The elevator carried her back to the medical bay, and she almost bumped into Elina, who had returned from her own little inspections. Not knowing what to expect, Ratcatcher saluted the other girl and stepped into the emergency room.
The instructor was a sorry sight. His right arm was torn off, along with a good portion of his shoulder. Medical gel and bandages had already covered the horrible room, but Ratcatcher could still see the blackness of his skin around the wound. Part of his own armor merged with the skin, preventing the bleeding. Deep, lacerated gashes ran like rivers across his body, now closed by stitches, their pain and damage eased by a healthy dose of painkiller injections and medicine. Wires and tubes dotted Augustus’ back, carrying in the healing fluids and helping his body function normally until his damaged liver and one kidney could regenerate. The man’s spine was broken in two, the tip sticking out of his neck as he was carried out of the facility. His legs were broken and dislocated in dozens of places, and his toes were swollen like overcooked sausages, ready to burst at a touch. Lastly, his left eye got pushed all the way into his skull; it’s blue completely overtaken by red. Planet alone knows what other injuries the man has suffered.
For all his wounds, Augustus nodded calmly to his trainees, clumsily wielding a terminal in his remaining hand with the two good fingers he had left. Instructor Akebia lay on a nearby bed, browsing lazily through the latest mechanical implants, fully unconcerned that her lower jaw was locked in place. With the threat to the patients’ lives gone, only two medics were present in the room. Either out of arrogance or stubbornness, the instructors had refused to allow the medics to assist with their projects.
A low hum of medical equipment filled the air. Most of the calculations were done by the on-board computers, which were still operating on the injured, reducing the swelling of torn organs, stopping bleeding and repairing broken arteries, and cleaning the area to allow the irreparably damaged organs to regrow. Hospitals back home would have had a surplus of cloned organs of all kinds suitable for normal humans, but both instructors were no longer normal in the biological sense of the word. A regular kidney or stomach wouldn’t last a week in their bodies. Their blood pressure was abnormally high, and their metabolism exceeded that of normal humans. Only specially grown organs could survive inside their bodies.
“I have finished reviewing the mission,” Augustus said without any greeting, off-handedly accepting the updates. “You have made a serious mistake.”
“Yes, sir.” Elina nodded. “Because of my incompetence, a trainee had been crippled, and Vasily was almost injured. It was also my decision to leave you behind instead of trying to get you out safely. I am willing to accept any punishment, including expulsion, but please be lenient with the rest of the team. The fault is mine and mine alone.”
“Wrong. Nothing you have said can be interpreted as your fault, nor were these decisions wrong. You have kept the team alive and relatively well, so try to wallow in misery again and I will sentence you to a year of cleaning duty, trainee,” Augustus said coldly, struggling to turn the terminal. He looked at Ratcatcher, and the girl quickly darted to help him. Elina and she saw the team storming inside the elevator. “Foolishness, trainees. You should have advanced slowly, surveying the elevator to check if it was safe, rather than rushing inside like a stallion after a mare in heat. In retrospect, we should have set up some traps in the elevator, but I couldn’t hazard a guess that our…”
“Speak for yourself,” Akebia gurgled. “Olaf always finds the most unexpected ways to both disappoint and amaze. I knew that he would fuck up somewhere, but to catch a cold in a fucking desert? Ah, the joys of youth. I’ll see the little bastard become an A-Class yet.”
“Language, instructor! You are in the presence of minors!” Augustus snapped and continued as if nothing had happened. “…My students falling for such an obvious ploy. Clearly, you have decided to exceed my expectations.” He looked at the drooping faces and ramrod figures. “Chin up, trainees. Everyone is alive; you have shown proper decision-making, and we have found areas to work upon, all of us.” He leaned back on the pillow, quickly typing at the terminal.
“The Reclamation Army ended up saving our bacon,” Ratcatcher mumbled. “I thought we will… you know, sir, helping locals and all, not the other way around.”
“As an explorator, you will often be involved in locals’ problems, you will help them, work with them, steal from them, and yes, you will be saved by them occasionally…” Augustus’ good eye clouded.
“Instructor?” Elina reached out in concern.
“My apologies. We will continue this discussion at a later date.” Augustus blinked, struggling to stay awake, and took a small red object out of his terminal. “Eliza, take this data slate to the headmaster. Elina, keep an eye on Carlos and Vasily, and for the love of the Planet keep them from causing any mischief.”
“They wanted to prepare a feast to celebrate,” Elina said carefully. “Sir, I think this is a good initiative.”
“A feast… yes, yes, it is a good idea to honor the safe return. Let them work in the kitchen, away from the girls...” the instructor muttered, and the doctor came closer, gesturing for them to leave.
The girls took the cue and decided not to reveal that the reason for the celebration was less about being alive and more about seeing the bastard who tried to kill them all dead. After all, surviving was technically part of the celebration!
Torosian was nowhere to be found in the medical bay or on the bridge. Confused and worried, Ratcatcher grabbed a spare exosuit from the hangar, donned a helmet, and went outside to find the headmaster in a heated argument with the captain in front of the Titan. The sandstorm had begun to subside, and the first light of dawn had begun to break through the shroud of darkness, illuminating the mountain of steel beside the Titans.
The Inevitable. The crawler of Captain Osero—the sheer size of this machine boggled the mind. Placed on gigantic tracks, each bigger and longer than the Titan, the enormous moving base was covered with batteries of defensive and offensive guns. Rocket and missile launchers mingled with rail guns and artillery installations. Studded with slab and plate radar sensors capable of detecting life from miles away, allowing pinpoint bombardment of the most distant locations. Several shield generators hung from the armor plates, thick enough to withstand the odd MOAB without denting. Deep behind the armor plates of this machine were barracks, factories, and medical facilities large enough to support a battle group of seventy thousand men and a crew of several thousand—a city in all but name. Its main weapons, twin thermocannons, could cleave a path through a mountain range with their searing beams of energy. Instead of drawing power from space like Iternian vehicles, like Iternian vehicles did, the Inevitable sustained itself with a single anti-matter generator, a source of constant bickering between the nations’ politicians and environmentalists, because in the event of its destruction, a territory within hundreds of kilometers could suffer catastrophic damage.
Within its metal bowels slept thousands of drones guarded by soldiers. Hundreds of battle tanks stood ready to move down the massive landing ramps, eager to meet the enemy head-on. Its cybernetic facilities could augment a wounded soldier in a day, releasing entire units back into the fray. Extensive research facilities could safely study the most complicated equipment, ensuring that no rogue artificial intelligence could ever hope to escape into the Net or take over the crawler. Producing both civil and military equipment day and night, this machine was one of the cornerstones of the Reclamation Army’s superiority within a region.
Centuries ago, this very crawler belonged to Captain Cristobo, a hero of the Reclamation Army, and served as a mobile base for Commander Ravager herself, mowing down walls beneath its tracks. Both the Wolf Tribe and the Ice Fang Order once called the Inevitable their home, but if the history books were to be believed, only banners remained in these halls now, and the Normie officers occupied the cabins, planning countless operations throughout the Ravaged Lands. With Ravager gone, the Wolf Tribe saw little reason to be confined behind the metal alloy, and the Ice Fang Order was transferred to the Second Army. Today, it is a revered and heavily modified landship, a relic of a bygone era, but far from the strongest landship in the Third Army. This honor belonged to the Inescapable and the Champion, the flagships of Captains Ivar and Scorpio.
Vasily almost foamed at the mouth at the sight of the crawler’s approach, begging both Torosian and Ivar to allow him to make a quick excursion along its decks. He was refused by Ivar, who wished for no Iternian presence in one of the most secure places of the Reclamation Army. When Ratcatcher later asked Vasily what made him so excited, since Iterna’s technology outmatched anything within the crawler by decades, if not centuries, the boy just waved his hand and told her she wouldn’t understand.
It was Carlos who told her of a legend. The story said that during the fiercest sandstorms, one of the kitchen bays on the Inevitable was always barred. If a foolish soul stepped inside, he or she would be greeted by none other than Ravager herself, who came to confer with the spirits of those who had fallen under her command. And who knows if the spirits will let a curious intruder leave? Of course, it was just a legend; ghosts weren’t real, but countless reporters had tried to confirm or disprove these claims, often getting caught by the MP.
Never knew that Vasily was into ghost stories. Ratcatcher turned toward the complex.
Its projectors lit up the surrounding area, and the force shield pushed the sandstorm away, creating a zone of serenity. This allowed Ratcatcher to see the full extent of the damage to the facility. Olaf’s energy beam licked away a sizeable portion, causing the surrounding sections to start collapsing down, essentially kickstarting a domino of destruction that will see the base ruined in a few years. What the weapons of the Old World failed to do, the power of the New World did in a day. Sand poured inside the open rooms, scraping against the walls and filling the floors with additional weights.
A host of vehicles circled the crawler, and the damaged area. Engineers cursed, desperately trying to prevent future collapses. Scout teams moved it around, collecting anything that could be considered evidence of a relic of the past. In the midst of it all, Wolfkins ran on all fours, sniffing the air or keeping watch. Two shamans walked down the chasm, preparing to give the deceased soldiers their last rites.
“You knew?!” Torosian yelled at the captain, who continued to nod his head to the tune. “And you didn’t warn us?”
“The situation was perfectly contained by the pack of Warlord Ashbringer.” The wyrm opened one eye and looked down at the man. “No terrorist got past our defenses. It is your troops who had failed to properly survey the complex, costing me the lives of my soldiers, resulting in wounds dealt to my troops and damage to a precious historical relic. I expect full recompense for such vandalism, Headmaster.”
“This isn’t over, Ivar,” Torosian warned.
“Yes, yes, people keep saying the same words, yet the result is unchangeable. Had Iterna shared some of the medical research with us, we could’ve perhaps taken the Numbers alive and learn what they know…”
“You already can take them alive, wyrm! All it takes is a strong enough sedative to knock out both the parasite and the host!” Torosian stated.
“And by the time they awake, the bastards will immediately stop the hearts or brains of their slaves. I will not risk the lives of my soldiers for no gain. Stop acting like a child in front of one, Torosian the Betrayer, and accept some responsibility,” Ivar said.
Torosian turned to Ratcatcher, took the data slate, and quickly brought it closer to the black surface that engulfed his helmet. It spread apart, allowing the data slate to enter the socket and quickly cover the man’s helmet again. While Torosian read the report, the girl sized up the wyrm, gulping nervously at the sheer size of this being. She could’ve used his single scale for a tower shield!
“Captain Ivar, sir,” she dared to ask, instantly drawing the full attention of the blue orbs glowing within the massive skull toward herself. “What did you mean by there being no gain in taking the Numbers alive? Surely the chance to save a life is reward enough.”
“Not all lives are equal, trainee,” Ivar said pleasantly, with a hint of coldness in his voice. He reached for his communicator, took it off and filled the room with a heavy rock music. With a flick of his finger, the wyrm turned off the music. “Take a Wolfkin and a Normie. Both are living beings, yet losing a Wolfkin could spell a greater disaster, for a single Wolfkin can patrol vast areas, keeping dozens of Normies safe from raiders. As a leader, you need to know which lives you can spare and which you must preserve. Risking anyone to take a Number alive without gaining anything in return is folly.”
“But there is no gain, medical knowledge or not!” Ratcatcher struggled to understand. “These are just people, enslaved by the parasites. You can simply knock them out and turn them over to Iterna, so our people could purge the parasite.”
“I take it you haven’t studied the subject properly?” Ivar asked, raising a claw to keep the headmaster silent. “Give us a moment, Torosian the Traitor; we are having a friendly conversation. Almost all Numbers improve the captives in some way. Some of them, known as Double and Single Digits, also grant a power to their host. And this power remains even after the host is exterminated. The Investigation Bureau is salivating at the prospect of gaining unlimited users with precog abilities. Imagine capturing a parasite and having it create a legion of new breeds for us. Enslaving the enslaver, if you will pardon the jest. Naturally, the Reclamation Army is against slavery in all its manifestations.”
“This is exactly why Iterna never gives the state this research,” Torosian grumbled. “The process of reverting the parasite is not entirely safe. Only six out of ten ever survive. The Numbers are a plague to be eradicated, not something to be exploited.”
“And yet your country employs some of these former slaves. There are always volunteers. Obviously, we would never force anyone to undergo the process, for we need soldiers who serve out of loyalty rather than fear…” Ivar mused, looking away from Ratcatcher.
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The warlord thundered out of the sandstorm, doing her best to ignore the Iternian staff sergeant at her side. The woman claimed it was her duty to take care of all the wounded and left to help the Wolfkins, pleading with the Warlord in vain to see her wounds treated. Ratcatcher could see right through the gaping hole in the Wolfkin’s body, the wet entrails and flesh partially covered by sand and various parasites. If the horrid wound did anything to Ashbringer, the warlord never let it show, moving with restrained grace and holding her head high. Every wolfkin in her presence quickly dropped to their knees, their throats exposed.
“It is as you suspected, sir,” Ashbringer said, raising a hand to the armored head in salute. Ivar returned the gesture with a nod. “There are traces of spatial anomalies on Strelka’s remains and in the immediate area. The scientists are working overtime, but their initial prediction is bleak. The flame destroyed most of the evidence.”
“Thank you, warlord,” Ivar said. “Hm… I almost want to accuse Captain Scorpio or that courtesan of his, but that would be childish. Someone else in the Ravaged Lands has an ability to teleport, if my memory serves me right.”
“Wyrms never forget anything.” Ashbringer snapped her fangs. “Tell me who did it, sir, so I can bring vengeance.”
“And Iterna is also interested in who could’ve possibly killed her soldiers, captain,” Torosian added.
“My theory is that someone had thought himself really clever and had tried to frame the alleged deaths of your students and our soldiers in order to drive a wedge between our nations,” Ivar scowled. “As if the Numbers could have pulled something like that off.”
“You are not giving the Numbers enough credit, Captain,” Torosian warned him. “In the past, they were…”
“In the past, humanity has taken to the stars, but that’s not the case now, is it, Headmaster?” Ivar almost gently interrupted him, sighing like a teacher trying to explain a supposedly simple topic to a dense student. “Please don’t insult my intelligence by appearing dumber than you already are. Live in the present. Think! On what was the initial success of the Numbers based?
”They had Maximillian and his power at their side, sir," Ratcatcher blurted out, shaking feverishly as the wyrm’s eyes locked at her. “Captain, sir, they also had the element of surprise; we had no idea about the parasite or how they reproduce, nor how to detect them, sir, captain…”
“Captain or Your High Excellency is sufficient, trainee,” the wyrm told her in an icy voice, making the girl wonder if he was pleased with her answer or annoyed by the interruption. “And the correct word is not ‘reproduce’, but ‘spread’. The Numbers are pests, not a global problem. A disease to be cured, but hardly a threat to the world; certainly nothing like the Gilded Horde was, or the current Chosen Prince rampage, for that matter. A one-trick pony, whatever a pony was. No, someone was trying to capitalize on the lunatics’ obsession."
“Who?” Ashbringer demanded to know. “Alpha will want to know. The Wolf Tribe cries out for vengeance. I want retribution.”
“I will not make unfounded accusations.” Ivar suddenly dropped to his belly and met the Ashbringer’s gaze with his unblinking eyes. “I will be the one to extract the vengeance. Headmaster, I will see the one who touched your soldiers crash and burn. Warlord, the one responsible for the death of your soldiers is a dead man; he just doesn’t know it yet. The state always pays its dues, and so do I. None of my soldiers were supposed to die on this mise… mission. Headmaster, I will, of course, provide Iterna with a copy of our findings as a token of goodwill. But the justice will be mete out by us. This is our land. And I will see it scoured clean of anyone daring to resist my brother’s and the Dynast’s wills.”
“Warlord!” Ashbringer gazed into the sandstorm, dropping the subject. The figure of Wolf Hag Bogumila hurried out of it, carrying a huge stone slab over her head. Suddenly Ratcatcher thought the woman would smack Ashbringer over the head with it; even the warlord bristled, only for Bogumila to fall on one knee, holding the stone above her. “The plaque is retrieved! I’mma gonna put it in my tent.”
“Belay that desire, Wolf Hag.” The girl could’ve sworn there was a hint of humor and disappointment in the taller woman’s voice. “The memorial plaque will go straight to a museum.”
“Damn. I was hoping to distract the gnawlers with it.” Bogumila stood up. The torn eyelid had begun to grow over the exposed eye, but her amber still showed slight signs of irritation from the sand.
“It will smash them into pulp if it falls. Buy them a plushie from the store.”
“They’ll tear it in tatters in two days!” The wolf hag said.
“But it is two days of freedom, Wolf Hag,” Ashbringer pointed out.
“Hey, you are right, Warlord! Thanks for the idea; I’ll see what gigs are available at the base.” Ashbringer folded her arms, and Bogumila quickly explained. “All our tokens are used to buy milk. Not the cusack’s kind, but the white kind, straight from real cows! And sometimes the brown one, as a treat. The little ones love it, and shamans claim the white milk makes the cubs’ bones stronger…”
“I will pay for a year’s supply of both milk and stuffed animals for your entire village; just go, Wolf Hag Bogumila, before you completely disgrace the nation with your vulgar speech and manners,” Ivar snapped, slamming his tail against the ground with enough force to split it.
“Sir, we aren’t poor…” Something in Ivar’s eyes made Bogumila bow, and she scampered toward the crawler, kicking sand high into the air with her legs. The wyrm reached out to his communicator, contacting and giving orders to allocate funds for the village.
“Please convey my thanks to your soldiers and my apo…” Torosian addressed Ashbringer, and the woman cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. Can I leave, captain? I must bring news to Strelka’s cubs. Ebony bore a life; I need to have a word with her soulmate, and Maxim’s parents need to know.”
“You allowed a pregnant woman to join the mission?” the captain asked coldly.
“Yes,” Ashbringer said. “We are stretched thin trying to protect the refugees from Whore Prince’s minions and the Cartel. As if that weren’t enough, skinwalkers showed up in the area to play their games. And you demanded my entire pack, sir. I had to make some choices for the sake of both duties, and assigned Ebony to the safest place I could think of.”
Cubs. This meant children among the Wolf Tribe, usually someone very young. Ratcatcher felt herself sick, imagining Augustus or Torosian coming over to her home to explain to Mom and Dad that she had died. Now, more than ever before, she understood the truth behind the headmaster’s words and looked at the man, who kept a respectful silence. There are people caring for her. There are people who care about her. Death, any death, brings sorrow not only to the deceased, but to their families and even to those who have to deliver the news.
I won’t die. She promised herself. Well, maybe someday from old age or something, or after being hit by a comet… Yeah, that’s a cool way to go. But only after a hundred years or more! She has so much to learn, so many places to visit, help Mom buy the house, see Liam go to school and graduate, finish the Academy, prove to Elina and others that she can be a reliable teammate, collect geodes, taste so many dishes… A lot of stuff! So much to do, she doesn’t have time for dying! Even if explorators are allowed to kill, I will always try to keep myself in check. She made a second vow. Even enemies or rivals have families. The desire to punch Elina in her stupid deck felt so foolish. The girl has parents and friends, too; they’ll be sad if Ratcatcher rearranges her features a bit. Is this what growing up looks like? Planet, I hope it is not growing up; I want to be young a bit longer. The trainee shook off the selfish thoughts, clasped her hands, and said the prayer for the lost to herself.
“You may go, warlord.” Ivar stood up. “And rest up for a week. All of you. I will have the regular army look over the refugees.”
“But not before we visit the infirmary,” the staff sergeant said, stepping in front of Ashbringer. “I don’t give a damn about the rules of your country, but in civilized society we don’t...”
Ashbringer pressed a barrel of her flamethrower against the gaping hole in her body. And fired. Ivar’s wing rose before Ratcatcher, and Torosian’s darkness quickly pushed her away, but she heard the sound of burning flesh and the crackling of parasites vaporizing in the heat, and smelled the stench of burning flesh through the respirator. The flame shot through the open wound, quickly cauterizing it.
“Are you insane?!” the staff sergeant shouted, grabbing the hill of muscles by the arm and trying to pry away the flame, fully oblivious to the danger. “Your intestines, stomach, lungs, spine…”
“Through pain growth. Farewell, little one; may you grow healthy and strong. Be wary of becoming an enemy of the state; otherwise, death,” Ashbringer said, jumping over the woman and landing five meters away. Ignoring the medic’s screams, the warlord disappeared into the darkness.
“Bring her back, captain!” the medic demanded of Ivar. “She needs immediate medical attention!”
“I am with you on this one, sergeant.” Ivar nodded gracefully. “Alas, the Wolf Tribe, like the rest of the traditional societies within the state, has a certain amount of freedom. As long as it does not involve outsiders or ordinary citizens, tribals are allowed to live by their own rules. Do not worry, though; Ashbringer survived being hit by an Iternian gravity beam; a mere hole is nothing to her.”
“I am surprised you are showing Ashbringer such leniency, captain. Iterna, any commander who forced a pregnant woman to remain in the force would be defenestrated and thrown in jail,” Torosian said.
“We are not in Iterna. And she is Warlord Ashbringer to you, Headmaster. I resent having to point out the obvious, but when you are in charge, everything is your fault. When a soldier is caught marauding, you do not simply rip out his eyes and hang him; you instill discipline in the entire unit, eliminating any chance of a repeat offense. The warlord has worked wonders with the troops under her command, all because of the Inevitable need to move here to accommodate Iterna’s request. Ultimately, I should have reviewed the soldiers she was bringing along.” The wyrm turned to face Ratcatcher. “Trainee. It’s been pure displeasure, but you have managed to pleasantly surprise me at the end. Feel free to come to our lands only as an immigrant or a guest.”
Stay away from snooping in our territory as an Iterna’s agent. The unspoken threat hung in the air. Ratcatcher said her goodbyes and stood for a while, marveling at the sight of Ivar taking flight. He didn’t tear chunks out of the ground or shake the titan, but rather leapt gracefully into the sky, flapping his wings and passing through the force field, disappearing proudly into the sky above the crawler. As he flew, water surrounded his body, keeping sand from staining his blue scales.
Ratcatcher decided against sending a report to Augustus and went straight to her room. The trainees’ living quarters were small, narrow compartments that barely fit a bed that took up most of the entire space. She did her best to decorate the room, putting up a poster depicting the Elites posting for a charity event: Redeemer on the left, Lightbringer on the right, and Artificer in the middle. She had to stand in line for nearly two hours before Lightbringer signed the poster for her. True, she could’ve spent her time more reasonably, but back then she wanted to see all Elites in person at least once. A sliding shelf kept her geodes and the lava lamp standing next to each other, coloring the poster in a pretty and mysterious light. Aside from that, she had an unused coat and a terminal with access to the ship’s library. The toilets and the showers were down the corridor. Ratcatcher “lucked out” by getting the closest room to both and enjoyed her share of curses as the trainees were sent to cleaning duties for various missteps. On the one hand, she learned so many unfamiliar words! Sadly, none of them could be used in a civilized society.
Elina rose from the bed and faced the surprised girl. She never locked her door. Sure, a few students were caught and kicked out of the Academy for stealing things, but in general, there was no reason for the Ratcatcher to lock her door. Most of her things, including her diary, were at home.
"Say it," Elina demanded, coming closer. "Go on, I'm listening."
"Not into girls." Ratcatcher quickly raised her hands, and a flash of red ran down the teen's cheeks. She laughed. "Sorry for calling your power a fart and everything else I messed up during training..."
"Enough of your games, Eliza!" The trainee clenched her fists. "Go on, say it. Tell me how I fucked up the mission, how I got you and Jumail injured, and how I argued instead following your orders in the elevator." She slammed her fist into the wall, making the steel vibrate. "I saw how you tried to upstage me throughout the entire training. Disobeying, talking out of turn, making me look like a fool… You feel vindicated now that I admit my mistakes, eh, Eliza? Going to gossip about it with everyone on the ship?"
"Point A, you are doing a fine job of making yourself look like a fool as it is. Point B, you are the asshole who spreads gossip; it is thanks to you, Carlos, and Vasily that everyone calls me a rat-girl," Ratcatcher said bluntly, unwilling to endure Elina's crap. She was hurt, she was tired, and most of all, she wanted to sleep! Her tail slapped the wall, and Ratcatcher continued. Fair is fair. Always give credit where it's due; she'd learned that much from Dad. "Unless you missed, if not for you, we all would've died out there several times. You know, back there you looked just as awesome as when we first met. Why come to me and bitch like a lunatic? I am telling you again that I am not looking to take the leader's place. I am simply not cut out for it!"
"You know, being a rat suits you," Elina said quietly, and the corner of Ratcatcher's mouth twitched. "I lied. Look at yourself. You are ugly. Half-human, half-misshapen mess and all liar pretending to be a comrade. But you know what? No matter how many times you try to backstab me, I refuse to sink to your level. No matter how hard you lie or how much you scheme, no one will ever look at you and see anything else but an ugly, disgusting rat-girl. Fitting that your hideous visage matches your deceptive insides." Her arm moved, but the shockwave from Elina's fingers only knocked the lamp aside and scattered geodes across the room, splitting some of them and leaving the poster in tatters. "Finally got rid of that damn thing. Bill me later for the damages, freakish rat."
Ratcatcher held back the urge to plant her fist in Elina's face. She stepped aside, glared at the departing student, and locked the door for the first time. Ugly. Her fingers found the torn poster. Good, the autograph is intact. It should be easy to find another poster, cut out a piece and glue this one in, like a puzzle's piece. Rat. She picked up the geodes, clenching the mix of her teeth and fangs at the ruined honeycomb construction. Nothing she can't fix. Just because something was broken didn't mean she couldn't glue it back together. Maybe throwing them away was the logical thing to do, but these stones...
They might be worth nothing, like her. But some of them were from Scrapyard, from a place where no one called her a rat, where no one saw her as a mutant, where people called her by her real name, and everything was fine. Broken things can be fixed. Precious things should never be left behind, no matter how u…
She ran a hand over her features, feeling where the flesh connected, and touched the elongated snout, ignoring the pain. Ugly. It is only natural, right? Ratcatcher sat on the bed, collecting the stones with her tail. Ugly, ugly, stupid rat-girl who barely had any friends. No wonder no one wanted to talk to her before. Once they come back, everyone will just ditch her again. Like before. It's like Carlos said—she's not elegant or beautiful. Not like normal people. A freak, that's what she is.
And now I am perfect. She remembered Vasily’s words and cringed, hitting her knee. So what? Imperfect people live too! She refused to give up half of her body, human or otherwise. No scalpel will touch her skin, no doctor will change her shape. Others are free to change; she is free to stay who she is, and if that means being almost alone, so be it! Let them call me a rat; let them call me ugly. She thought as she climbed onto the bed with the stones. I... I have a few friends. Many people don’t even have that much.
When Edward knocked on her door and called her to the feast, Ratcatcher responded that she was too tired and curled up in a ball, hugging the geodes closer to her. Edward asked why she was sad, but she simply asked him to go away and stop reading her mind, blinking water from her eyes. Sad? Why should she be sad? She is alive. Her family is fine. And she has a brother.
Elina arrived later and stomped on the door, demanding that she stop pretending and join the festivities. Ratcatcher didn't bother to answer. Fuck her. She won't stoop to beating up that crazy idiot; she refused to give Elina the satisfaction of seeing her kicked out of the Academy, but at least she can ignore her outside of the mission or studies.
Before, Ratcatcher dreamed of being a B-class explorator. Or maybe even an A-class, like the instructor. Ugly. Rat. Half-human. She bit her lower lip into blood, banishing the seeds of mistrust sown by the words of the Reclamation Army soldiers that tried to take root in her mind. The people of Iterna were nice. Good. The shopkeeper gave her ice cream when she had no money. Doctors, therapists, teachers, and officials all treated her family well, despite giving her a few strange glances and constant nagging to visit a clinic to "fix" her imperfection. It's just...it's just that everyone has their own point of view, and you can't be accepted everywhere, no matter how hard you try.
Perhaps C-class or D-class would suit her better. What’s the point of giving her all, anyway?
She really has to call Nadya later. And ask Mom something.