The lights in the room strobe erratically, reflecting off the creeping spread of black fluid as it covers more and more of the white tile floor. It spreads out like flowing ink, filling grout lines like tiny canals, and joining the oily crimson that flows around the bodies. So many bodies.

They come in lab coats, business casual, body armor, the uniforms of officers, strewn about and marked clearly with identical killing blows in the center of the chest; no blood, no viscera, just ink.

I am surrounded by burning cinders, linked by invisible thread.

I can feel the urge to vomit building up again but I'm completely empty inside. All that comes out is roaring, screaming, in too many voices. Only some of them are mine, the rest are extrapolated from vague memories and I can feel them slipping away.

Amid the sound of alarms, the crackling of fire, the discharge of sprinklers, and the warping of my own form, I become aware of new voices coming from behind me, and in a single flicker of the lights, I am facing them.

More lab coats, adorning a pair of survivors, jackal and wolf. They fight over a third, their chest freshly blasted open, but this one's still got their insides, mulched as they are. 

The wolf's words fade into clarity, “Think about what you're doing!"

I recognize the body.

The jackal is next. “Stand aside!"

It's mine.

“Martin! It's your life's work! You shouldn't even be handling it like that!"

I'm dead.

“My family is my life's work! I'm not going to just let my kid die if I can do something! Move."

So what am I still doing here?

>>>>>>>>>

I jolt awake as the pager that has nearly slipped out of my hands finally buzzes, fumbling with it for a few moments in an effort to not drop it. After the initial startling wears off, I rest it on a thigh and rub the drowsiness from my eyes, as best as anyone ever can, anyway.

Number 11 to booth 4, about time. I get up from my chair, trying to stretch as innocuously as possible, there's so many people watching so I can't do all the groaning and joint popping that I'd like to, but it suffices for now.

In front of the counter, I settle down into an identical chair; coarse, red cushions affixed to a mass-produced metal frame spray-painted matte black. Perhaps an attempt at a bold statement in what is otherwise the single most inoffensive and boring bureaucratic office I've ever set foot in. Hardwood dividers and counters stand up on a plane of short carpeting in that dark blend of color that one can't really place, and the walls are just so beige.

In great and most welcome contrast, however, is the bull in his uniform of sweater vest and long skirt on the other side of the glass, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses and offering a polite smile.

“Terribly sorry for the wait, how may I assist you today?" he asks. His voice is higher than I would have guessed from his bulky build, and delivered in an almost melodic cadence.

“Oh, it's not a problem," I assure. “I was told to get myself some visitor documents, since I'm going to be here a while."

“We can arrange that for you," he says, already stacking some folders. “Do you have any documents we can reference?"

“I uh… I don't," I admit. “I'm here for refuge after the sunstorm that hit my island." Not quite a lie, but I'm omitting a few truths, just as directed.

“Oh, I'm truly sorry to hear that. Lucky for you, we've got the Archives to the rescue!"

“Oh yeah, good…" I try to monitor my tone carefully. They're the Dominion's greatest asset after all; an organization dedicated to knowing everything about everything, to empower the state. It's no secret that they spy on everyone, borders be damned, so I wonder just how much they'll know about me.

“I'll just need your name if that's alright; the full, please."

“Merion Moraya Kane," I state clearly.

“Love it. Sit tight a moment; you can grab a magazine if you like," the bull says cheerfully. I don't think it's just mandated politeness either, none of the others on his side of the glass have quite the same air. I think he must legitimately like what he does.

He turns in his chair in his semicircular alcove to face a mounted array of lightbulbs, pressed flat in the direction of their sockets, aligned towards him; it's a newer, more modern display than the clattering panels and pinholes I'm accustomed to. As he begins to type, the winding filaments within begin to glow from right-to-left, forming letters.

“I'll be alright, thank you though," I say, as I lean back as much as the chair will allow and take in all the nothing this place has to offer, remarkable in its own way.

I spend a while doing that; I very nearly doze off again by the time the clerk speaks again.

“Hello again! I think we've got everything we need, but I do have a few questions…"

Oh boy. “What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up quickly.

“Well, your record looks normal for the most part; major things timestamped and everything from a few days after birth onward…"

See? See what I told you?

“...but there's a bit missing here," he continues, presenting me with some printouts. “As you can see there's this biiig redacted section that stretches from 2.142 to 5.142."

White tile floor. 

“...so if there's any info you can fill in for me..." oh gods he's still going? I blanked out for a moment, what did I miss? “...but then we've got an attachment for that whole section too."

“O-oh really?" I say, trying to appear calm despite my pounding heart. “What does it say?"

He flips through the printouts, presenting one in very fine print, save for the sweeping signature at the bottom that I have no hope of making out.

“It's a little bit dense but my abridged version is that it says not to worry about it. Now, it's a Warden who signed off on it, you could really only do better if it was the Admiral or Empress, so if he says not to worry, we don't have to. However, if there's any information you can recall, we can get it recorded and verified just for posterity's sake, nothing else."

I breathe out before I can stop myself, hoping it didn't betray too much relief. “Well I mean, that was all the way back in '42, I don't remember to check if my socks match, let alone the events of five years ago."

“You entered barefoot," the bull points out matter-of-factly.

“...So I did. ...Case in point, right?"

“I suppose so! Well, it's a shame we've got such a big section of your life missing but we can at least infer you took on undeath at some point therein, because I couldn't find any other possible starting point from then on and I was very thorough. I'll be sure to make a submission later, but for now… let's get you those papers."

“Ah, wonderful!" I'm doing a progressively worse job of masking my feelings here. “Thank you so much."

“This will take a little bit, but the offer for reading material does stand," he reminds me as he gets back on the terminal.

“Thank you so much," I repeat, with the exact same tone. This is going to be one of those things I suddenly remember late at night five years from now to rob me of sleep, I'm sure of it.

Something like half an hour later, I'm standing outside the bureaucratic center, gripping a small, leather-bound booklet with my name debossed above the triangular Nayre Dominion crest, rising from the bottom edge. And it only took all morning. I guess it could have been worse; say what you will about the Dominion, I certainly will, but getting registration here is so much easier than basically anywhere else. After all, they already have all your information.

Tucking the booklet into a pocket, I start down the steps, out from under the stone canopy held up on so many pillars, and out into the sunlit streets.

Jeden has a much different feel to it than the towns left in urban stagnation out on the waves. Even at nearly the southernmost point of the continent, it's definitely seeing the benefits of being part of the mainland.

Canals run through the city in great abundance, the streetways on either side being linked by arching bridges. Ships of all variety come and go, more often carrying cargo than soldiers, a welcome change.
The scent of various foods overpowers the mustiness of the sea, serving as a reminder; Yhana wanted to meet for a late lunch around… twenty minutes from now, I realize, glancing from clock tower to clock tower; there are so many. I'm glad I didn't take longer than I did in there. Now if only I could remember where exactly she wanted to meet…

“That didn't take you long."

I jump a bit, but I realize it's Suraokh before I even finish turning.

“Some would beg to differ," I chuckle, leaning back against the railing of the bridge, but then my eyes do land on him. “You're wearing clothes."

The plush kangaroo shrugs very slightly at that, mimicking my posture not unlike how he mimicked my wardrobe. Well, the hoodie anyway. The gray article is all he's wearing, modesty preserved by his abridged plush lack of anatomy; it'd be a generic enough look if not for the burgundy trim.

“When did you get that?" I ask.

“Shortly after you did. It looked cozy."

He's got me there. My old one, ruined by seawater and swords, lost a bit of its charm, so I suppose anything could have been an upgrade.

“You're going to meet them again, aren't you?" he asks me.

“As directed," I remind him. “You seemed pretty enthusiastic that I do."

“Yes, they are good for your survival," he reasons. “You must not tell them what happened yesterday. Enough people know of your nature now, we don't need more."

“I wasn't going to," I insist, suddenly somewhat irritably. “It wasn't a widely known thing before I met you either, I'm not going to start going off about it now, either."

“Keep it that way."

“Actually," I say, my mood getting the better of me, “how did you know what to look for, yourself? How did you know I'd work?"

“You have little time left. You should not keep her waiting," Suraokh deflects.

“It's a simple question," I assert. “It should be anyway, for you; you know everything, right?"

“Be cordial but don't trust her so easily," he continues, ignoring me.

“Wait, why not?" I ask. I know it's an attempt to keep deflecting but I'm actually curious. ...Aside from all the obvious, of course.

“You don't really know a thing about her, for one, and she knows… well, all that you have told her."

“...Okay, fair."

“And she has her secrets too," he adds.

“What comes to mind?"

“Where did she keep your ectoplasm, back when she shrank you?"

“What does that have to do with an--"

“Almost like she pulled it out of thin air. Like a gapwalker, right? But she's no gapwalker."

“I… hm." Good point. I remember thinking it strange in the moment but all the terror of the afternoon that followed made it a rather low-priority thought to return to.

“Curious, would you not agree? What else can she do?" He pushes off of the railing, and starts to head off.

“Wait, where are you going?"

“I like this," he states, tugging the hem of his hoodie. “I will get a scarf like yours, too."

“If you show up dressed exactly like me next time I'm gonna have a fit," I say, pinching the bridge of my snout.

“Don't be late. You're looking for Slow Evening." And with that, he disappears into the crowd. I can't say for sure that's not literal either; the moment someone passes between him and I, I can't find him anymore.

Slow Evening, then, I think that's what Yhana said too. Heading across the canal, I make note of the landmarks she described to me, though a street name would have worked just as well. I can read Xemba just fine, really, it just takes me a moment.

I amble a bit on the way there, just taking in the city, as much of a tourist as it must make me look. I frequently find myself looking upwards at everything from scaffolds to skybridges, connecting skyscrapers over the smaller canals. I'm looking for one skybridge in particular, and just as I'm beginning to worry I'm in the wrong place for it, I find the pair of communal housing complexes it spans the distance between.

I'm out of breath by the time I get up there, it doesn't take much for me. But my body responds quickly to the scent of food, regulating itself just to breathe it in deeply. I didn't realize until now just how much I was actually anticipating this, but it occurs to me that the only thing I've had since yesterday evening was a couple of ration bars. Bland, resistant to chewing.

Yhana, Jori, and Leonov being there, seated on the dining side of a walk-up restaurant in the middle of the thoroughfare is almost secondary at this point, but I remember to wave as I approach. As I get closer, I realize they're already eating. I also realize that Yhana has been quick to acquire a new cape to drape her shoulders in and begin her collection anew.

"Sorry I took so long," I apologize, hopping into the seat to Yhana's left. They're all large enough to accommodate for even beyond her height class, but this one is still set a bit low for me.

"You're fine, I figured that office held you up a little bit long," she says through a mouthful of flat, square rice noodles. "Don't worry about it, I'm getting seconds for sure."

"Fair enough!" I concede.

I don't even have to do more than hail the proprietor; they know what I want, saw how I eyed the contents of Yhana's bowl. Their entire body is wrapped in robes, made form-fitting with sashes, save for the flap of cloth that hangs loosely over their hidden face, but I can imagine by the way they gesture a new bowl at me that they're raising their eyebrows expectantly.

"Oh, absolutely," I say with a nod, and they set it on my side of the counter with enough of a flourish that it spins a bit before coming to a rest. “Thank you."

Without further engagement, they get back to prepping to impress whomever their next customer may be in much the same way.

“So," I begin as I poke at a piece of tripe, “what did you want to talk about?"

“Where we go from here, mainly," Yhana replies. “For one thing, we've got no ship."

“And Captain Tsing's wounds are beyond healing out here," Jori adds, lifting her bowl up to Leonov, who eagerly takes it and buries his leather face in it. “We're being withdrawn to Iyakamraa until further notice. Either they fix her up good there, or we join a new crew."

“In the latter case, the approval process takes a lot of time anyway," Yhana says. “But either way, we're going north by rail, same as you, so we may as well stick together until our paths diverge, right?"

I mull over so much in the span of a few seconds; I don't want it to look like a difficult decision. And it shouldn't be, right?

Let's see, the criteria against her; Suraokh doesn't think I should trust her, and there was a time not so long ago she had me thinking I'd be experiencing things from as much of a perspective as chyme and corroded slag ever can.

Criteria in her favor; there are a lot of people who would have given me that perspective and she didn't. ...And how much do I feel like trusting Suraokh right now? Speaking as generously as possible for both of them, Yhana might be a little bit up-close with how she does things but that beats Suraokh's constant evasiveness.

"Yeah, why not?" I finally say.

Jori chuckles at that, giving Yhana a nudge. "A shocking turn, isn't it? Your catches don't usually come back to you, do they?"

The jackal coughs on a mouthful of food, finishing chewing it as she turns to glare at the grinning human. "Remind me why I invited you along?"

"Because I'm buying," Jori reminds her.

Yhana narrows her eyes. "Compelling, as always, Jori. Compelling as always..." Her expression softens and they share a quiet laugh before turning to face me again.

"Moving right along," she says to me, "I'm glad to hear it, and it'll save you some trouble. Thanks to our contracts, arrangements have already been made. We've got a couple of sections reserved for us, as well as sleeper compartments, so if anything else comes up, you just leave sorting things out to me."

"I'm truly appreciative," I respond. "When are we supposed to head out?"

"This afternoon. I'd have come and gotten you if the office had kept you that long."

“So it's a good thing my choice played so well with yours, yeah?"

“Oh, you just wouldn't have gotten one in that case."

“That's on-brand, I guess." I roll my eyes before swiveling back to face my meal and give it the attention it deserves. The sauce is thick enough already, I can't allow it to cool.

"This is absolutely healing, how did you find this place?"

"It's sort of a tradition to stop here on every return journey," Jori says. "I think the heavy losses spoiled the appetites of the more social among the crew, though."

I choke, but try to clear my throat as quietly as possible. The realization certainly doesn't help my appetite, either.

"That makes sense," I say, looking over to her again. "I hope it's not insensitive to ask, but do they get a formal remembrance or anything?"

"They'll make grave markers in a burial garden somewhere for them, whether or not they've got remains to embalm. It's not like I knew anyone we lost on anything more than a professional level, but I think I would still like to help out. Comrades and all, I at least owe them that much."

"You're always so virtuous," Yhana says, shoveling the last of her current helping into her mouth and continuing to speak through it. "Gotta set a good example for Leonov, right?"

"No, he's perfect as is," Jori chuckles, hugging her artificial friend close. "Aren't you perfect Leo, yes you are!" 

I would have been a bit more tentative, having seen the barbs he keeps retracted beneath the skin, but she doesn't seem the least bit worried.

And rightly so, he's just a big old lizard puppy guy now, had I not briefly seen him in battle frenzy with my own eyes, I'd be skeptical that side of him even existed.

"Finish your food, we'll get along to the station," Yhana says, nudging me to get back to it.

"So soon? I thought you said it was this afternoon?"

"Yeah. It's the afternoon now."

I sigh through my nose.

The city is much less formidable in the company of people familiar with it. It's such a different environment than I'm used to; back on the islands, urban development was more sparse, and vehicles were common to get out to the more remote places.

Here, it's all either foot or boat traffic navigating through a high-walled maze of concrete, glass, and colorful canopies, save for the occasional cable trolleys bound in from and out to places the canals don't go.

Even shoulder to shoulder, it's only about a half-hour walk to the train station, a small building in its own right, but with plenty of covered outdoor waiting areas set up at the inner edge of the well-kept yard that surrounds it.

I can see the Channel here, the snaking body of water that separates Rashuwa and Toraan. Moored in view of the station as well, is the largest ship I've ever seen, with armaments fit for a fortress. Long, white banners blow in the wind like ribbons, flourishing the Dominion's emblem at the end. In its company, two corvettes; I wonder if they're the same pair that brought us into harbor?

Though initially quite distracted by the gargantuan vessel, my eyes soon focus on something closer at the prompting of Yhana's voice. I think it's prompting anyway; my wandering mind doesn't quite parse it initially but I realize she pointed out the gathering of her crew not long after I spot them. Nym stands out among them, speaking to someone escorted by no less than a dozen heavily armed and armored soldiers; another fox, who resembles him, at least on a basic level. Aside from their physical traits, they could not clash any harder, and clash they do.

The visibly older fox is locked in what seems, from just beyond earshot, less of a conversation and more of a beratement. He trembles with fury beneath his long white admiral's coat, the light reflecting off his copper trim and garnet inlays seeming to flicker as a result. He constantly reaches out to fix Nym's posture. In calm opposition, Nym settles back into a slouch within seconds, every time.

Nym is speaking as we come close enough to hear. “...so if you'll excuse me, this train is fixing to leave."

“I can keep you here as long as I like!" the other seethes. He raises a hand, and a few among his escort step forward as if they might board the train on his command.

“And you'd do that because you love spending time with me? I'm flattered, Jenny."

I had a feeling, but now I am entirely certain that it's the prince. Aware of more people arriving, he breaks his glare with his brother, casting it in my direction. We make eye contact and I can almost taste the blood in my mouth owed to a jaw that has remained clenched vice-tight for decades. He doesn't settle on me for long, though; his head twitches to my right, observing Yhana for even longer, before turning back to Nym, uprighting his own posture, beginning to reach out, and then stopping himself in an act of self-restraint, allowing his brother to hold his pose.

“Yes, you're right. Better I don't wear my tolerance for you out here and now. Safe travels, Nymraylu."

He lowers his hand and fixes his tied-back, silver hair, then turns briskly. He heads off with no further words, his soldiers in tow. I expected him to storm off with the same bluster he had embodied until now, but he's got a much more regal air now that he's disengaged.

And Nym, visibly enjoying himself, can't resist spoiling it one last time. “See you at home!"

"What was that?" Yhana asks as we approach, making no effort to hide her uncomfortable chuckle.

"Oh you know," Nym responds. “Sibling stuff."

"I… don't know, actually," she says. "I don't think I've ever seen the two of you in the same place before."

"You can see we prefer that," he laughs. "We should find our seats, right?"

As he finishes suggesting so, bells begin to ring from the train, signifying its final call. All at once, everyone in the vicinity finishes their business, gathering up their things, or saying farewell to friends from the area, before piling on.

"Ahhh, all the good spots will be taken," Yhana groans, fighting for a place in a barely-defined line to board.

"I don't mind standing," I offer.

"Yeah you do, it's a 12-hour trip, all stops included."

"Oh yeah, on second thought!..." That puts a bit more urgency in my hustle, keeping on her heels with Nym as we board.

Benches are set up in pairs faced toward one another on each side of the aisle, and to my relief, there's no danger of needing to stand; there are plenty of seats. I notice a pair that people seem to be avoiding. As I draw closer, before I can really begin to wonder why, I find Suraokh there, curled up in an upright fetal position on the floor.

"I saved you a spot," he says, rising in a single, continuous motion. To my relief, though he's wearing a tasseled scarf in similar sepia and gold hues, the pattern doesn't match.

"Thank you," I pant out, slumping into a seat.

"It looks like Dahlia's saved me a seat, I'll be over with her," Jori says.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"It's no problem, maybe I can get her to be an extra pair of hands while I tune Leonov up," she affirms.

"Alright. See you soon," I bid her farewell, and both she and her aberration head off down the aisle with a friendly wave.

"I am going to wander," Suraokh declares, striding out into the aisle as well.

"We'll keep your spot saved," Nym says.

"There is no need," the kangaroo insists. "I appreciate it anyway."

"Suit yourself!" Yhana says, lying across an entire bench herself in his absence.

“What's he doing when he's gone, anyway?" Nym asks, watching Suraokh leave through the sliding door at the far end.

“It's just as much a mystery to me as it is to you." I sigh, sinking into the seat next to him.

“Speaking of mysteries," Yhana starts, “you gonna tell me anything more about what was going on with you and your brother?"

“Maybe in a bit. He interrupted me at a really good part in my book though and I'd like to get back to that while it's fresh in my mind."

“Bleh, fiiine…" she whines, shifting her shoulders deeper into what little cushioning the bench affords her. 

As the train starts to move, I watch the cityscape and Jen's ship fall steadily away into the horizon. Before long, the sparkling Channel directly to the west, and the far-reaching, lush steppes to the east fill in all the eye can see out the windows.

My companions are taking the moment to simply recuperate, Yhana with her eyes closed, and Nym sucking determinedly at a half-finished tube of condensed milk as he flips through his book. I should have gotten something to read, while I was in town, but I wasn't really thinking about it at the time.

If nothing else, and there essentially is nothing else, I can always lean my head against the window and watch the landscape scroll by. I don't really want to go to sleep yet, but I at least allow my mind to rest idly. For the first time in a while, it's even a pleasant experience.