The sun shone brightly through the windows. My face froze as I got up from my bed.

Damn sun, have to be all bright and sunlike. My hands closed the blinds. The morning frost settled from outside.

I went for my usual routine, until I remembered an important detail: Grubbs was being discharged from the hospital.

I went into the mess hall, where the guards are located at the moment. They ate their lunch inside what seemed like a cafeteria. A whiff of various foods entered my nose. They shovelled their food down their mouths.

They eat like pigs.

My eyes scanned for the heaviest guy around. All the other guards noticed my presence. They looked away, as to not be the focal point, yet there was a difference in appreciation than last time.

They’re all bigger than me, how could I be so scary? Is my uniform intimidating them, or the fact that I am an operative?

The whole place is a mess.

I spot Grubbs from the crowd. He chatted with a small group of people, enjoying his breakfast. I eyed him from a distance. The sound of metal on ceramic clattered. I felt that walking up to him would be too jarring for the other guards, but not for Grubbs.

The chattering died down when I entered. The guards were enthusiastic, but were hiding something from me. Grubbs waved off his friends when he noticed me. He got up from his chair, I gestured at him, away from the mess hall.

Outside was much cleaner, although some food lingered in the air.

“Mekiko,” Grubbs rubbed his head. “It’s uh… nice time see you. What are you doing with the guards? Aren't you supposed to be eating with the other IMPERIAL operatives?”

“No, I came here to talk about the weather,” I patted the man’s back. “Nice to see you back in one piece. Wait, is that a bag of chips I see?” I pointed at the fancy paper bag of fried potatoes.

“Chips? He asked. “I’m not eating any until lunch. Oh! You mean my bag of crisps,” he held up his bag.

Is that what they call them? “Crisp, chips, whatever,” I sighed. “Were you eating them during breakfast?”

Grubbs nodded while stuffing chips in his mouth.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” I said. “Are you going to at least share some with me?”

“I’m afraid that I can’t, Mekiko,” Grubbs replied, face full of food.

“May I ask the reason?”

“It’s uh… Sour cream and onion.”

“Of course it is,” my tail swayed. “Give me that,” I snatched the bag of chips when Grubbs wasn’t paying attention. I checked the contents, “really Grubbs, a full size bag of crisps?” Although the packaging was decent.

He rubbed his head in response, “You know — funny story… Can I have my crisps back?”

“I refuse,” I shook my head

“Come on, Mekiko. I don’t have to beg, do I? The bag is only going to the rubbish bin if you take them. This is my only breakfast for the day.”

“This is your breakfast?” I waved the bag of chips in Grubbs’ face. “By the lord, Grubbs. I’m not standing here and letting you eat deep fry with salt! You already have enough on your plate. And that plate is full of lard and disappointment. Do you understand, Grubbs?”

“Oh man,” Grubbs deflated. “I understand you crystal clear.”

“I’m glad that you’re okay,” I finally said.

Grubbs and I said our goodbyes. I held onto the chips. I wondered what I was going to do with them, probably throw them out.

“Ay, Mekiko!” Wade called out from afar. He wore the same shirt and a wide smile, “How’s my main catboy doing? You know? Don’t answer that. Glad to see you, good to see you.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I handed him the bag of chips, “Here you go, no time to explain.”

“Mekiko, can’t let you go so easily,” Wade blocked the door to the outside. “Where are you going so early, my catboy?”

“Where do you think I’m going? I’m going to Snakewater with Lyle,” I said. Although riding on a rollercoaster with Thousand Cuts sounds more appealing, I have a duty to uphold. “I am already late as it is,” not to mention distracted.

“Ay! Not so fast,” he snapped his finger. “Here’s the Dealio, Donovan noticed that you were late for breakfast. Therefore, he sent me to look for you. So, I,” he pointed at himself, “have to make sure you’re eating well.”

“I’ll eat while going out,” I replied.

“No can do. You’re my responsibility, my catboy friend. Donovan got some fish, and you eating it outside is going to get pretty messy.”

“Did you say fish?” My ears perked up. I was already late, so staying to eat couldn’t hurt; I couldn’t go on an empty stomach. “Okay, I’ll stay for fish,” my mouth watered.

“Are you going to at least tell me how you got the chips?” Wade asked.

“No,” I replied.

— — —

There are words better left lost, yet they embedded themselves in my mind. The way the racist fruit guy treated me, how Lyle told me that I was pathetic—

How Thousand Cuts called me cute…

The point is that today was no exception. Wade said to me: sometimes you need to keep a cool head, you don’t have to take the heat for others, you dig?

And I never understood what he meant. I was IMPERIAL. I had an obligation to uphold, for the citizens — and for my friends. Stopping now meant losing my pride, it meant leaving behind everything dear to me. I didn't want to lose, I refused to let go of what I grasped.

The Mekiko from the past was no longer there, the anima treatment fried his brain. Who was Wade to judge character?

Instead, I pushed further; and took Lyle along with me. We went back to Hognose Street. The place was the same as any street in Snakewater. The grim was so thick that I tasted dirt in the air.

My knife stabbed inside a plant monster, an overground Venus fly trap. It spitted acid from out of its mouth. Water sprayed everywhere as I cut off the monster’s stem.

“Always with the first strike,” Lyle muttered under his breath.

“What is this about first striking?” I asked.

“Nothing of importance.”

“Of course,” I replied.

“Now that we’re whacking weeds, are we going back?”

“Whacking weeds. You say that as if we’re gardeners.”

Lyle gestured at the monstrous plants, “please, look at them. All they are is overgrown, insignificant weeds. I could tell you that your mind was on different subjects while fighting,” he spreaded out his arms from the plants.

I pointed at Lyle’s chest, “Look, Lyle,” I said. “Just because the monsters aren't as tough as the rats, doesn't mean that we’re not making a difference.”

“A difference you say?” Lyle scoffed, “all we’re doing is putting a bandaid on a festering problem. The monsters will be back and in different numbers. Unless we somehow find a way to reclaim infested land, monsters are bound to happen.”

“Are you suggesting that we do nothing? We’re making a difference in people’s lives! Doesn’t a human’s life mean anything to you?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore — what I do know is that all I’m doing is weeding out plants, and I’m no gardener.

All around us were vegetables; carrots, tomatoes, and the likes. I agreed on clearing out a vegetable garden for a woman.

“Well, guess what? — We’re not heroes either,” I said. “I know that this isn’t glamorous work, but you can’t forget why we’re here. Come on, we got more work that needs doing.”

“Hmm,” he groaned in response. We trekked back to the closed fence near Hognose Street. 2 people armed with guns guarded outside. They called themselves The Neighborhood Watch. No formal training, no proper equipment, and equipped with only a dream; a better tomorrow.

I was familiar with them. The Neighborhood Watch patrolled around the streets. They guarded the more dangerous parts from monsters. They had their fingers off from the trigger, and guns on standby. The vigilantes nodded while I passed through. Lyle was less friendly.

We went out of the guarded gate.

“Oh goodness! Did you get rid of the monsters in my garden?” A middle-aged woman asked.

“Indeed I had,” I said.

“Thank you so much!” She shook my hand, “You don’t know how much it means to me now that you got rid of the menaces. I can finally go back to growing my crops!”

I downplayed my actions, all I did was kill monsters. What I did wasn’t any different than yesterday. Lyle only grunted.”

“I don’t have much crowns, but this is the least I can give you for helping me out,” she carried a bag of vegetables.

I gently pushed them away, “Lyle, stop judging!” I cleared my throat, “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m a beastkin. If you want to repay me, give them to the orphanage. They’ll appreciate your efforts,” I waved her off.

Lyle muttered something about weed whacking and gardening as we circled back to the apartment complex. I could almost understand where Lyle was coming from.

Almost.

I haven’t gotten into any difficult fights since the rats. The last few weeks got easier. I caught myself losing track of the monsters I killed. The process was effortless — something was wrong. Perhaps I’m over the edge, but nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.