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Another few days goes by. Ugh.
I am starting to feel very, very shitty about not going to work. Chief Connor is going to be worried and pissed, and those are a terrible combination. I can practically hear him shouting at me to get back into work, though I know that’s really only the sound of my own conscience.
The vault has bigger problems, though. Sally’s babies are now nearly the same size as me. They have grown exponentially, more or less doubling every day, and are now well over five feet long, and definitely more than a hundred pounds each. They have decimated the rations, which I heard were supposed to last a family for months.
Now they’re doing something very, very odd. They’re starting to spin silk, much the same way Order does, except it comes out of their butts instead of their hands. The three of them are all producing this material, which started as a few wisps here and there. Now it’s everywhere, coating every bit of furniture in the common living space. I’d complain, but everybody seems to find their antics adorable, no matter how strange, destructive, or outlandish.
I look to Order to see if he has anything to say about this, but he is all business. I’ve barely seen anything of him the last week thanks to his intense focus on what he has now concerningly started to call the war.
Sally is losing her fucking mind, hovering over her mutant children, trying to get their attention. But they’re past the point of wanting to giggle at the woman who layed them. They have a bigger job, and a greater agenda. She tries to get to them, but they are wrapping silk about themselves faster than she can pull it away. Like all adolescents they would rather wrap themselves in gooey exudate than have anything to do with their mothers. Little by little, they start to disappear inside their silk.
“Help!” She cries. “Justice!”
I hear the beating of moth wings on the night, as Justice responds to her call immediately.
“What are they doing!?” She grabs him by the hands and drags him over to the kitchen which has become more unappetizing a place than ever. “They’re all sticky! They’re all…
“It’s okay,” he reassures her. “They’re starting to spin. It’s like we’ve talked about. They’re going to create cocoons and they’ll pupate, and…”
“No!” Sally cries. “I’m not ready for my babies to be cocoons!”
Is anyone ever?
“You’re lucky they’re moth babies. The cocoons are relatively easy on the eye; a chrysalis, now that’s a real…”
He shuts up because Sally has started to sob hysterically as one by one, her babies begin to disappear inside silken cocoons of their own making, the last cherubic giggles falling silent in a surprisingly somber transformation. I wasn’t a fan of them, but even I feel a slight pang of loss in empathy for Sally.
There’s almost no room to move in the kitchen/living area, but that’s probably not something I should bring up right now.
“I’m going to miss them so much!” Sally wails.
“That’s why we’ll have another brood. And another. You can lay new eggs every month. Yes, it’s a little sad when they have to become a cocoon, but when they emerge they will be adults who make us proud. Come with me.”
Sally follows him dutifully into the only place they ever go, the bedroom, and before long I find myself sitting in close quarters with three big, creepy, silken cocoons, while I listen to the unmistakeable cries of Sally having a fresh brood pumped into her willing pussy.
It’s kind of hot, in a perverted, twisted way. Order and Stealth have returned from their patrols and we’re all pretending not to hear the breeding session in the bedroom, though Stealth has a grin on his face that has nothing to do with the cowboy film on the television.
This is how it’s going to be for a while, I guess. Living in a cross between a frat house and a nursery, listening to my best friend in the world get boned, and knowing that everybody probably hears when I get boned. And spanked. Dignity and privacy are in short supply among the mutants.
8
After three weeks of captivity, the war arrives unexpectedly, and in a surprisingly chill way. I am sitting up late one night, because there’s nothing else to do. Staying up has become my sole entertainment. Being tired has become a weapon that keeps me from really having to deal with the days, which I sleep through for the most part.
I have of course not been permitted to leave the underground vault, but the mutant heroes, or chimeric monsters, whichever term you prefer, have managed to recover and install quite a bit of technology, including camera surveillance, and a remote RPG which is mounted to the top of the barn. They haven’t had a chance to use it yet, but of course its use is inevitable.
One fateful evening, Stealth breaks the silence of the night. “There’s a car on the road. This is a private road. Shouldn’t be any cars except ours. This one has New York plates. Should I blow it?”
“Yes,” Order says, almost without thinking.
“No!” I shout, but nobody cares. New York plates? I know exactly who that probably is. That’s my boss coming to shout at me for being late to work. I feel a brief pulse of hope like I haven’t in a while. I feel the prospect of not feeling lonely anymore, of not feeling like the odd one out, a broken human trapped among powerful monsters.
BOOM!
It’s too late. Stealth has taken his shot. An explosion lights up the night sky, turning the darkness to day for a brief moment.
I rush toward the vault’s aperture. “What is wrong with you? That wasn’t an enemy! That was my friend!”
Order makes as if to stop me, but the look I give him seems to be enough to convince him he does not want to fuck with me right now. I am furious, a kind of angry I have not been perhaps ever. I feel righteous rage flooding every bit of my body.
