Dawn of Hunger [Nonhuman FMC Progression]

53 - One Bird and Two Stones


God, what now? I stared at the blood-slicked bathtub. The cleanup itself shouldn't be too much of an issue. I was fairly certain disposal of the body was normally one of the challenges, but that wasn't exactly a problem I would ever need to face. Likewise, getting rid of the clothing and various other personal items was equally easy. As for the blood, I could probably just wash out the tub. That was why I dragged my meal into the bathroom in the first place. Does that 'luminol' stuff from police procedurals work on a tub that's been washed out? I could probably look that up, which definitely wouldn't be suspicious.

Talk about least of my problems. I was starting to feel rather low, which was probably why I wasn't already hard at work scrubbing the bathtub. I am so completely fucked.

It was the start of the crash after the mania. Regardless of whether what the maid told me was true, the hotel had to be aware of her presence. It didn't matter whether she was some kind of plant—she was an employee. There were also security cameras in the halls, which meant they'd see her go into my room, then me go in, and then only one of us come out. That was a problem for when someone would inevitably realize she'd gone missing.

Maybe I could find a way to convince Katherine to find a way to destroy all of the security footage—if she was actually here. I'd of course left her behind at Club Purple, and it seemed like she was currently dealing with her own sticky situation judging by her text messages.

Frankly, I didn't see how I was getting out of this one. Dad had been quite clear that their protection extended to keeping other Star Guardians away, not saving me from the regular legal consequences of my own actions.

Likewise, being rich could only go so far. There was a lot of shit you could do that was way more harmful than a single murder, funnily enough, but outright killing someone with your own hands was crossing a specific line that was hard to slip away from.

It was, by this point, becoming quite clear that my usual reckless and impulsive nature didn't mesh well with my constant, inhuman hunger. I could make whatever justifications for my snap decision to snap that woman's neck, but deep down, I knew the truth.

I was Goddamn fucking hungry, and with the right set of circumstances, I was automatically primed for my chain of reasoning to be warped towards a specific, predetermined conclusion. I was supposed to eat, damn it, and I was subconsciously jumping at every opportunity.

Just like every other one of my kind, huh? I guess the rule of higher thought only goes so far. Sure, it was a big step up from attacking anything and everything in sight at all times, but it was really still the same old shit deep down. But since the game is already up—why not just go wild with it?

I crushed the thought. It's not over 'till it's over. I'd been stupid and reckless before, and I'd made it through by keeping calm and not taking any further drastic measures. Rather than doubling down, choosing not to throw good money after bad proved to be the superior strategy again and again.

You've got this, Alex. You can figure it out. There had to be a clean, level-headed way out of this, and I was determined to find it.

It was only a few minutes after I finished scrubbing down the bathtub that a whole Goddamn Civil Guard precision strike team battered down the hotel room door and shot me in the chest. Ow. That fucking hurts!

It hurt less than it had any right to, though, especially since I wasn't even wearing my 'armor.' The bullet did in fact draw blood, or rather, it didn't, instead splattering thin flakes of pale, slightly coppery metal around the tear in my skin.

My light copper colored, semi-solid, semi-fluid 'blood' still freaked me out a little. Hell, the mercurial saliva was already weird enough, and that was just inside of my mouth, not inside of my flesh.

I didn't bother shifting or doing anything to fight back because I was already expecting something like this. What I was not expecting was to recognize the 'people' attacking me—or for finding the 'cultists' to be this easy. "Hey Mook, long time no see."

Rather than a polite answer, I got a heavy boot stomp to my face and a bullet between my legs. This time, I bit back a scream and failed to fully hold back a pained groan. Christ, was that really necessary? "I assume that means you don't want me to talk?" I finally wheezed.

I caught a blurry thumbs up out of the corner of my eye. Got it. Stay quiet and mind your own business. I was going to guess, then, that Mook wanted me to play dead.

My 'genius' plan was to attempt surrender on one front and hope it would be better than suffering defeat on the other. Kind of like German soldiers in WWII trying to be captured by Americans instead of the Soviets. You know, maybe I should avoid making comparisons where I'm the one filling the role of the Nazis. Fascism might be making a bit of a comeback these days, but swastikas specifically still weren't a good look.

But I digress. The idea was to 'turn myself over' to the Bouquet and try to iron out any 'misunderstandings' and try my hand at making a good second impression. It was a bit of a risk—a major risk, actually—but I made the call that accelerating the timetable on my working relationship with the major crime ring was better than scrambling to cover up yet another reckless crime.

And that's how they get you, isn't it? Regardless, I made some calls, did some convincing, and then waited for someone to show up and bag me. It seemed like that was exactly what was going to happen. As for the rest of the details—like for instance, how they would play my role in the disappearance of the maid—frankly, I didn't know. I had my own ideas, sure, but that wasn't something I had any control over at the moment.

And Mook did quite literally stuff me in a bag. The whole experience was remarkably unpleasant, and it took a tremendous amount of self-control to stop myself from lashing out and escaping my claustrophobic new bindings.

It didn't help that the fucker didn't bother to carry me, despite having however many different bodies. No, the bastard dragged me all the way until I was loaded into a vehicle of some kind. And the bastard still didn't let me out of the bag. I really wanted to protest at this point, but in the interest of sticking to my current plan of doing things nice and quietly, I refrained from doing so.

Unexpectedly, and not very long into our ride, there was a tremendously loud sound accompanied by momentary disorientation and weightlessness interspersed with random parts of my body banging up against other shit and leaving me horribly bruised inside of my shitty, claustrophobic bag. Okay, last straw.

I no longer cared about staying inside of the bag by this point.

My strength and my claws made ripping myself out of the suffocating plastic cocoon a rather trivial affair, and that's when I realized I'd been ejected onto a roadway of some kind. As for the armored van I'd been transferred to, well, it was partially blown up. Well that's neat.

Then someone stabbed me.

And I mean stabbed. It was nothing like the rather unserious bullets that Mook fired earlier, and it wasn't with some tiny little pocket knife or even a kitchen armament. I had been impaled. Something large had skewered me through my back and out the other side, and I was pretty sure it was embedded into the asphalt underneath—effectively pinning me face down like an upside down taxidermy butterfly.

Attempting to dislodge myself proved unexpectedly difficult. I felt weak, perhaps due to the seriousness of the injury, and I realized I could barely see anything. I didn't even know who attacked me. Well this is… interesting…

I would like to have been able to claim that I woke up pissed, but that really wasn't true. I woke up feeling like shit. Never expected surviving an explosion and then getting impaled would make a girl feel so tired.

I was also cold. It was way too fucking cold, and I immediately knew I was in a large building with way too much air conditioning going on. The gradual return of my vision confirmed it—the place was dark, but there was enough ambient light for me to determine I was in—an empty office building? Weird.

I also realized I was both very much naked and very much still impaled. Oh come on, this can't keep happening. My clothing issues were getting really annoying by this point. As for the other issue—why doesn't this hurt more than it does?

I found myself in something close to a kneeling position, partially 'supported' by an angular metal spike jutting a foot or two straight out of my chest. There were two smaller spikes that skewered my forearms and then my lower torso, essentially 'handcuffing' me in the most brutal way possible.

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Finally, I was pretty sure there were at least two additional spikes that had been driven down through my legs, keeping me in place. Strangely, absolutely none of it was painful—just super weird-feeling and generally uncomfortable. But—why?

There had to be a reason for it. Whoever had captured me would know I wasn't a regular human just by the fact that I was still alive—so presumably, they also expected that these metal spike thingies wouldn't hurt me. Also, I'd accidentally reverted to my 'default' stable form—mostly human, but with a metallic jaw, claws, and talons. But no wings…

Oh, shit. I realized what the spikes were for very quickly when I shifted back to my full human appearance—or rather, when I didn't. Trying to 'suck' the metal back inside like I normally did felt like trying to drink honey through a plastic straw.

Likewise, I felt weakened to the point that I suddenly lost confidence in my ability to simply rip myself free of the giant spikes sticking through me like I was some kind of not quite human pincushion. Well, fuck. One extra little observation I made was that being 'weakened' from a state of massively superhuman strength was weird. I couldn't tell for sure, but I suspected I was still significantly stronger in this condition than I was before 'hatching.'

So it's not a complete power cancellation—good. I can work with that. There was one very important detail that, combined with the understanding that it was a massive impairment rather than a full block, turned this into a surprisingly decent situation. The spikes were made out of metal.

I diverted all of my attention and energy to worming my limited, tactile control of metallic substances into the spikes themselves. And man, was it difficult. I was no grandmaster of metal-bending yet, but I had practiced enough with random objects over even just the past few days to be confident I could have completely melted these things if it weren't for how much they resisted any part of my esoteric nature.

That resistance included my Anathema healing, something else which I quickly tested by scratching my hip with one of my claws. It was already starting to scab over, sure, but a tiny cut like that would have vanished almost as soon as it appeared under ordinary circumstances. Mildly concerning, but okay.

The soft thump of footsteps on thin, shitty 'carpet' alerted me to the arrival of a small group. It was still dim, since the lights were off and the windows shuttered, but I could still make out their features. In the lead was a well-dressed, middle-aged Asian man. His clothes were that 'expensive, but casual' style with which I was well acquainted—hell, he could even fit in at a golf course if you gave him a visor cap.

I felt like I vaguely recognized his face, and immediately judged him to be the leader.

Trailing alongside him were two Guardians, one—several? Anathema, fully masked like he always was. Good to see you again, Mook. I guess. I didn't recognize either of the Guardians, although I pegged them as Tier 4 and 5. Shit.

The Tier 5 one in particular was a short, very grim-looking black man who immediately set me on edge. As cliche as it might seem, something about him exuded the feeling of a man who was a professional, well-seasoned killer.

The final member of the group was someone I'd already met a couple of times—Dr. Jason DeVille himself. He looked way too happy for someone who just had his bodyguards slaughtered and his pet cat stolen.

The most interesting thing—aside from the fact that I had approximately zero chance at winning a fight against those two Guardians, even at full power—was that the older guy was a completely regular Human. I was certain he didn't have even a single esoteric augmentation. Strange.

Meanwhile, I continued working on freeing myself from the spikes. I changed tactics such that it would be less outwardly visible what I was doing, though—because I planned to talk. I wanted to avoid escape if possible, since even just running away seemed like a risky proposition—especially since I didn't even know where I was anymore.

But if it came down to it, I wanted to be as well prepared as possible.

"Hello, Alexis," Golfcourse greeted me. "You've been causing quite a stir."

"Uh, yeah," I coughed out, "Glad to hear it, 'cause stirring the pot is kind of my thing." I paused for as long as I felt like I could manage without making it weird or inviting someone else to say something. "Although I don't think we've met before. Do you work for Dr. DeVille or something?"

I knew—or rather, strongly suspected—that it was actually the complete opposite, which was exactly why I said it. Golfcourse remained unamused.

"I don't think I've ever witnessed anything close to the amount of stupid arrogance it takes for a little dog to keep barking after begging for help from the very hands it bites. It's truly incredible. I don't know if I would have believed the claims of another self-controlled Anathema if not for this."

"If you can call it self-control," the Tier 4 Guardian snickered. I hadn't been paying her much attention up until now. Just for that, I'm going to call you Snickers. Snickers kept snickering despite the way it clearly upset her boss.

"So let's just cut the bullshit," Golfcourse continued. "Here's how it's going to work. You asked for help, and you got it. Frankly, that's already more than you deserve at this point, but congratulations, you're special. That means you get the chance to pay us back for all the stupid crap you've caused. Do you even realize how much we extended ourselves just to save your ass? Mook had to take over an entire fucking Civil Guard detachment on short notice—a detachment which we had to pull strings to organize—which we then had to attack a second time just to buy you a convincing story."

I blinked. Wait, so that's how this clone bullshit works? He literally bodysnatches people?

Golfcourse scowled, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. "And don't start thinking you're clever for figuring out Mook's abilities because I slipped up. I didn't. We'd be telling them to you anyway, assuming any of this is actually going to work out."

Yeah, fair enough. I was still becoming increasingly optimistic, though. "So is this another kidnapping sort of deal? I agree to work with you, a bit of time passes, I conveniently escape—" I really wanted to mime air quotations, but that wasn't possible due to the spikes skewering my arms to my hips like a guro shish kabob, "And then play the double agent game?"

The flat look Mr. Golfcourse gave me told me that I'd gotten the wrong impression. Drat.

"No." The middle-aged crime executive folded his arms. "Alexis Huntingfield, alias Valkyrie, was a Guardian serial killer responsible for at least eleven separate murder incidents in the span of only three weeks. Earlier today, a Civil Guard precision strike—"

I absolutely had to cut him off there, although I already knew exactly where this bullshit was going. "Eleven? Seriously?" I mean, there's a decent chance I did actually kill that many people at some point during my rampage on campus, but that was a single 'incident.' Counting Bungie Guy, going feral, the fight with Luna and Dr. DeVille's bodyguards, and the hotel maid, there were still another seven 'incidents' missing. Did I miss one? I don't think so…

Golfcourse just returned a thin smile. "Maybe you did, maybe you didn't—but someone is responsible for those deaths."

I scowled even more. So he's also taking the opportunity to pin some of his own shit on me as well. Efficient. I would probably approve of such tactics if I wasn't the one on the other side of it.

"As I was saying, the Civil Guard took her out earlier today in a luxury hotel room—the same room in which she brutally murdered one of the cleaning staff to satiate her sadistic appetite. An appetite which any proper analysis of her digital fingerprint would certainly reveal."

And now, for the first time in the entire discussion, rage ignited in my chest. It was enough to halt my progress on tampering with the esoteric spikes still pinning me in place, and I had to squash it back down lest it interfere with my current unbothered persona.

How dare he.

I was now definitely going to get Katherine to absolutely nuke everything the NSA or anyone else had ever collected from my online activity.

"But alas, despite sustaining heavy injuries, the Civil Guard failed to realize that she remained alive. Or perhaps someone did realize, but had infiltrated the unit? Either way, the whole unit was attacked in transit, all soldiers were killed by means of an Anathema-based bioweapon—"

Mook, I guess? I wasn't really sure what he meant by that part.

"And, of course, Alexis was recruited by some sinister shadow organization to do, I don't know, evil fallen Guardian stuff. Perhaps they'll even manage to continue sheltering her from the reach of the law."

Well, that's super unfortunate. Could be worse, though. "I get it," I said. "Because why would you have done my kidnapping idea? After all, this story is so much more convenient. And efficient. It even has the benefit of giving you massive leverage over this Huntingfield bitch, since she's now dependent on your own protection. After all, her previous position in normal life is now thoroughly ruined."

Golfcourse nodded and smiled. "I'm glad to see we've reached an understanding."

It was weird. I almost couldn't hold it against him. Honestly, I kind of wonder when someone is going to ask about the stupid cat.

There was something more important than Dr. DeVille's cat or the start of more detailed negotiations, though. Specifically, I'd finally wormed my limited power through the spikes. It would only take a single flex of those esoteric 'muscles' to render the contraption useless and in turn free the full extent of my abilities.

So that's exactly what I did.

Several people made sounds of alarm as I ripped the spikes to shreds, simply absorbing the parts inside of me directly into my metallic, alien tissue. The rest of the metal components found utility when they melded and combined with the armored exoskeleton that wove together over every inch of my bare skin—and lastly, a jagged arc of violet lightning snapped into being between my right hand and my sword.

But I didn't move to attack or flee. In fact, I kept my posture deliberately casual and raised my other hand in a way that signalled I meant no harm. A second or two later, the sword slammed to a halt in the palm of my hand.

After first switching it over to my left, I took a single step forward. The Tier 4 and Tier 5 Guardians both looked prepared to unleash their auras and kill me at the drop of a hat. But it wasn't going to come to that.

And that was because I wasn't trying to attack or even to run. I was making a statement. "Frankly, I do appreciate what you've done for me so far. So as far as I'm concerned…" I stuck out my hand.

"...I believe that we have a deal."

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