Gesshru

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Chapter 10

My name is Freya Savitri, and right now my everything hurts all over. 

Pain and thirst, mixed with exhaustion and aggravation, a relentless march through the featureless landscape following a barely visible line between the rocks these creatures liked to call a road. Hope swelled and the agony redoubled by the time Ontal came back into view. All watched over by an adorably sweet encouragement from that mind control parasite latched onto my skull. I stopped talking after a while, but she kept going. Her life and her ideas, strategy and tactics, the state of war and the state of her home. 

My legs hurt. The burns on my thighs were starting to blister as this armor chafes against it. Normally well fitted plastic covering might have been fairly comfortable, that foam padding softening as easily as my old space suits would have. But there was a limit to how much sweat they could absorb when not properly filtered. And there was a limit to how much salt on an open wound I could withstand before begging to sit down. 

On and on we walked. 

Up to the front gates, those Gashn soldiers on guard sliding it open. I could hear the surprised gasps at my condition better than I could see the expressions, my eyes weren’t allowed to look. 

An open pathway cleared before my feet. Soldiers in training and slaves in labor, scientists and clerks moving about with their little papers. None wanted to be underfoot for obvious reasons, but this was the first time this generation had seen a Max unit come home with damage. Severe damage at that. 

Doth didn’t look down to be sure the walkway was clear, she went directly toward that massive square building of stone and metal that served as our prison. The sliding bay doors swinging wide as handlers noticed my approach, the cold chill of a maintained atmosphere replacing the desert heat. It felt pleasant on the open gaps in my plastic, a fresh sliver over my face and onto my thighs. The slick blood, long dried and caked in sweat, was chilled quickly. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. While every Gesshru around me exploded into shouts of panic. 

“What in the Starflung blazes happened to you!” 

“Maneater has been damaged! Armor broken, guys we need help here.” 

“Get the machines working we have to break that armor off!” 

“Its melted. How did the armor melt?”

“What. Did. You. DO!” 

“Quick, medical team to floor six, now! I said NOW dammit!” 

“Ladders!” 

“Prep for armor removal, and I want a full team down here to watch for errors in the machine.” 

“This armor is warped, our automated disassembly line might not be able to cope.” 

“That’s why I want the Starflung team watching it! MOVE!”

Doth just let it wash over her as she stomped into position. Heedless to however many darted to and fro just beneath my boots in a mad scramble, always just fast enough to duck beneath that lumbering robotic movement. The roof was low for me but a towering arena for the Gashn forces. Unlike last time no other humans were being fielded, neither strapping into their armor nor coming back to have it removed, which left the four suit rigs free and available. I wasn’t entirely certain Doth could hear what was being shouted given her position up in the back of my head, but I knew she was coming onto exhaustion just as much as I was. 

Wait, no. Actually even past the pain and thirst and horrific treatment, I could still grin and bear it for longer than her if pressed. The problem is that neither of us wanted to push for that sort of endurance match. 

Another few stomps and we were between the two domed towers jutting up from the floor. A whirr and grind of mechanical gears within, the flash and spread of laser based range finding as each end scans me for a full three dimensional image. Gripping claws extend out from one side, then the other, latching onto the plastic at my chest and prying into the locked bolts. 

All of this was human technology. From our ship of course. How much they could actually understand and utilize changed with every generation, depending on how brilliant the individuals working on it, and which parts the acting rulers decided was too dangerous for any to know. They used to be able to replicate everything we had, with tech at least on part with earth’s in most fields. I suspect they’ve dropped a bit since then. Constant victory against the Cavni meant they had less reason to strive.

“Pilot Doth.” A thunderous voice booms from the speaker at my throat. “Arriving for after mission report. I formally request permission for a medical attention and record screenings.” 

I couldn’t tell how many were paying attention to what she said even as the words echoed about the confined chambers. Clicks and whirs, the robotic arms and tubes attached onto a port at my left side to suck free any trapped Cavni soldiers I might have with me, while the one on my right smacked into my exposed flesh and twisted against the burn marks.

A hiss of pain. A pox on the useless fucking shitstain engineer fuck of a bastard fuck who I very strongly disliked in that moment given I had to suffer through his incompetence and ow fuck ouch godammit stop twisting already! The damned machine unable to realize the expected tube port wasn’t there anymore. None of the standard safety features a human engineer would have tried to put in deploying as intended. 

Oh, this left all of the Gesshru around me scrambling like mad to fix the problem. Taking small tools and working at the ruined slag of what was once polished plastic by hand, or assuming direct control of the claws and then clumsily working their way around it. 

My boots come of, snapping apart through the center as bolts and clamps are peeled away. A blood-soaked flood splatters to the ground, dried red and chilled crimson mixed with sweat and salt and puss. Infection? My immune system was going into overdrive then, boosted immune responses meant increased symptoms but a less lethal disease, and I’m sure the medical nanites flowing through me hardly appreciated direct abrasion on burned flesh. 

Hrm, I wonder how many nanites I even have left, it’s been years since I was last injected.

More snaps. The Gesshru engineers couldn’t climb all the way, and at least one took to bending over and spewing his past lunch at the sight of my blackened wounds. Seeds I could tell. Probably DakeNut if I was to judge the colors. Bright electrical burns that licked just across the skin, cauterizing before it could reach the muscle. Leaving something that looked more serious than it actually was, horrifically painful but not much stopping power. 

Wait, no … a second Gesshru also puked. And then a third. 

A fourth? 

The bodies had to be ushered away so that others could work, everyone seeming apprehensive about the dried and dripping blood. The sheer stink of unwashed human legs that have been soaked in a tight chamber, in the hot sun, while hiking for hours.

What did Doth say about a shower? 

I could use a shower right now, and maybe if these Gashn forces are disgusted enough by the smell they would actually let me have one.

Getting to the shoulders and waist required use of those robotic claws, mechanical screwdrivers and bolts as, one by one. sheets of armor were unclasped and then tucked away into specially fitted compartments. The pauldrons pulled off, the gloves slipping free one finger at a time. My torso armor came off in four discrete chunks all designed to fold into each other and overlap with a gap beneath the armpit. Each bit of plastic, intact or melted, held securely in some metal claw so as not to fall and crush the workers beneath me. 

Once I was left bare in every location save the helmet and my befouled undergarments, Doth strode forward. 

I could see them, nervous looking Gashn soldiers in white clothing. The nurses and healers, none of which had any experience treating a Max. How long has it been since a human was ever injured enough for it to matter? If it was less than six months, it was before these people’s time. Every single nurse was a young one. 

The fact I’d eventually heal on my own certainly didn’t help make them feel needed, just panicked at the thought they’ll be thrust into something with no idea how to help. Or what to do. And of course every one of them was afraid they’d be the next victim of the infamous Maneater, so that might play a role in their upcoming performance.

A slap of bare feet onto a cold tile floor. Jerky and mechanical motions, turning down the hall and past a long set of doorways. One. Then two. Then three, a turn right to my cozy little prison cell. Doth pressed my hand to a section of the door and attempted to push it up into the roof by hand, not bothering to wait for the assistants down bellow to handle these minor things for her. This woman thought she knew me, and from all her experience I was loyal and kind. Doth wasn’t going to care about keeping up security protocol. 

Excellent. 

Either that or she was far too tired and wanted out of my helmet as badly as I wanted control of my legs. 

My room was unchanged, but empty. The blanket tossed to one side as expected, the bowl of food near the center with the old paste still left behind, my latrine was thankfully strapped in the far end with a lid closed over the top. 

Doth left my door open and started bending down, crimson dropped to the floor and skin cracked as my body was forced to bend. Face down into the cold tiles, my left arm propping my head up while my right arm extended down to offer a bridge from shoulder to floor. My knees underneath me, almost fetal position to lay prostrate in as low a pose as any human could manage without just laying down. 

This left me thankful Doth didn’t try, after all knowing the average pilot that would have scraped up my kneecaps. 

Footsteps from the wide open walkway, two people … no, it was three? Gashn soldiers moving hurriedly. I heard a beep on the controls and that cage entrance slid close with the same mechanical awkwardness as everything else. A rush of air. We were sealed inside. 

My pilot stepped out of the back of my head with a haggard exhaustion. I felt the helmet folding away, the broken plastic of my visor starting to fold up and getting caught just below the chin. My muscles didn’t move. Nothing did. Eyes unable to turn, my throat caught. I could control my tongue and my lips, but no pilot was dumb enough to stand within range and risk getting human bites. After all those were very serious affairs for such small aliens. 

“Tasgal! I … greet you with Honors sir.” Doth responds immediately. She was the first to speak. 

“What in the name of the Core did you do with my Max?” The male pilot exploded into rage. 

“There will be an after action report detailing the events presented to our Ontal base manager as Maneater is receiving medical treatment.” She answers stiffly. “Now might I ask who your two honorable associates are, and why you thought to bring needle throwers into a Max enclosure?” 

“So you do not recognize me, little girl?” A voice answers. Male and aged, clearly well past two years old by the high pitched bass and how slow his teeth clacks were. Very close to three years old, as a senior in their military structure.

It was a voice I recognized … 

“My deepest apologies sir, but I must confess I do not.” Doth answered tactfully. Sleep already trying to claim her. 

“Don’t know who that guy is?” Tasgal shouts, one could hear his rodent feet stomp on cold tiles as he approaches my flank. “You did THIS to my Max unit, you who don’t even have claim to any Max at all, managed to be so amazingly incompetent you are the first pilot to injure a Max in all of history. And you don’t know who your commanding officer is!?” 

Tasgal lied of course, or he’s just an idiot. Or perhaps more likely every other instance in which a human has sustained injury was simply been erased from their history books. There have been lots of battles where a human and their pilot ended up being forced to flee, or having their armor shattered. 

Well …

Was two or three times to my knowledge, but that’s enough to count under the nebulous catch-all of  ‘lots’ correct? Yes, I’ll keep telling myself that in the hopes one day I die on this miserable shit stained rock.

“Pamit, miss Doth.” The tone of arrogance in his voice, but a knowing respect toward the young pilot. “At least you knew enough to address me by honorable titles. We shall commence this ‘after action’ report now.”

“S-sir?” Doth was swaying, I could tell she was ready to collapse just by the sound of her voice. Unable to watch, unable to help, and if I spoke no one would know the words. “Of course sir. The delivery to Galm was uneventful but occurred in record time, but the situation at Galm is dire.”

Tasgal interrupted. 

“Uneventful? This was supposed to be a supply run! A literal seed delivery job, and you Flung it up?” I felt his foot. Stabbing at my leg, trying to kick at the open wound. I could feel blood spurting down, the dried layer cracking apart with dull pain and fresh red dripping down. It made the bastard back away, more in disgust at what clung to his fur than anything else. I hoped he’s get an infection touching the bright green puss.

“The young pilot is correct.” Pamit stated gently. “These are burn wounds, and your armor is shattered. It must have taken impossibly terrible piloting to manage that sort of damage. Emphasis on the word impossible.” 

“Sir!” Doth did her best to stand up straight and keep a chin high, but her ears drooped over her shoulders and her tail was stiff. “Upon arrival in Galm I set Maneater into lockdown and left the pilot seat to help sort and store the supplies, the crates were delivered well before first sun. Only to be set upon by an army of Soul Eaters.” 

“Oh, right. And next you’re going to tell me the star monsters crashed down.” Tasgal scoffed. I could hear the uneasy shifting of feet, there were four Gashn here. One of which was being silent. 

“Explain.” Pamit asked simply. 

“They came from the skies as a force of twenty strong, green and blue mostly, and at least a small number of yellow Soul Eaters. Roughly half their number was struck from the sky by our needle throwers and fled to the northern jungles, while the remaining monsters slammed down and began to tear apart the camp. Some flung godbolts from up high, others walked in among the tents and buildings to route survivors, and still others trashed buildings and weapon crates in search of hiding soldiers.” 

Ha! So they were called godbolts, which makes me suspect that ‘raining starlight’ must be a different slang or perhaps region specific. Calling the lightning starlight and associating it with stars as opposed to deities might theoretically be a way for non-theistic Gesshru to describe the natural world. Linguistic details to examine later.

“That story is toilet fodder and you know it, why make up such a stupid lie if you aren’t even going to bother making it sound believable?” Tasgal was at the point of hysterics, and took to striking at my foot again. He chose somewhere new, and made sure that my blood wouldn’t stain his uniform. 

“And this damage was sustained in your battle with … Soul Eaters from the jungles?” Pamit seemed to believe her. But of course he wasn’t stupid. 

“It wasn’t my battle, sir. During my attempt to re-enter Maneater’s control port, I was snatched away by a Soul Eater and carried toward the jungles. I only survived to see the aftermath, sir. This female Max was accidentally left in Lockup during the battle, and even with full neural dampeners suppressing any control of her muscles, the Max unit still managed to rise up and fight the remaining Soul Eaters off of her own accord.” 

“Oh, so now you believe me?” Tasgal turned toward her. The shifting of feet on tile let me know everyone was backing away from him. “I told you, I’ve told everyone, this maneater can still manage to put up resistance even with full control being forced on her. Every time I get in a room I halfway expect the remote control won’t work, and that she’ll just get up and start eating people even when locked still. Now you’re telling me that not only is it possible, you’ve seen it happen?! And you are AGAINST lobotomy for some stupid girly reason?” 

“Maneater rose and went into battle to save Gashn soldiers, not only fighting off a small hoard of ten Soul Eaters who’s blasts of starfire could melt through the strongest of armor, but also chasing down the Soul Eaters that fled and tearing live Gesshru from the mouths of these beasts. I was inside a Soul Eater’s mouth alongside a Galm soldier by the name of Kepa, and Maneater here managed to rescue the both of us from its literal jaws. If I had the foresight to ignore lockdown entirely and simply allow this Max to roam freely, she would not have been so clumsy as to tank this many hits.” 

Starfire now? Interesting. It was also possible the different words were interchangeable, or at least used as such in their common language. And every single one of these variations for the same phenomenon from natural ball lightning to the weapons these creatures used carried a negative or spiritual connotation behind it.

“Hrrggn … that’s the opposite of logic!” Tasgal shouts. “When the Max is uncontrollable, you clamp down harder to keep it under control! What kind of idiot suggests taking the neural dampeners off a Max? That will just get every one of us killed!” 

“Pilot Doth.”  Pamit spoke up softly, and I could all but hear that gentle gleam in his voice. “What of Galm’s position. You mentioned some supplies were destroyed in the attack?” 

“Yes.” She answers. “More than half of their weapons were snapped or melted, but most of the food survived. The outpost commander seeks to shift location to the ruins of Scando, as their coral spires will provide air protection and are much better at resisting Starfire from these beasts than wooden buildings would do. As their population has recently been culled by Tasgal, it should offer a clean base to move to.” 

“And you are all welcome.” Tasgal huffs. 

“This I find interesting.” Pamit mused. “Soul Eaters do not leave behind garrisoned forces, they clear out entire villages and then come back for more. There were only one battalion, a hundred or so Gashn when first deployed. And they have sustained losses in the past month thanks to Cavni raiders, meaning even less than that were fighting. A force of twenty Souleaters should leave nothing behind, only empty buildings, or maybe a handful of scattered survivors who were lucky enough to evade detection.”

“Losses were heavy sir.” Doth answers with a tired respect. “Upon arrival I was informed they were eighty strong and doing well in their campaigns, after the Soul Eater attack they are now left with forty. The base commander requests a second delivery of weapons and for more soldiers to replenish their losses.” 

“As can only be expected in their position. It will go under consideration.” Pamit’s voice was so entirely non-committal, it was easy to hear he hasn’t made up his mind and didn’t especially care about the base. 

“This is rusted.” Tasgal seeths. “You are a rusted core from some Starflung speck in the sky, you know that? Saying this, to your base commander, with a straight face. What in the core is wrong with you?” 

“Oh, this reminds me.” Doth turned up her nose and simply ignored the man’s ramblings. 

“We need to lobotomize this Max! You heard her Pamit, does that sound at all safe to you? We should strip the minds of all of them! It’d be ruin if any of the Max units managed to break free of our control! Why does everyone think I’m insane for saying this? It’s just common sense!” The ravings of a lunatic that this Gashn commander might listen to. Pamit did not appear to be paying much mind.

 “Reminds you of what, Pilot Doth?” the voice of  Pamit sounded smooth and dangerous. As much as the squeakity chirps and teeth clacky purring noises could be. 

“While the Soul Eaters sustained no permanent injury nor actual death, most choosing to flee after the first needle lands true, Maneater did manage to take one out of the sky and left it unconscious on the ground. Since then Galm soldiers have used the bands from our needle throwers to restrain the beast, and as soon as there is a proper cage I suspect they wish to have it sent to Ontal for a proper scientific examination.” 

“Waitwat.” Tasgal balked. 

“A captured Soul Eater? Really?” Pamit was intrigued. 

“Exactly, sir.” Doth remained stoic and calm, if a bit wobbly from exhaustion. “Though it is but one, if we could find some way to study the creatures then we can enact better weapons against their hides or their attacks. If we can manage to make ourselves immune to their jaws and their Starfire, then we may be able to use the coasts along the northern jungles as a beachhead to strike into Cavni.” 

“I see.” Pamit mused. “Nothing the Cavni can bring to bear will penetrate Max armor, but if the jungles were traversable that would open many opportunities we have not yet been able to consider.”

“This is insane!” Tasgal all but screams. “Why are you listening to this woman, she’s lying to you! Nothing she said is even possible!” 

“Do you have an estimation of how soon this captured Soul Eater can be brought here?” Pamit was all but ignoring my pilot. 

“By standard caravan travel, it should be a week. Assuming the creature survives the trip and doesn’t manage to escape along the way. If we send another Max unit for retrieval we can deliver their much needed supplies at the same time.” Doth breathed, clear relief showing in her voice. 

“Rusted core, you people.” Tasgal huffs. “Burn my Max, you actually buy that rust spot of a story she’s feeding, and now what. Send another Max out to do the same mission she failed?” 

“Will that be the extent of your report, miss Doth?” Pamit states simply as if Tasgal weren’t even in the room.

“Yes, sir.” Doth answers with pride. “If you do not mind I would wish to see the medical ward and then rest, I hope that would not be too much of a bother.” 

“Of course not.” Pamit offers politely. “Your request for a permanent rest has been pre-approved by someone much higher than me. Agent Zer? If you do not mind.” 

 There was the sound of a rubber band snapping. The squelch of a spear jabbing through flesh, too fast for a scream and too wet sounding to have been a clean kill. I heard doth gasping for air, desperate squeaks struggling to call out some cry of alarm but not able to manage more than a wheeze. Had they punctured a lung? Next was the sound of a tiny rodent body falling to the floor, a yank and tearing flesh when the spear is pulled away and some of her clothes tear off with it. 

Doth wasn’t moving. 

“AAAAAhhhhh!?” Tasgal as the first to speak wasn’t quite as elegant as I would have hoped, but then I couldn’t even see what was happening. 

“Is she still alive? Oh, do be silent before you meet the same fate.” Pamit scoffed. I could hear him walking. 

“She isn’t dead yet.” The voice of an unknown Gesshru. Male and rugged by their standards. The voice of someone who doesn’t talk much. 

“Now that is fortuitous. Carry her toward the direction of our medical ward, but actually take her to the torture chambers. If anyone asks you under my orders.” 

“What. Why. How … WHAT?!” Tasgal balked, his mind all but snapped by the sound of it. 

“Does this surprise you, Pilot Tasgal Flits?” 

“You shot her! She was an idiot woman but you … why did you shoot her? Who the core do you think you are!” 

“Why sir Flits.” Pamit was turning up his nose by the sound of it, pompous and sure of himself. “She was not shot on site, her injuries were sustained in the field of battle. By Cavni Federation soldiers who ride atop trained Souleaters, their idea of a counter to our max units. Though she perishes not a day after delivering this frightful news, we now have an example of the easterner’s war mounts.”

“You … you planned this. You came in here planning to kill her.” 

“Doth Renfi died of war injuries, and she dies a hero, the only survivor bringing us news of this deadly, deplorable federation tactic. Unless you wish to join in her fate as a national hero, Pilot Tasgal, I would suggest you repeat this truth to any who asks.” 

“That … wha- …” Tasgal was speechless.

I could hear grunting. I could hear blood splatters, a weak moan as Doth struggled to move, struggled to breathe. I could hear them walking. Tasgal staying behind even when the metal doors slide open and shut all too noisily behind them. I couldn’t see it. Still unable to turn, still no control granted back. But Tasgal remained.

He was breathing hard.

The pilot started to pace, always sticking near my back end as if afraid of getting within range of my teeth. 

“This is insane.” Is all he manages to say before the doors open and Tasgal himself walks into the halls by his lonesome. Leaving me disappointed that he didn’t stay behind long enough for me to kill him. Frustrated at the fact I still couldn’t move. And above all, depressed. That I knew this was going to happen, and no matter how many times I told it to her this still caught Doth by surprise.

She wasn’t the first.

Doth wasn’t going to be the last. 

Now just another name to add to that list, another regret alongside Galno, Twali, meaningless names to blur together. The memory of Prolam and Notla, a death so similar to Elak’s. Everything I’ve learned about her, all meaningless now. As if her story didn’t matter, her life less important than every other pilot before her. How many until I forget her entirely. How long must I endure before the death stops mattering in my mind, until the list of names becomes so long I stop bothering to keep track?

It was minutes of tranquil agony in a silent room before control of my own limbs was returned to me. Slumping forward, head touching the ground and my entire weight baring down. I staggered up into a crawl, not even bothering to stand on two legs. This was the first time in a long time I was too tired to rush toward the door and slam my fists against it. Too depressed. Far too thirsty, the pang of hunger burning away.

Too hopeless.

I crawled like a child to my food both and water. Making sure to take long sips through cupped hands, a tiny bit at a time just to keep my parched lips wet. Drops spilled down my chin, and I didn’t care. There wasn’t a point in caring anymore. There hasn’t been much point in caring for a long time now.

“H-help …” that weak voice muttered. A squeak, cry of alarm with an embarrassed pleading. There in my food bowl was Sotoral, naked and soaked through with dried gray paste staining his fur. The inside of the walls too high for him to reach, the soft mush far too diffuse for him to pile up and climb out. He didn’t look starved at least and there was probably enough liquid in the food for his paltry water requirements. 

But he’s obviously spent the better part of a few hours inside here, and I doubt he’s enjoyed it. 

My hand scoops down to pluck a dollop of food near his feet, bringing the mush to my lips and having a taste. Fur and meat, the flavorless paste now with an unmistakable hint of rat that would no doubt have soaked into the whole batch by now. For some reason all I could be thankful for was the fact it didn’t taste of blood. 

“You’ll be fine.” I squeaked back with a resigned sigh. “Fine until you die too. Just like all the rest.” 

“I can’t … please help me out? I’m n-not a food, I promise! Just … just get me out of here.” He seemed to offer this strange mix of boredom and panic. As if the sheer loneliness of his position weighed down on him, yet he still couldn’t help but flinch back at the idea of me adding his flesh to my meal. 

A gentle hand reaches inside to pull him out. Dripping paste and curling up in terror, hugging at my finger to keep from sliding off as his chest and arms were far more slick than was strictly necessary. I’m not entirely certain if his yelp was at being lifted so high, or when a half slip almost causes him to drop, but he seems immensely relieved when placed down on bare tiles. 

I thought about dipping him in the water to wash off, but Gesshru don’t handle temperature differences as well as humans. He might freeze to death or go into shock if he couldn’t maintain core body temperature. The safest way to clean him would be to lick off all of the offending paste, the flavor wasn’t too bad if a little musty and it’s not like I’d be offended at the prospect. But he might be, and reasonably so. I didn’t really want any part of these rats anywhere near my mouth if I could get away with it. 

Sipping another drip of my water and now staining the drink gray as it rinses my fingers off, I was left with the distinct impression I should be glad that Doth wasn’t another corpse left behind for me to eat. That would not be pleasant to try and explain to this fellow prisoner. 

“The Gashn.” He pipes up quietly, wiping his arms off and taking to shake the paste free. “They have infighting it seems. I didn’t realize they’d kill their own so ...” 

He pauses. 

“So callously?” I answer back, and the man’s ears flat down. He seems to have trouble lifting them back up when that paste sticks them together, his horns pointed in alarm and his hands forced to tug his ears free. 

“So heartlessly. It’s like their leader doesn’t have a soul. And he doesn’t want his soldiers to have a soul either.” His words made me wish to file this away for any reference to legends or stories that involve people losing their soul while still alive, something that might be useful in understanding turns of phrase. 

“More eloquent then I would have put it.” I mumble back. Taking another long gulp, before finally deciding to put wet hands directly atop my wounds. Wiping the blood away and massaging cold, damp water over the aching skin. If I didn’t clean out the infection I’d still be just fine, either my boosted immune system deals with this planet’s bacteria and I cope, or I succumb to it and die. Either way was a victory in my eyes. But healing is faster if the injury is cleaned and the pain ebbs away as my touch graces the skin. 

“W-we … we need to escape.” He glances around as if anyone was listening. They were of course, not all the time but there were cameras pointed at us and occasionally people would watch it to see what we were doing inside this cage. But he either didn’t know this or didn’t care, because he kept talking anyway. “Both of us need to escape, alright. This place … it isn’t good for you either. And I don’t think I can make it out unless I have your help.” 

“I’m all ears. All two of them” I shrug, closing my eyes and wiping gentle palms against my ribs, down my face, splashing water between my armpits and just feeling that difference as salt and blood are moved to the floor rather than my skin. 

Soto pulls his ears back, but his horns pointing forward told me it was the volume and the sound making him uncomfortable as opposed to the actual content. 

“I’ve got a plan for our escape, if you won’t mind hearing it …” 

Another pluck of the food, downing it with desperate gulps once I was certain I’d paced myself enough. My response to his statement was a crude belch, couldn’t be helped, but he must have assumed this was an energetic roar. Because he didn’t take long trying to put me to work.