside it was present here, too. He didn't need a reminder that he'd puked once again, but the fluid on his arm quickly drying gave him one anyways. He shook his head, then immediately stopped once he felt the wave of vertigo that quickly accompanied it.
When he focused on the good parts - the improved parts - of his profile, he realized something quite interesting. Despite being quite short in the cave and barely able to climb onto the couch by himself, it seemed as though now he could heft himself on top of it without needing to actively jump. His gut had slightly shrunk, and his scrawny frame had noticeably filled itself out. He looked to his hands, half hoping to see his new pech claws and half hoping his normal, human hands would be present.
Instead of one or the other, it looked a bit like a hybrid of the two; the basis was far more human, and if he didn't know any better, Cog could have sworn his thumb had become more flexible. On the ends of his fingers were the same claws, but now they had grown slightly longer and flatter at the ends, but were visibly sharper than before. Pondering what this meant, Cog stretched the best he could and began to stand again, skimming for any alerts on his system. Unexpectedly, he found none. Even though he'd paused halfway through absorbing the...
He froze while getting up, one knee bent and an arm awkwardly being held out. Shifting his weight to crouch over the mess he'd made, he frantically waded through the pile of vomit until he found what he hoped he wouldn't.
His drop suite, now half empty, was near the center of the pile of blood, spit, vomit and other detritus beneath him. The case was cracked, and the orbs within had rolled onto the garage floor, each now caked in chunks of bile and mucus, then covered in a layer of gravel. The thought of him finishing the absorbing process with these was unpleasantly vivid in his mind.
Holding each in my mouth for hours at a time, he thought, while I breathe in every ounce of their smell and feel the texture of semi-soft chunks and gravel rolling around, and the taste-
"Fuck!" he screamed, repeating the word between dry heaves.