Memory transcript subject: Hileen, Krakotl Fugitive Detainment Agent, Venlil Prime

Date [standardized human time]: November 5, 2136

One… two… three… four…

Of the few things that kept my mind at ease, it was the optimism that I’d get to fly again. I knew that it’d still be a chore to fly on this harvest-forsaken planet, but I had always remained hopeful that I’d be able to soar across the skies of Venlil Prime without the help of a commercial flight.

One… two… three… four…

I tried to hold the meditative stance for as long as I could, but my mind was far too messy to keep it up. I clasped my beak tightly shut and let out a shaky breath as I relaxed. My lack of a proper, nutritional diet was starting to take a toll on me.

A Fugitive Detainment Agent’s job was one that was seen as below the pay grade of an Exterminator’s, but above the training of constables and police officers. Regardless, maintaining the same level of physical readiness was a must in the field, to ensure one was prepared for any trouble posed by the majority of species found under the Federation’s protection. While weaker races like the venlil and dossur were a cinch to handle, a gojid or my fellow krakotl were far from child’s play.

My talons slipped from the couch cushion as I struggled to maintain balance in this awkward position. I groaned, knowing I was not in the right mindspace for this.

The revelation of Cilany's interview had weighed down on me something fierce. It hadn't been but a week since it was broadcasted to the public, and yet the days since then have felt like a dream. No matter how many times I've tried to entertain the idea that the Kolshian leader had been coerced into giving a false admission of guilt, that theory came apart just as quickly as I could assemble it.

The High Chief seemed to genuinely believe he was speaking in confidence with the harchen and gojid, his arrogance radiating as only one would expect from someone who thought that not only were they in the right, but that the information provided would never leave that room.

I couldn't bring myself to leave my apartment, knowing I could walk out on the street at most hours of the day and encounter any one of the human refugees who ran from our wrath, or locals who sympathized with the Terrans’ plight. My socials were also flooded with hostile remarks from those I thought were my friends; both those who were appalled at my predatory lineage as well as those who were more human-aligned filled my feed.

I picked up my holopad from the charging port, flipping it over to reread the notifications I got in the days following the news.

“I’d never have been friends if I’d known you were a predator!”, “Monster”, and “Don’t talk to me ever again” were the most common messages, regardless of the order the words were arranged in. There was only one message that I had actually responded to, and I had to scroll through dozens of far more venomous messages to find it.

>>> Red?

It was a message from Nampi, sent on the same day - just hours before my world came crashing down. Following it was my pitiful response.

> I’m sorry.

I tossed the holopad onto the couch, next to the copy of Frankenstein I'd read so many times over as if its pages held answers. It was the only piece of human literature I’d bothered indulging myself in, though I found no solace from its message.

I lazily waddled my way over to the fridge.

Everything I hadn’t already eaten was wilted or beginning to show signs of rotting, exacerbated by the fact that I skipped so many meals. I recalled the multiple times that I’d actually tried to eat where my mind couldn’t let go of the idea that it could’ve been some rancid slab of meat in another life, resulting in another bout of weeping and anger.

I hadn't even considered returning to work, despite realizing that my financial situation was tightening as last month's rent and other dues were creeping up on the deadline. Malko had been a generous host, despite my tardiness in prior bills, but the aging venlil's patience wasn't endless, and he'd likely replace me with a tenant who was more punctual if I couldn't make the extended deadline.

Maybe it'll be someone who's more deserving of Malko's generosity.

The city I lived in was relatively progressive, being a center of study and art for the Venlil Republic. The humans had received at minimum a lukewarm reception upon their arrival, which is a luxury many other provinces did not afford. I wasn't as enthused about their arrival, and had a bit of apprehension about being in such close proximity to predators, though I supposed I could tolerate their presence for as long as they didn't start trouble.

I can't say I'd be scared to be in one's presence anymore, after hearing of the success of the Venlil-Human exchange program, but the idea of meeting one who my kind was at war with didn't sit right. Those doubts were doubled now that I would probably break into hysterics at the very sight of them.

My holopad rang, tucked into the couch cushions where I’d thrown it. I turned the device over to see who was calling, and tried straightening up myself as I saw that it was a video call from my boss, Marlig. Carefully, I tapped the "accept call" button, hoping my feathers weren't too ruffled and that my eyes were clear of any gunk that could've accumulated in my absence of self-grooming. The last thing I needed was for Marlig to think I'd gone soft.

On the screen came the visage of the older krakotl, and from the background, I could tell he was seated in his office at the bail bond agency on the other side of town. I felt a bit disappointed to note that Nampi was nowhere to be seen. 

A look of concern was evident on his face, despite having not said anything. The silence remained for a few seconds and I had to tap the screen to make sure the call didn't freeze.

Marlig narrowed his eyes. 

"Hileen, you're a mess, girl," he chuckled. I guess it was as obvious as I had suspected, and I averted my eyes in embarrassment. 

"Hileen, you haven't answered any job offers I've forwarded to you, and you've been dark on social media until now. I know the last week has been hard on you but your landlord says you haven't even left the building.”

I drew a ragged breath, and for the first time in 6 days, I spoke. "Sorry, Marlig. I have felt like shit the last couple of days and haven't been taking any calls."

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The older avian let his features relax, tilting his head and resting the beak on his steepled wings.

"Just forget about that interview," he dismissed. "The past is the past, and you can't be working as a Fugitive Recovery Agent if you're wallowing in your own self-pity. We have some simple contracts that might take your mind off of the whole debacle, get you back into fighting fit, huh?"

I blinked, before acknowledging his words, with a pang of uncertainty about whether I was actually fit for work. Without a word, Marlig hung up the call and I was left staring at my reflection on the dark screen.

Under most circumstances, I'd say I was fairly well groomed, my feathers clean of dirt and brushed into a pristine condition, but all I saw before me was a feral beast, a beak meant for tearing into meat and talons for fighting over the scraps. My feathers atop my head were ruffled, and I wiped a bit of wilted salad that was left on my lower beak from my last meal.

I took a shower, taking care to avoid the mirror as I dried myself off. I trudged to the shelf to retrieve my uniform, a protective vest which held all of the items I'd need during my duties: several pairs of handcuffs of varying size, a taser, irritant spray, and an empty holster where my firearm should be.

The city prohibited the carrying of firearms in public, save for law enforcement and Exterminators. This ordinance was put in place to prevent the rare chances of a citizen encounter with a human turning lethal coming to fruition. Of course, they seemed to forget that owning a gun was already a rare occurrence and so was an effort made in vain. Just another law for the underpaid constables to memorize.

 Luckily, my job wasn't actually law enforcement, as the job of Fugitive Recovery agents was simply to bring in individuals who had missed their court date, and ideally, have them sign off that promised that they wouldn't miss the next court hearing. They didn't always come willingly, though I wasn't an officer of the law, and so was cleared to use force as needed to bring an individual in, without a warrant.

Of course, not being an officer of the law meant I was not exempt from the local laws regarding self defense. It felt like every contract was a gamble on whether or not I'd get the business end of someone's claws or a knife. These individuals were presumed to be predator-diseased until proven otherwise, after all.

Marlig usually forwarded me contracts for riskier individuals who he didn't trust to remain cordial during apprehension, particularly those who were bailed on charges for violent crimes such as assault, or otherwise exhibited signs of predator-disease. I was also entrusted with bringing in other krakotl, as it was a safe assumption that they might be more amiable to one of their own kind, and I can imagine that sentiment rings more true now than ever before.

I had hit a bit of a dry spell, though, as many of the incidents in the city seemed to be between the locals and the Terran refugees, which would wind up being handled by the Blue Helmets and Exterminators. Many of my kind had also left Venlil Prime after the bombing on Terra, fearing a lashing out in the wake of the refugees' arrival as well, and so further diminished the amount of jobs that I was entrusted with. 

The silver lining was that contracts were divvied up between only six agents, including myself, which was quite the ratio relative to the metropolitan province of fifteen million residents.

Hearing that I had a small backlog of contracts that Marlig had for me in particular had lifted my spirits, though, and so as I tugged the straps on the side of my gear to make sure they were secured on snugly, I couldn't help but feel a sense of hope like this was the tailwind I needed to get out of my slump and show to Malko that his patience had finally paid off.

I used my brush to make sure the plume atop my head was presentable, as well as preened my feathers a fair bit to sure that I could look somewhat presentable in public before rushing out the door, my enthusiasm growing by the second.

Stepping outside, the fresh air felt like a wake-up call from the mood I had been in during my isolation, and I tumbled forward to go about my day, pulling out my holopad to view which of my contracts was on the list first. I stuck my beak in the holopad to review the messages that Marlig had forwarded so that I would be on my merry way to making a living again.

I eyed the door next to mine, an apartment which had remained vacant for months. Over the last few days, there were the sounds of commotion from the empty apartment, which I presumed was from a new resident. There were hushed whispers that perforated the thin walls coming from them on occasion, and I picked up that there were at least two distinct voices within.

Maybe I'll try to greet them when I get home. It'll help put my mind at ease to socialize a bit.

===

I sighed in frustration as I meandered along the sidewalk with tired legs and eyes bleary from boredom. I noted how rare a sighting of a gojid or krakotl was in public, as there were invariably a good number of those who were going through what I was. The sideways glances and shuffling to the side as I passed was getting harder and harder to ignore, though I kept myself from breaking down in front of anyone - it’d be a bad look for the firm if I was caught crying in public, in uniform.

The first few suspects had skipped town entirely, making it impossible to find them, and the last one had rushed to the office as soon as she received word that someone was coming to retrieve her. While it showed the reputation of our careers preceded itself, it didn’t bode well for my rent.

Turning the corner, I leaned against a light pole as I drew out my holopad to browse the listing on the final individual.

“Name: Barsul - Occupation: Diner Owner - Age: 58. Has been in and out of court for a variety of problems related to temper and refusal to pay taxes. Despite passing multiple tests and scans to detect predator’s disease, he has brazenly committed dereliction of duty by refusing to meet his court date. I won’t lie, he won’t come willingly assuming he’s going about his business as usual. 

This job is regrettably a bit personal, but must be done all the same. We can’t be showing favoritism because of personal relations.”

Succinct as usual, it was no surprise that Marlig was familiar with so many krakotl near his own age; he spent his youth in the Nishtal fleet back in the day, and kept in touch with many retirees he’d served with. Most of those that came to Venlil Prime to live out their sunset years under the red sun’s warm glow were quite upstanding citizens, though, so to hear this “Barsul” fellow was causing trouble seemed out of place. Fortunately, the moral ambiguity of cuffing an elderly veteran left no stain on my soul, even if he was a kindred Nishtal native.

With that in mind, I marched forward to the address where the cranky old avian was supposedly at. His home address indicated that he lived in an upscale part of town that was quite a walk from the business he ran, meaning it’d be quite a trip if the info I was provided wasn’t on the money. I sent a silent, habitual prayer to the disproven Inatala that I’d get paid for my deeds on this day, even knowing she'd never answer my call.

A venlil couple tugged their child close as I passed by, affording gazes full of vitriol my way. I sighed, knowing that losing my cool or arguing would only deepen their fear and resentment. I tugged at the straps on the vest, knowing that such a device wouldn't be helping my image in this scenario, either.

A little tune thrummed in my chest, a bit of whimsy to take my mind off of the looming feeling of self doubt as I neared Barsul's diner.

What does the image of a krakotl fighting one of their own look like in the minds of the prey? Do they now harbor the same fears for us that we once had for predators? For humans?

I crossed the street just up the block a few hundred meters from the building, before noticing an oddity: with one eye's focus, I could spot that the tables set out front were entirely barren of diners. These were supposed to be peak hours for service industry businesses, and so for a store located right in the middle of town to have an empty storefront at such a time was out of sorts.

As I got closer, I could hear the sound of crashing inside, the angered trills and squawks of a krakotl traveling up the streets. Curses and insults could be heard, seemingly directed at somebody that was inside.

A more thorough inspection of the environment showed clear signs of a stampede. One table was turned over, the ceramic plates used to serve the food smashed on the padded sidewalk.

“C'mon, fuckface! Where's that bravado now?!”

The krakotl's voice was more clearly audible now, and I had to wonder who he was talking to as I approached the front door. I froze as I wrapped my talons around the door handle, wondering if I was ready for whatever I'd find inside.

By a stroke of what can only be described as good and bad fortune, I didn't need to find out. 

As I sat outside hesitating, I heard something thumping toward the door. Like a rising stampede, it grew louder and closer. 

Something felt off as the feathers on my back stood up on instinct and I managed to flap my wings just in time to dodge as the door flew off the hinges in a storm of splinters.