Chapter Four

Or, the blooding.

Micinka stood at the front row of a crowd. Her cap was pulled down far enough to hide her eyes. The roar of the Kicsik behind her threatened to blow out her eardrums. It was wild to think that all of them had been deceived. The very man they cheered for, whose speeches they lusted after like a dying girl in the desert for water, was organizing a raid on this facility in just ten days. He’d get them all killed. One of many Kicsik race traitors, aiming to keep his people down in exchange for personal profit. It disgusted Micinka to no end.

Nausea spread through her as the man’s speech continued. Equality for Kicsik required violence, he said. The Pansa would never really let them integrate so long as they continued to complacently accept their second-class status. Instead they must remind the Pansa who had made invading their homeworld so costly, who had become a persistent thorn in their side. The Kicsik must rise up.

So he claimed. Micinka had to resist the urge to snort in disgust. Riling her people up just so they could die for nothing. But none of that could show on her face. Instead she cheered and smiled. Her gun weighed heavy on her belt, concealed as it was beneath the loose tunic she wore in lieu of proper clothes. Its ratty and dirty appearance acted as camouflage for the bump it made on her appendix. Perhaps more importantly, her bright red cap and calico-pattern hair drew the eye immediately to the head. Cute, but also very practical, or at least that was what she told the inspectors. It was kind of true, but Micinka just didn’t want to look bad on her first mission. A girlish concern.

She was getting distracted. Micinka watched him as the speech ended and the applause died down. People moved closer, forming a gaggle attempting to get autographs. Abusing her small size, ratty appearance, and young age, Johana made her way to the front.

Yes, it was definitely her mark. A fit, healthy Kicsik man. Not a chimera in the sense Micinka was, but wildly altered by the horrific experiments of the Pansa on their people. Gnarled fangs and matted hair, two green eyes. Thick, spotted fur all over. A voice like rotting death. But his face betrayed him as more than a monster; surprisingly, Micinka felt compassion in his looks and words. He was, truly, a talented actor. It was no wonder so many people had been fooled.

“Little one,” he rumbled. “It pleases me to see a child devoted to our cause. Perhaps you’d best head home, dear. It might be dangerous.”

“Got no home,” Micinka replied.

A couple people around her quieted a little, and the man’s eyes softened. Grouse, he was supposedly called. Grouse looked at her.

“Perhaps we should speak in private,” he said. It was something he was known for, giving audiences to those who he felt might need them. A very personal touch- or a smart attempt to secure the faith of people he suspected weren’t devoted enough to his cause. Micinka knew her attitude was probably that of an orphan just looking for the free meal at the end (one of the reasons so many Kicsik had showed up in the first place). They probably thought her a gutter clone.

“Alright.”

“Hang on a moment, she’s just a girl,” someone said. A taller woman with pale skin and snow-white hair. Her teeth looked needle sharp, and pointed ears poked out of her head. “I dunno about letting her go alone into a room with a violent feral.” A skeptic, like Micinka. She glanced up at the woman, wondering why she was even here. Maybe she needed the food too.

“Alright,” Grouse chuckled, the comment about violence and ferality sliding right off of him. He seemed old, to Micinka, so perhaps he’d heard all this before. In their briefing, it had been observed that he’d organized a number of riots in the past, all of which ended brutally for the Kicsik. It was still tough for Micinka to reconcile that with the person in front of her, but then she was as much a snake as Grouse. The thought bothered her, and she suppressed it. “The meeting will be the two of you. No more, though, or it defeats the purpose.”

“That’s fine,” the woman said, at almost the same time Micinka voiced a generic affirmative. They glanced at each other, neither saying anything about the coincidence. Micinka’s tail flicked. She didn’t like this lady showing up- it made her job that much harder. Well, she’d deal with it; Grouse was already leading them back to a private room set up specially for this one on one (or two, today).  His posture was very forwards, using one arm as a leg while the other opened the door. Inside, the room was simple. The floor was concrete, the walls bare drywall, and an open ceiling. Grouse pulled a chain, and the single bulb dangling from a wire cast a harsh white light into the room. The shadows became very severe, giving everything an almost surreal appearance.

“My dears,” Grouse began, and Micinka detected another speech incoming. “You two are not true believers, I take it.”

“No,” Micinka answered instantly. Too fast. Grouse gave her a weird look. “I just want food.”

“I thought as much,” Grouse chuckled. “But you know, we Kicsik only struggle for food because of the Pansa. Without their oppression, you could eat whenever you pleased.” The lady snorted, and Grouse looked at her.

“Don’t lie to the girl,” she said. “You and I both know that as hard as things are, some Pansa have it rough, too. Things wouldn’t magically get better just without them lording over us.”

“To the contrary,” Grouse started, and then the two adults launched into an argument. Micinka didn’t laugh, but a wan smile did come over her face. For all his gravitas and posturing, he turned out to be just as petty as anyone else. But this situation was annoying; an argument tended to go on unless someone intervened. Stene was better at that sort of thing, but there was nobody else to do it.

“Hey,” Micinka said. “If you don’t agree, you can just leave.” Grouse looked at her approvingly, and the lady glared.

“Guys like this are no good,” she warned. “There’s more going on here than it seems. I’ll figure out exactly what, don’t misunderstand me.”

Grouse snarled, “Begone, reporter. Your kind do no good for the Kicsik. Actions speak louder than words.” The lady growled, tail swishing, but threw open the door and left. Grouse turned to Micinka. “Apologies, little one. I get… heated over the cause. Would you like to speak, still? I wish to hear your story.”

“My master died in a vehicle accident,” Micinka said tersely. Grouse was watching her intently- she wouldn’t be able to draw a weapon and fire before he defended himself, like this. She waited for a moment to arise, and kept talking. “So did his wife, and my Nurse. I was the only survivor.” Grouse nodded.

“A common story,” he said, looking thoughtfully out of a window Micinka had managed to miss in the dark. “Many young ones such as yourself, bereft of a master, are cast out into the world. Did you not seek a new master?”

“No,” Micinka said. This was where the lying started. “I always hated my Master.” Grouse chuckled, leaning his heavy upper body on the sill. Micinka lifted her tunic, the pragmatic battle shorts Headquarters had given her serving to support a holster. Her hand went to the gun.

“I did, too,” Grouse said. “Once upon a time, I was wild. Then a Pansa captured me, kept me for show.” Yes, this was the story he told everyone in these interviews. Her briefing had warned her of it- the Pansa he claimed as his master was still alive. It was possible, though unconfirmed, that Grouse might even be doing this all at his behest. Her gun aimed at the back of his head, but Micinka didn’t shoot just yet. She sensed he had a little more to say, and she wanted that lady to get as far as possible before making noise. “He tried to sell tickets to see me, but when I proved an unprofitable venture, he began beating me in frustration. So one day, I simply killed him, and I was free. You could be, too.” He turned to face Micinka, and recoiled at the sight of her gun.

Why she didn’t shoot right then, Micinka would never know.

Grouse watched her for a moment, his face going rapidly from shock to anger to resignation. He leaned forwards on both arms, taking an all fours stance. “I see.”

“You probably don’t,” Micinka answered. He lunged forwards suddenly, and she fired; ferals like Grouse were impossibly fast, agile, and tough. But flesh still failed in the face of supersonic lead, and the gun’s bark was punctuated a moment later by the splash of gore across the back wall and the slump of his body. Literally- the head was missing. Micinka stared for a moment. Blood spurted aggressively from the ruined cavity that was once his face.

Her gun lowered, and then she holstered it. Micinka picked up the casing, absently noting the bloody fingerprints she left on it. A whole lot more gore had come out of Grouse than she expected. She stared at him again, wondering how many people had listened to his speeches. He wouldn’t be misleading anyone else, that was for sure.

The door behind her burst open, and Micinka turned to face it. Stene stood there, shouting something at her. Micinka realized she couldn’t actually hear what she was saying, and she didn’t know if that was because of the gunshots or the weird reverie she was in.

Then Stene slapped her, and everything came back.

“We have to go, you've been here forever, I- I had to kill a couple guards,” Stene was rambling.

“Alright,” Micinka said, and she walked out of the room following the pre planned exit path.  Her feet placed exactly where she’d drilled in the killhouse. Stene was just a second behind her, the two girls making good time for the exit. Something still felt surreal to Micinka, but she couldn’t focus on it now. Things blurred a bit as she moved, colors seeming to almost drain from her surroundings. Her heart pounded in her chest far more than it ought to.

Stumbling a bit, she grabbed onto the exit door’s frame instead of continuing to run. Stene’s hands shook her shoulders, but it wasn’t enough now. Micinka stumbled forwards and out onto the street, not sure exactly where to go. She followed Stene unsteadily, gradually picking up her pace and trying to get out of sight of the building. People had started to shout, and distant sirens wailed as the police drew nearer.

“Micinka, Micinka,” Stene was saying, and her voice was terrified and weak. Micinka zoned in on that, eyes dragging up to the other girl’s face. She looked Stene in her dark eyes, clouded with fear and tears and concern. Emotions nobody else had really shown her. Micinka snapped out of it.

“Let’s go,” she said quietly. Stene turned, holding her hand- when that had happened was lost to Micinka- and led her down an alley. They ditched the tunics, revealing their pragmatic knee-and-elbow length combat uniforms underneath them, and Micinka wiped her hands on the pile of now-bloodied rags. Stene threw a little gas onto them while Micinka struck a match. Once they caught, the two girls snuck off into the alley.

“What happened,” Stene asked once they were clear. It would be a few hours until it was safe for them to be picked up, so the girls were spending the night in an alley, tucked behind an abandoned apartment building. Empty ration wrappers littered the cobbled streets around them. Micinka looked at Stene’s face, difficult to read in the greyed-out way she perceived the night. She thought she saw concern, still.

Looking away, Micinka didn’t immediately answer. Her stomach rolled, and a wave of anxiety came over her. The sheet they’d stolen to use as a blanket crumpled under her hands, and Stene inched closer. The other girl’s presence and warmth was comforting, but Micinka still hesitated to speak. She bit her lip, and then inhaled shakily.

“I killed Grouse,” she said. “It’s not so much killing him that bothers me, though. It’s- it’s how it doesn’t bother me that bothers me.” Her voice went flat while she said it, and something in her chest tightened like a noose. For a minute, all Micinka could hear was the sound of distant vehicles and the obnoxious chittering of the pest-bugs that plagued the city’s sewers somewhere nearby. Stene inhaled- not audibly, Micinka just felt her chest raise, and then freeze. It was a long time before she said anything. Her ears flopped back and her grip on Micinka tightened.

“I think that’s alright,” Stene said, and Micinka leaned into her appreciatively, feeling the stress begin to leach from her body. “He- he was a bad person. I found a corpse in the basement, you know. And, well, they trained us to do this, so…” Her voice trailed off. The assurance was haphazard, and maybe talking about senseless death wasn’t the best way to console someone, but it worked for Micinka. Just hearing someone try to help was important for her. 

“Thanks,” she said quietly. Her arms tightened around Stene, a gesture she was beginning to find familiar. It was odd, she thought. This sort of thing hadn’t ever really happened in her old life, despite how long she lived it. Yet in just a few short weeks she and Stene had become like kin. Closer, at least compared to Micinka’s real family. She had never slept next to her sisters, or felt comfort from closeness.

The job itself was admittedly terrible, but at the same time Micinka wouldn’t trade it for the world. She couldn’t imagine leaving Stene behind. She opened her mouth to say something to the other girl, maybe let her know how important she was, but Stene had already fallen asleep. Micinka closed her mouth, allowing her lips to form a tired smile. That was just like her. She closed her eyes to sleep.

Funnily, this time, her dreams were pleasant. She even forgot them after she woke up to the pale light of dawn. Shaking Stene to consciousness, they gathered up the sheet and stuffed it in a nearby dumpster. They walked, hand in hand, to where they were going to be picked up. Ostensibly, they were just two girls out playing. It wasn’t true, but for a few minutes, Micinka could pretend it was. She laughed at Stene’s bad puns, and they raced each other to the park bench. They kicked a littered can at a nearby pest-bug, had a yelling contest, and danced to music only they could hear. 

Micinka wondered if this was what life was like. For a normal girl. She paused in her dance as the car approached, dragging her and Stene from their reverie. They both collected themselves and sat down at the bench. The car waited a bit, then pulled up nearby. Micinka got in first, Stene following her a moment later.

“Good work, girls,” Trace said from the driver’s seat. “No witnesses yet, as far as we can tell. Very, very good.” He sounded proud.

“Indeed it was,” Celist said from the passenger seat. Micinka started. She hadn’t seen him there, somehow. The man had a way of doing that when he wanted to. “I believe you two have outstanding potential. We’re lucky to have you.”

Micinka’s chest swelled with pride. To be praised was a good feeling. Especially considering Celist himself had come to congratulate them. She smiled at Stene, seeing her feelings mirrored in the other girl’s face.

“Thank you,” they said in excited harmony. They laughed and clapped as the vehicle sped off back towards headquarters. As they left the city and the mission behind, Micinka spared a backwards glance for it. The tall buildings, shining with glassy windows and polished brass decoration over stone construction, seemed to loom in the dawn, long shadows cast by the distant sun, casting a backdrop over the city. Micinka turned forwards. The car hurtled towards the countryside, where great rolling rain clouds formed an imposing wall above them. Their violet underbellies were periodically illuminated with brilliant lilac bolts of electricity.

The bright red and green forest swallowed their vehicle, and Micinka felt her emotions mute. They whistled over the rough road at great speed, faster than Micinka probably would have guessed they’d be driving.

“I thought we’d be picking someone else up,” Stene said uncertainly.

“Plans changed,” Trace said, all earlier enthusiasm gone. Micinka glanced at him in the rearview mirror, but she had too much difficulty reading Pansa faces when they didn’t want her to understand. She tried to look at Celist, but the mirror wouldn’t let her get a good view. Stene seemed to be doing the same from her own seat. Trace continued to speak.

“There’s not a lot of time to explain, but basically, we’re gonna have to step up the pace of operations. Those girls we were gonna pick up are going straight to their next job,” he said.

“They’ll be hitting a target that has resources we desperately need,” Celist interjected. Micinka frowned at that. Why did they need resources? Did the government not understand how important their work was?

“Will we be doing missions like that?” Micinka asked because she was concerned. The mission was important to her, but she wasn’t too sure about going out and picking up money or whatever. To her, that seemed shallow and not like what they’d been trained to do.

“Of course not,” Celist soothed, and she and Stene relaxed a little bit. “I’m reserving those missions for our… less talented girls.” They nodded, seeing what he meant. The girls who might die on a mission like that last one could instead contribute in a safer manner.

Somehow, though, it didn’t sit well with Micinka. She let the idea of being an errand girl stew during the ride back. They dropped her off in front of Headquarters, headed off to some other critical task. Her stomach gurgled. Stene glanced at her, a little smile on her face.

“I’m hungry too,” she giggled. “Let’s eat.” They entered the door, Micinka glad to see the familiar halls and faces of the Pansa who worked around them. But the mood had changed here. The Pansa seemed stressed to her, and when they entered the cafeteria, the bustling energy from before had faded to nothing but the sound of silverware striking dishes and food. She and Stene glanced at each other uncertainly, getting in the line for food. It was dropped onto their trays unceremoniously. Today, there were no options, although the food itself still looked good and seemed well-prepared to Micinka’s admittedly amateurish eyes. She shared a look with Stene.

They sat at a table near two girls they’d gradually come to know, over their time in training. Housle, a confident girl with white feathers and dark patterning around her eyes on otherwise pale skin, and her quiet partner Kacatko, an awkward girl with thick glasses and dull brown feathers. They, like every Zabite pair, were very close. Micinka had sort of noticed a pattern; usually, one girl was outgoing, and the other was reserved. In her own case, Stene had a tendency to take the lead, she thought. There was a certain benefit to the arrangement, though; Micinka had a strong person to rely on, and she liked to think that she and Stene were good friends. The other girl hopefully enjoyed her company enough to make up for the slack in their give-and-take.

Either way, they greeted the two girls, and Stene began to speak.

“Housle,” she asked, “what’s going on here? Why’s everything so weird?”

“Far as I can tell,” the feathered girl replied, voice deeper than Stene’s due to her greater age, “something happened with our budget. I think that screw-up the week before we got Micinka pissed off the brass.”

“Ah, I see,” Stene said. The two of them had been gone for a few days, doing the setup for their mission. Nothing crazy, but it required their attention, and naturally they couldn’t be in too much contact with the organization or their cover might get blown. As such, they’d missed out on apparently a very big change in the way things would work going forwards. “The new food tastes a little funny.”

Micinka paused, and considered her own. There was a sort of chemical taste to it, like a cleaner or something. Not the sort of thing you usually wanted in your mouth. But it was very subtle, and Micinka wouldn’t have really noticed it specifically unless Stene had said something. From the other girls’ new expressions, they probably hadn’t either.

Deciding not to let it bother her, Micinka finished her meal. Housle continued to rant about food and how important it was to something or other. Micinka stopped paying attention; she and Kacatko had no issue with it. She grinned at the other girl when, during one of Housle’s particularly energetic outbursts, she accidentally spat food onto Stene. The usually polite girl freaked out, trying desperately to get it off her, and the two devolved into an argument. Kacatko laughed alongside Micinka as they watched.

“Maybe,” Kacatko said a little timidly, “we could see about the four of us going on a mission. Or, you know, maybe just do some training first.”

Micinka nodded at her, saying, “That sounds good to me.” She offered a hand to Kacatko, expecting a handshake. The brown-feathered girl instead clasped Micinka’s hand with her own and bowed. It wasn’t a gesture Micinka recognized, but she got the gist of it, and bowed back. A smile from the other girl caused a little warmth to blossom in her heart. Micinka looked over at Stene and Housle, whose fight had become a laughing fit over their food.

Maybe this place wasn’t perfect, maybe the job was hard, but Micinka was absolutely certain: she would never trade it for anything in the whole world.