REPORT OF UNUSUAL DISTURBANCE AT WESTERN POINT

There was chaos at the border.

 

There was always chaos at the border. Despite all the Board’s claims, the Walls covered the full spectrum of human suffering. No smiling poster could cover up the bullet holes. No fresh paint could hide the bloodstains. No amount of deaths could stop desperation.

 

As the shouting grew louder, the beast besides him chirruped. This was another one of the Board’s ideas. Anghenfil was what they called them. Big fuck off bird lizards on a leash, meant to intimidate thugs and hunt down crime. This was the prototype, gifted to him to test the efficency of their new programme. She was a scary bastard, that was true, standing near 8ft with the claws to match. Beautiful though. Thick muscles under glossy scales, soft feathers hiding skin like steel. All blue and purple and red- the colours of the Civil Militia. Formed under his name.

 

The beast chirruped again. He put his hand out and she fell silent.

 

But there was a new noise out here now. Above the screams. Something high and desperate and animal. Moulin quickened his pace. His grip on his gun tightened. His radio crackled but the sound went unheard as he rounded the corner and saw just what the chaos was.

 

A woman, twisting and writhing in the grip of armoured soldiers policemen, screaming and gasping like a hooked fish, and beside them-

 

a pterippus.

 

Rearing on powerfully muscled red legs, kicking out with sharpened hooves, golden wings flaring wide. Ropes hung from its sides, tangled around the horse’s thick neck. More men surrounded it. His own beast bellowed at the sight. The pterippus screamed in answer. With a horrendous snap the woman’s arm broke and she wrenched herself free from the guard’s grip. She looked up. Moulin met her eyes. He saw.

Flushed red, sinuous and slick, the Contract stretched thin between her and her horse. He knew what she was about to do. Up came his rifle. The shot rang out.

 

She screamed and dissolved. The bullet cut into the wall where she’d been standing. His beast sprung forth just as the pterippus grew. Its bolstered hooves caught her hard in the chest, sent her to the ground in a single blow. Yet as she fell her claws swung upwards and caught the equine’s wing. It tottered for a moment on two legs, then toppled, dragged down by the weight of the lizard. His beast sprung up as the horse rolled. Bared razor talons. Ran forth as the horse raised itself. Another gunshot. Blood arced outwards. The pterippus stumbled as it lunged. Teeth closed on empty air. His beast had ducked below and now surged upward, jaw opened, beak closing around tender flesh. More blood. The combined horse bucked hard, but the lizard’s grip was sure. She held on with grim determination. Wings beat against the ground to no avail. Between the sweep of feathers Moulin saw the Contract twist and whistled.

 

His beast dropped the horse. It hit the ground and stayed there, wings twisted in an unnatural curl, neck outstretched. The woman lay beside it, gasping, pressing her hands to the pterippus’ gaping throat. Blood flowed between her fingers in sluggish pulses. He clicked his tongue and his beast circled back to him. His gaze ran across her body. She seemed unharmed. His men surged forward, weapons at the ready.

 

Moulin lowered his own.

 

“You have committed an offence trespassing on Viperalm land with attempts to assault an officer. Care to explain yourself?”

 

The woman looked up. Her hair clung to her face in thick black strands, soaked with sweat and blood alike, and her eyes contained nothing but pain. Her expression however was of confusion and fear.

“You’re a Slipskin?”

 

Moulin tipped his head, just slightly. Behind him he felt his beast creep closer, hot breaths ruffling his hair. The animal stink of her was vile. He made a brief gesture and she pulled away.

 

The woman’s gaze hardened.

“No. Clearly not. Just another man taking advantage of a better creature.”

 

“Answer the question.”

 

She looked back down to her pterippus. To the blood still flowing from its throat. Tears gathered in her eyes, left squirming tracks down her bloodied face. She made no move to wipe them away. Her expression was stony.

“You’ve killed me. You know that, don’t you. You’ve killed me.”

 

“I’ll kill you faster if you don’t answer me. What are you doing trying to cross the border?”

 

She laughed. It was a dry hollow whinny.

“Not much of a threat, is it? I’m already dead. Look how I bleed. Killing me now would be a mercy.”

 

The horse snorted. Blood bubbled in thick foam around its nostrils. A bubble formed for a shivering second then popped and ran down its face. He could see into its throat, see the way its trachea contracted with each gasp, the vessels around it shredded and squirming. The Contract of the duo dripped. The woman’s gaze was contemptful. She was right. Threats weren’t much use anymore. He raised his rifle. Her jaw tightened.

 

His beast chirruped.

 

The woman looked up first. Moulin watched her expression change to abject terror.

 

The foal squealed as the lizard menaced it, its hooves clattering on the tile as it was driven from its hiding spot. It was tiny. Its fur was the same chestnut as the pterippus that lay bleeding before him, the wings the same golden flax. The child beside it had the same curly black coils, the same dark complexion as the woman with the bloodied hands. Tears brimmed in the girl’s eyes as she backed away, stumbling over bare feet and clinging to her horse for support. His beast pressed in close, head low, bloody beak open and dripping.

 

The woman was up in a heartbeat. She lurched before his beast, hands outstretched as if she could stop the five ton lizard alone. Her horse tried to call, blood bubbling in its open throat, hooves scraping at the ground as it struggled to stand. The child cowered behind her mother. His beast raised her claws.

 

“Arrêter.”

 

His beast stopped.

 

“Assez. Partez.”

 

She looked back at him with confused eyes. A chirrup.

 

“Attendez au bureau.”

 

The beast blinked. He waited. She looked back at the woman and her child, then to the pterippus on the floor. Back to him.

 

The lizard left.

 

Her weight brushed past him as she passed, nearly knocking him aside. He waited until her heavy footsteps grew soft and then looked back at the child. His men were equally silent. Their rifles were loose in their hands.

 

“Stand down.”

 

The foremost of the four looked at him. He was dusty blonde and had a youthful face but bitterly old eyes. They’d served together briefly. His name was Cortez.

“Are you sure, sir?”

 

“She’s already dead. The child is no threat. Stand down.”

 

Cortez slung his rifle across his back. The others followed suit.

 

“What do we do now, sir?”

That was Morgan, near the back. His blood was still red. He was the youngest of them all.

 

Moulin looked back to the woman, who now held her child in an embrace. Her body juddered with silent sobs. It was more unnerving without sound.

 

“Call in maintenance and disposal crews. This blood needs to go before it begins to corrupt. The bodies too.”

 

“And the child?” Morgan’s voice faltered on those words. So young.

 

“Ascent will want her.”

 

“NO!”

The woman’s scream was wretched.

“You can’t! Please, you can’t! She’s only a baby! Please!”

 

Moulin felt something he thought long dead twist in him. He felt vaguely sick.

 

“You brought her here knowing what the outcome would be when you were caught. She’ll be looked after.”

 

“No. Please! Anything but that! Please, god, take me instead, take me!”

 

Could he? She was dying. Ascent would find her useful, but not as useful as the child. The risk of corruption was too high with a corpse.

 

This was crazy. He’d worked alongside pegasi during the wars. They’d been indispensable in transport, able to carry supplies through even the most vicious of lines. Now they were mutants. Monsters corrupted by the Rift and the radiation, driven to madness and insanity. They had to be separated from the uncorrupted society for the safety of themselves and everyone else.

 

“She’s just a child! What harm can a child do?! Please, just let her go. Take me instead.”

 

The nearest exit from here was the airborne waste hatch. Presumably that’s how the pterippus got in- snuck behind a refuse drone as it exited the walls. The closest ground exit was over a mile away. There were plenty of patrols between here and there. Impossible to avoid them all.

 

“Sir...”

Cortez’s voice was guarded.

“Permission to speak freely?”

 

“Granted.”

 

“This is off the record, to be clear. To all of you.” Cortez turned to the other three as he spoke. They nodded their acknowledgement.

“Her Contract… I could patch it. With blood, sir. I did it during the wars. She’ll live.”

 

Moulin dragged in a breath. That nauseating feeling lingered. His mouth felt sticky.

 

The girl’s eyes were huge. The woman looked on in fear. Beside them the horse shuddered, the gurgling breaths deafeningly loud in the silence.

 

“Fuck it. This is all off record. Cortez, do it. Morgan, Dupont, Kitsuragi- stand watch.”

 

The three other men moved into formation, surrounding the group in a loose triangle.

 

Cortez stepped forward. The woman watched with wide eyes.

 

“This… you are a beautiful man. A kind man. Thank you.”

 

Cortez hummed in acknowledgement but said nothing, kneeling instead into the puddle on the ground, blood staining his knees. He held out his hands over the horse’s throat. The animal in question lay still. Through half-lidded eyes a shining curve of white could be seen. Only the heaving of its chest gave away its living state.

Cortez’s eyes closed.

 

Moulin let his drift closed too. The darkness was immediate but not lasting- the burning lights of Contracts pushed through. He could see the pulsing red rope of the pterippus woman’s, dripping and fraying, words blurred and fading. Cortez’s hovered above it, silver and sturdy.

 

He opened his eyes again. Cortez had pulled the knife from his belt and now pressed it to his inner arm. The fine point dug into his skin. Blood ballooned at the tip. He drew a long clean cut across his forearm and the droplets rose up like beads, near luminescent. A clenched fist drew the beads together into an overfilled globule that slipped and fell from his skin into the open throat of the horse. The woman shuddered.

Moulin watched. Dusky red, a faded crimson more akin to pink. These words weren’t new but rewound from the past, repetition of old ideals, freezing the injury to a previous point of reference. An old trick built originally for transportation of the severely wounded.

It was careful work. Blood work was not a skill Moulin excelled at.

The pink shivered. Old words didn’t like to reawaken.

 

“Sir. I need… I need more blood, sir.” Cortez’s voice was remarkably steady. He had done this many times.

 

Moulin moved forward. Crouched beside Cortez, his shoes splashing in the mess. Took his own knife and brought it to his wrist.

“How much?”

 

“Just a few drops will do. It’s only to double-check the Contract.”

 

He drew the blade across his arm, a feather-light kiss that brought a bluish sheen to the surface of his skin. His blood welled readily enough. Its own subtle glitter slipped from his wrist. Just another fraction to the mess below. His own Contract sat heavy behind the others’, white as snow but nowhere near as pure. He could feel Cortez hovering at the edge of it. It was disconcerting. But blood work always was. Contract work was worse.

 

Then there was something else. A rumbling, a screech, and he looked up to see his beast reappear. Morgan’s rifle swung up towards her but he was cast aside like a ragdoll with a sweep of claws.

His beast bellowed. Her eyes were wild pools of anger. Her beak was open and ready to cleave Morgan in half. Moulin did the only thing he could.

 

Her Contract burned to the touch. It wasn’t natural. It was wholly artificial, cutting into him, reeking of burning plastic. Its heavy black mass met his and

 

stopped.

 

Moulin became aware, suddenly, of the blood on his hands. The same blood splattered across the pale face of his beast. Her reptilian gaze met his. He could feel her in his Contract. He had a hold on hers. It pulsated like a black sea, crashing against his own in heavy waves. It was an oddly comforting feeling.

 

“...sir! Sir! Should we shoot, sir?!”

 

Kitsuragi was shouting. Oh. How long had he- the Contract vanished from his grasp. His slipped, no longer propped up by the heavy black ocean of the beast’s. The beast herself had stood back, laid now on the tile like an oversized chicken, looking on at the scene with serenity. Cortez was still beside him. Somehow he’d managed to keep a grip on his words during that. His silver Contract was shivering but holding fast.

The pterippus herself was clutching her child. Her Contract had stopped dripping.

 

“Stand down! Stand down!”

 

His own voice sounded foreign. He felt a vague sense of detachment about it all. He felt as if he was in a dream. It was someone else shouting that, someone else with command and control.

 

Kitsuragi stood down, as did Dupont. Morgan had recovered from the blow- it hadn’t had any force behind it, not truly- and now pulled himself to his feet, clutching his ribs.

 

“What the fuck happened there?”

Cortez. He was extracting himself from the work, the cut on his arm ceasing to bleed.

 

“I think… it was my blood. She- it- the beast sensed it. The objective is only to keep me alive. Blind loyalty.”

 

“Jesus. They built those things too well. Where were they during the wars?”

 

Moulin felt himself pull away from the pterippus. Stood up. Held his hand out to Cortez, who gladly accepted. As the other man rose strands of drying blood pulled at his trousers, sticky and congealing around his knees.

 

“How’d you stop it anyway? Just one look and it quailed like you’d shot the thing.”

 

Moulin looked at his beast. She looked back with wide eyes. Trusting. He could still feel the lingering sting of her Contract from when he’d grabbed it. He hadn’t done that since the wars. But he hadn’t forgotten how. Contract work came to him like breathing.

 

“I think it saw I wasn’t hurt. They’re designed with intelligent disobedience. Once it knew I was safe, it reverted to my last order.”

 

Cortez laughed.

 

“Shit, I want one of those now. Your own personal bodyguard, huh?”

 

“Yeah. You good, Morgan?”

 

Morgan looked up with a grin that was more a grimace.

“I’m okay sir. Armour took most of the blow.”

 

“Now you’ve learnt not to stand in the way of an angry Anghenfil then?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Moulin looked back at the mother. She was kissing her child now, and whispering to her. Handing her a small necklace. Then she stood on shaking legs. Looked with bloodstained eyes to Cortez.

 

“Take me in. Do as you will to me.”

 

Cortez looked to Moulin. Moulin nodded. Cortez drew the cuffs from his vest and stepped forward. She let herself be cuffed without a word.

 

“What about the horse?” That was Kitsuragi.

 

“I’ll take the girl. Once I’m gone, contact Ascent directly. They’ll send a van.”

As he spoke Moulin stepped forth, towards the child. The girl quaked and ran to her mother, clinging to her legs with childish determination. Beside her the filly whinnied, scraping at the ground in false bravado. Fear soaked their Contract.

 

“You’ll save her, won’t you? You’ll uphold your promise? Please, sir, please save her.”

 

Moulin looked back to the woman. He could still feel the damp residue from her blood on his hands.

“I promise.”

The mother smiled. It was a genuine smile, and it was somehow sadder than any other expression.

 

“Hyacinth. Florence. Listen to me very carefully. Go with this man and his beast. He will lead you to safety. Go find the clan. And never ever let go of that necklace, okay?”

 

The child looked up at her mother with wide eyes.

 

“Go now. Go, and be safe. I love you. I love you so much.”

 

Moulin took the girl’s arm. She didn’t struggle when he pulled, leading her away towards the service drone entrance. Her filly lingered by the adult pterippus. Eventually the girl stumbled and the young horse came running back to her.

 

His own beast followed a few paces behind. She was weirdly quiet. The girl- Hyacinth -kept stealing glances towards her, shaking with each look, but refusing to draw any closer to Moulin either.

Instead she clung to her ppterippus- Florence -her tiny hands bunched in the red mane.

 

It wasn’t far to the service entrance. It was a smaller port, a 2×1 meter square launching out over the wall for the waste drones to enter and exit from. He wondered just how the woman managed to fit all four of them through it.

He passed his card across the keypad and it yielded, the hatch sliding open to reveal the dizzying drop outside. He looked to the girl. He looked at the drop.

 

“Do you know how to fly?”

 

Hyacinth shook her head.

 

...Well. There was one plan gone.

 

His beast chirruped.

 

He looked back at her. He looked at the drop. He looked back at her. She chirruped again. He looked at the drop even closer. And then he saw it.

 

A folded service ladder. A tiny steel contraption bolted to the side of the sheer drop. He reached out, holding the frame of the exit with one hand, and nudged the ladder with the other.

 

It unfolded with a clatter. Now it ran near the full length of the wall, a four foot cut off at the bottom- presumably to help prevent creatures climbing up it. Nothing that would stop anyone climbing down though.

 

He looked at the girl. He looked at the drop.

 

“I’m going to have to carry you down.”

 

Hyacinth’s eyes widened. She shook her head frantically, curls bouncing.

 

“There’s no other way. The Ascent crew is already at the scene with your mother. The other way has too many guards. You came in this way, you’ll have to leave this way.”

 

Hyacinth shook her head again and pointed to her horse. Moulin understood.

 

“I can’t carry both you and your horse. You’ll have to leave it behind.”

 

The girl froze. Then she turned to him.

 

“I can’t!”

 

So she did speak. Her voice was nearly silent, a rusty whisper full of fear.

 

“It can’t fly yet. I can’t carry both of you. You have to leave it.”

 

“She can’t stay! I’ll die if we’re apart!”

 

“You’ll die if you’re together.”

 

“You don’t understand!”

 

“I do.”

 

“No, you don’t!” Hyacinth was crying now, again. Her face was striped like a tiger with tears old and new. Her horse pressed in close to her side, and if she could cry she likely would be.

 

His beast chirruped. She’d found a box and now held it between her fore claws. Moulin glanced inside and saw within it climbing harnesses from the maintenance crews. The box itself was a fairly decent size. He looked back to the filly. The beginnings of a plan were forming. It was a terrible plan, but he’d done worse and survived.

 

“What if I carried you down, while my beast takes your horse out the other exit?”

 

“...what?” The tears had stopped at least.

 

“I carry you, the beast carries your horse. It’ll take it out the other exit. It’s allowed to wander the walls, people won’t question it. They will question you, even if you’re with me.”

 

“Why can’t we both go out the other exit?”

 

“You can’t both fit in the box.”

 

“Yes we can! Look!”

 

The girl scrambled into the box, which his beast had laid on the floor. Her horse attempted to climb in after her.

 

They did not both fit.

 

“We need to hurry before we’re found. Tell your horse to stay in the box alone. You’re coming with me.”

 

Hyacinth shuddered. She hugged her filly tightly about the neck and pressed her face to her fur.

 

Then she got out of the box.

 

Her horse remained in it. With only one body, she just about fit, curled up tight like a baby in the womb. Moulin picked up the lid.

 

“You’re going to seal her in?!”

 

“Unless you want everyone to see her, yes, I’m going to close the box. She’ll still be able to breath.”

 

Hyacinth watched with wide eyes as Moulin gently put the lid onto the box, pushing it just enough to hold with no seal.

 

His beast stepped forward to pick it up. Hyacinth gasped.

 

“She won’t hurt Florence.”

The girl looked round at that, surprised that he knew the horse’s name. The momentary distraction allowed his beast to lift the box between her claws. Hyacinth gave a full body shudder but said nothing more.

 

While they’d been talking, Moulin had been looking through the box’s contents, which his beast had helpfully emptied onto the floor before the filly climbed in. Now he finished buckling the worker’s harness, the safety rope hanging from his chest. He’d found another for the girl- it was far too big, but he figured some careful knots would work well enough.

 

“Come on. Put this on.”

 

Hyacinth took the harness with some trepidation. She struggled buckling it together. Moulin reached out to help. The light caught on the blood on his hands and the girl flinched away. He stepped back instead.

 

“Right. Climb onto my back and attach the rope to my harness.”

 

He knelt as he spoke. The girl looked at him. She was still afraid of him.

A distant shout was heard. She jumped, then rushed forward, slamming into his back in terror. She was shaking, he could feel it. Her small hands fumbled with the carabinier as she clipped it onto his harness. Her arms wrapped around his neck. He felt vaguely threatened.

 

Moulin stood. The girl weighed almost nothing- clinging as tight as she was, he could still barely feel her. He walked to the edge of the port. Looked out into the endless sky. The smell of the plains was nearly physical, a heady warm scent of decay and rot against the cool air conditioned smell of the walls. He leant out, found the ladder, and clipped his harness to the handrails running along its edge. It wouldn’t slow his descent but at least he wouldn’t fall backwards into the abyss.

 

He looked back into the cool blue depths of the corridor, met the eyes of his beast.

 

“Allez au 42A. Prenez la boîte. Retrouvez-moi dehors.”

 

The beast blinked.

 

He swung his leg over the edge, felt his weight shift, and for a brief second hung suspended over a 40 metre drop. Then his foot found purchase on the ladder and he thumped into it with relief. Hyacinth’s arms were like tiny clamps around his throat. He could just about feel her shaking.

 

Now for the long climb down.

 

.

 

They were about 20 metres down when she started seizing.

 

He could feel it. One moment they were climbing in silence, step by step, hand over hand, foot over foot. Down and down and down in the warm night air.

 

Then suddenly he was jerked back. She’d let go of his neck and was hanging off his back, shuddering.

He could feel her harness slipping. She hadn’t done the buckles up properly.

 

He did the only thing he could do.

He let go of the ladder. Leaning entirely from his legs and the safety rope, he grabbed a hold of her legs and managed to swing her around to his front just as the harness gave. Now she was pinned between him and the ladder, held by nothing but his own two hands.

 

“Merde!”

 

She was completely unresponsive. Shaking like a leaf, every limb stiff like rigor mortis. He’d seen seizures before. This was terrible fucking timing for one though. The ladder creaked alarmingly under his weight. A fall from this height…

 

He grabbed her tight about the waist. With one hand holding her firm the other grabbed the ladder. Carefully he fumbled with his foot until he found the next rung. The thing swayed and twisted under his weight with each step, anchored only at the very apex of its rungs to the concrete wall. Below him lay stone. Moulin restarted the long climb down one-handedly while putting his faith in the workers who installed this ladder.

 

She hadn’t stopped seizing by the time they reached the bottom. He lay her on the cracked stone ground, the residual heat of the day warming her tiny body.

He looked up. A distant speck was approaching. His beast, in her arms the box, which was bucking and shivering just like the girl. A blink. The Contract stretched unreasonably thin between the duo, words pulled nearly to letters alone and red diluted lilac.

 

Oh.

 

As soon as his beast drew closer the girl stopped seizing. Her juddering breaths grew steady.

When the box was placed beside her both were silent and still. The rise and fall of her chest was the only indicator of life. He lifted the girl carefully. Placed her into the box with her horse. It was like a coffin.

 

They couldn’t linger here.

 

He couldn’t linger here. His radio hadn’t stopped squawking since this had begun. Any longer and they’d really start to question him.

 

He looked to his beast. She looked to him. He reached out again, gently this time. She went still as he met the twisting edges of her Contract, let his own press against hers, carrying with it intent. A white sliver of his soul in her own black sea.

 

The beast picked up the box with care. The girl was balanced precariously on the filly yet the beast moved with such caution neither slipped. She looked back at him, then turned, began the long walk beyond the walls. Into the plains.

 

He watched them go until they were just another smear on the horizon, then turned away.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

The office was quiet now. At last. It felt like the stream of people had been never-ending at one point. Everyone wanted to know what had happened with the pterippus and the woman. The paperwork hadn’t ended even after the people petered out. So much to fill in. The joys of civilian life.

 

He’d just finished writing yet another copy of his account of things when he heard it. A distinctive chirrup. Moulin looked up with a smile on his lips. His beast stood in the doorway, head tilted, looking quite pleased with herself. He reached out, found her Contract, and collected the tiny sliver of white he’d left there. It’d done exactly what he wanted it to do. Or maybe she’d have done that anyway, without his guiding soul. Moulin stood from his desk. Walked to the side of his beast, ran his hand over her side. She pressed into him with a happy rumble. He pet her a moment longer then spotted something in the feathers around her neck. A flash of colour in the sea of cyan. He reached for it, pulled it free. A flower, and a feather. Not his beast’s blue, but a distinctive golden shimmer. A small token of thanks from a little girl whose mother he’d damned.

 

He hated his job.