The morning of the 5^th of June saw a convoy of trucks leave Amandine in the direction of the city’s commercial districts. Led by Artyom and Angelo in a hooklift truck equipped with a flatbed, the column of vehicles left early in the morning with the intention of obtaining the Defenders they suspected would be found somewhere around the vast amount of docklands and warehouses surrounding the city. They were soon followed by one lone tanker truck leaving to get some extra diesel for the generators (the refill wasn’t necessary per se, but the Captain wanted to keep the tanks topped off whenever possible).

Despite Micha and Vadim’s group not leaving until noon, those ‘expeditions’ still left little in the way of personnel on board of the ship, and only a few crewmembers that weren’t either keeping watch or working on finishing the workshop were able to enjoy some free time. Those few guys could have gone out on the docks to explore the terminal some more and check out some shipping containers, but the arrival of a dense cloud cover and constant drizzle pushed them to stay inside instead.

A single hippogriff could be seen smoking a cigarette by the funnel, and the constant sound of grinding and welding torches was coming out of the open ramps. Both Schmitt and Alejandro were overseeing the works, with the orange scaled dragon being in the process of inspecting the state of some welds on one of the newly installed bulkheads.

On the other side of the car deck they were converting, Alejandro was looking at the piled materials they were going to use for the next part of the building process, particularly the dismantled truck and car lifts they were going to weld in place later in the afternoon.

Work was advancing at a steady pace since they had arrived in Antwerp: a part of the deck had been separated to create a new compartment in which they had already installed machining equipment. The modifications to the ventilation system were complete and they only really had to finish the armory and vehicle repair bay before moving on to the firefighting installations.

Putting the workshop directly underneath the accommodation would have been impossible without removing vehicle access to the ship via the stern ramp, so they had had to move the desired place for the workshop further towards the bow of the ship. It was still possible to get there without passing through the car decks (a thing the Captain was very partial on doing while at sea unless they turned on the ventilation fans, since fumes in the holds were a constant risk) by using one of the long hallways than ran through the entire length of the ship. Said hallways were present on either side of the vessel and were divided at regular intervals by watertight doors.

Using one of the two upper decks would have been a bad idea considering they were open to the elements, so they set to building the workshop on the first entirely protected deck of the ship. Moving it deeper would have been possible, but they found it more convenient to leave it above the waterline and on the same deck as the external ramps. That would make it simpler if they ever had to tow a damaged vehicle to the repair bay.

Obviously the modifications had resulted in a slight loss of cargo capacity, but even with that they still had plenty of deck room to use to store trailers, vehicles and shipping containers. If they went from a capacity of 4000 CEU to about 3600… well it wasn’t such a big deal. As long as they didn’t try to haul an entire terminal worth of containers, they would have plenty of room for the equipment they needed while still retaining more than enough cargo capacity.

Alejandro stopped to direct one crewmember-a sphinx- to haul a roll of insulation foil to the next bulkhead. The leonine creature –Mohammed he was called, the ship’s sole Tunisian- nodded before grabbing the rolls in that telekinesis field sphinxes had control of to make up for their lack of hands. The Spaniard had no idea how it worked, and he wasn’t about to start questioning it.

Sphinxes were peculiar creatures to look at. Their body shape was clearly telling any observer ‘lion’ at first glance, but then came the wings (which, granted, weren’t really visible underneath the nomex coveralls) and their head. From what he had observed on Farkas, Alejandro had deduced that even females (lionesses maybe?) had a mane on their head which bore an uncanny mix of feline and humanoid features. The coloring was another odd part. Alejandro had never heard of a purple furred lion, yet here was a purple colored Mohammed working close by. The other two sphinxes on the crew had a more tame fur color… but their mane made up for it in spades, with the Chief Steward’s being dark blue. All in all, they made it hard to figure out a pattern.

Size wise they were rather large, though not ridiculously so. They were not as big as actual lions that much was certain: they must have been mid-range in size, somewhere between the famed big cats and a large wolf. Certainly bigger than humans, and much bigger than the parrots and griffons on the crew. Only the fact they were walking on all fours would have led someone (someone bipedal he might add, a quadruped would not make that mistake) to believe they were small.

“Mohammed, can you move that stack of welded wire panels to the site of the armory? They need the whole pallet to finish the cages.” Alejandro said, pointing a talon towards the construction materials.

“Na’am sir.” The Tunisian answered with a sharp nod, moving over to the stack.

The site for the armory had been put towards the back of the workshop, and they had made damn sure the place would be protected by several compartments. Maximum safety and security would be needed considering the sheer amount of weapons they had picked up. This would be helped by the new security cameras and magnetic locks they had retrieved from a warehouse in Zeebrugge before coming to Antwerp.

They had designed the future armory so that it was protected by a first bulkhead for which they used triple layered steel plates totaling 15 millimeters of protection. Accesses would be available both on port and starboard via a set of hydraulically powered watertight doors that could be controlled from the bridge or the engine room (a design they had copied from the ship’s initial watertight doors), or opened using a four-digit code (as long as the master controls on the bridge allowed it).

Further protections would be installed inside by putting the weapon racks inside several reinforced walk-in cages. They didn’t put digital codes or magnetic locks on these (not that they couldn’t, but such measures would have bordered the excessive), instead opting for regular locks.

The inside of the armory was scheduled to be fitted with the gunsmith workbenches and tools they had retrieved from the navy base in Zeebrugge, as well as being used to store all their weapon related gear (like the flak jackets) with the exception of grenades and ammunition which were stored in a container on the main deck.

Not that the ammo wasn’t secure, far from it: measures had been taken to install firefighting installations to the ammo containers, as well as security features. The reason they had put it in a more exposed area as it were was in case of fire. They’d rather have the explosives and gunpowder blow up outside the ship and torch the deck than ripping a hole in the hull.

“Chief?” Mohammed asked, the sphinx coming up behind Alejandro. “Panels in place, what’s next?”

Alejandro’s eyes flicked to some large tubes that ran across the ceiling. They passed through holes pierced in the steel beams of the ship’s structure, covering all areas of the vessel. Their purpose was to pass wires and pipes from one compartment to another.

“How good is your telekinesis control?” The parrot asked.

“Decent I guess.” The sphinx rolled his shoulders in the closest approximation of a shrug he could achieve.

“Think you can pass the new wiring through to the workshop? I’m not asking you to make the connection, just place it so that it’s ready when the electrician from engineering moves on to it.” He said, motioning with his large beak in the direction of some spools of wire. “The tubes are already in place, and the path is marked on the plans right by Schmitt.”

“Will do.” The sphinx started to walk away before turning back towards his superior. “How do I know which goes where?”

“Easy.” Alejandro said, crossing his arms. “The spools are already measured and marked with a number each. You just have to match it with its equivalent on the plan and then you got the path it’s supposed to follow. Sounds good?”

“Yes sir.” Mohammed nodded before he walked off to get a look at the plans.

With the Tunisian busy with a new task, Alejandro flipped open one of his pockets and pulled out the task list he had prepared for the day. Busy as ever, he noted, but at least the end was in sight for the modifications… until they came up with something new to add to the ship that is. The list went back inside his pocket with the Spaniard releasing a tired sigh.

Modifying a ship like that wasn’t too foreign too him, he did work a stint as inspector on a dry dock for a couple years after all. Still, he had left that job to work full-time at sea for a reason.

The Spaniard meandered over to a crate filled with sprinkler heads and pipe connectors. He stopped in his walk to stare at the crate for a few seconds before storming off in the opposite direction.

“¡Joder! I forgot the pipes for the sprinklers.” He said, following the declaration with a longer stream of curses both in English and Spanish.

The two nearby welders stopped briefly to watch their superior storm off like that. The first one, a Filipino that had turned into a parrot (a golden parakeet) gave his colleague a questioning glance. The other, a hippogriff, just shrugged and lowered his welding mask before getting back to work.

Alejandro did that all the time anyway. What’s new with him running around fixing things last minute? Plus, as long as the Spaniard was running after parts he wasn’t breathing over their neck. He just didn’t need to know they still had about eight hours before the pipes would even be needed.

The beeping from Bart’s heart monitor reverberated through the infirmary as Vadim did his last checks on the unicorn’s health.

There were four people in the infirmary at the moment: Vadim, who was checking out the progress on Bart’s wounds; Geert, who was quietly observing from the back and giving translations when necessary, and lastly Farkas. The Chief Steward laid belly down on one of the beds, awaiting his turn for Vadim to remove his stitches.

The Ukrainian griffon was humming as he took the sky-blue furred unicorn’s parameters and compared them to the ones he had written down in his file the last few days. Steady increase in blood pressure, good. He was recovering from the blood loss. Temperature… plateaued after a while and stable. Vadim had no idea what he was supposed to see on the electrocardiogram but as long as it was steady, he supposed it was good. Most of the observations were guesswork and comparison with human parameters which most likely wasn’t the best of ideas, but he didn’t have a healthy patient to compare the unicorn to.

Vadim idly contemplated gathering parameters from certain members of the crew to get an idea of what he should see on healthy individuals of a certain species. Might be a good idea, but that would have to wait until he processed more important things like the blood type problem.

He had done a quick test on a sample of the unicorn’s blood. What came out was a completely different type from human blood, yet there was hope because it contained markers he had seen on other species like the hippogriffs and the gargoyles. He would have to test compatibility between those; maybe that would confirm his idea of it being a new blood type. For now he would just keep calling it group C until he got a confirmation.

But that pointed to another… odd matter. He was no medical expert but he knew individuals of a same species didn’t necessarily have the same blood type. On the other hand, the results he had obtained from sampling the entire crew told him the exact opposite: all griffons were A-type, as well as the parrots. The dogs and cats all had B-type blood, and the hippogriff and gargoyles had AC and BC blood respectively. All negative type too. Mind boggling really, but he’d rather trust his observations than assumptions made from reading his medical encyclopedia (which did it a disservice considering how bloody helpful that thing was).

Moving on to examining the wounds, Vadim was pleased to see the numerous cuts the unicorn had received from broken glass were scabbed over, and that the deep slash the wood hounds had inflicted on his neck was slowly starting to close. The edges of the cut were clean, with all the stitches solidly in place as far as he could see under the bandages. He prodded the wound with a gloved claw, making sure that his patient moving would not reopen it. Seeing it wasn’t the case, the griffon gave a satisfied snort before reapplying a layer of disinfectant and replacing the bandages.

“Well, it’s all good for you.” Vadim said. “Just let me unplug the IV’s and monitors and then you’ll be on your way.”

There was a pause where Geert translated the sentence for Bart.

“So what will I do next?” The Belgian asked.

“You will be moved to a regular cabin.” Vadim answered after hearing Geert’s translation. “Farkas here will show you your room when I get done with his stitches. I think we already put your stuff in one of the spare cabins, correct Farkas?” The griffon said, motioning towards the sphinx with his beak.

“We have.” The Chief Steward said. “It’s cabin 15, one floor up. You’ll share a bathroom with Nguyen, shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“That’s all good I guess, but what does that make of me once I’m completely recovered?” The unicorn asked.

“Remember when you woke up and asked about joining the crew? I brought it up with the Captain. He said you could stay as long as we could find some use for you. I told him you could make a great guard at least. Do you have any technical skill by any chance?” Geert jumped in.

“I know my way around weapons I guess.” The unicorn said, but then he brought up a hoof for the parrot to see. “But regardless of whether or not I can fix guns, I don’t think I’m suited for fine manipulations at the moment.”

To that, Geert’s answer was to turn towards Farkas and ask him to levitate something.

“It may be a stretch, but the only guys we have on the crew that lack digits are the sphinxes, and they make up for it by using that telekinesis.” Geert said. “I think it’s worth a shot to check if you can do it as well.”

The unicorn looked at the cardboard box Farkas was floating around in his telekinesis field in bewilderment. Vadim empathized with the guy, it’s not every day you see someone defy the laws of physics in such a manner. But he had to put limits to the practice of sorcery inside his infirmary.

“Guys, I hate to be the stick-in-the-mud of the crew but please keep your Hogwarts-esque shenanigans to a place that’s not holding fragile gear like my infirmary.” He said before pulling out a plastic bag from a cabinet. “As for you, Bart, most of your clothes are already in your cabin but I took the liberty of grabbing something for you to be somewhat decent before you get there.”

The bag contained an olive green wool sweater and a pair of elastic sport shorts. The smallest pieces of attire the griffon could find that would fit the unicorn before he got the time to adjust some clothes. The sweater still bore the Corporal’s ranks on the epaulettes, those being two white chevrons that contrasted with the wool’s color.

Funnily enough the wool was the same color as the hair on his mane and tail.

“Thanks doc.” Bart said, accepting the bag and tearing off his hospital gown. The white piece of cloth landed on the side of his bed in a heap. Geert didn’t translate for Vadim; the Ukrainian hated being called that anyway. Something about not being an actual doctor.

Geert had to help the military guy put on his clothes. Bart’s lack of experience with his hooves made sure the Belgian had a hard time getting anything done with them, which was not helped by him having to avoid putting stress on the stitches on his neck.

Meanwhile, the griffon had rolled his stool over to Farkas’ bed. He put on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves to avoid contaminating his patient before leaning over the sphinx’s wounds.

“Been taking your antibiotics as planned?” Vadim asked.

“Just the usual. I take my pills in the morning, I take them in the evening, and I make sure my bandages are clean. I know the drill.”

“Any pain?” Vadim was already peeling off the bandages.

“Not really. I take a paracetamol once in a while but that’s just me stressing the wounds because I move around too much.”

Starting with the gash on the sphinx’s paw, the griffon was pleased to see the wound had closed up nicely. His biggest worry of fur getting inside the wound turned out to be unfounded, though he had to blame his lack of experience on the scar being a bit too rough looking. Now to remove the sutures…

Having had what he would later call an ‘innovative’ idea, the griffon had only packed a pair of tweezers for the removal. The tool he would use to cut the suture wire? His talons.

Now, it was easy to notice for Vadim after his transformation that griffons as a species were gifted with wickedly sharp talons, much more so than those of hippogriffs. Generally speaking, that was a disadvantage that made using delicate equipment harder unless said talons were trimmed regularly. Considering there was no real reason justifying having permanent knives affixed to their hands, most of the griffons on the crew had thus resolved themselves to trimming them at regular intervals.

Vadim did that too, but he had also gone one step further in his thinking. The night after he was transformed, the griffon had decided to keep one sharp talon on each claw. To keep them from damaging stuff when he didn’t mean to, Vadim had wrapped some rubber tape around them which he could tear off when the occasion presented itself.

The fact that he kept a knife on his person at all times anyway didn’t cross his mind.

The Officer ripped off the tip of the finger on his nitrile glove, revealing the wrapped talon. A second later, the tape came off as well and he applied a generous dose of disinfectant on his talon.

“What are you gonna do with that?” Farkas asked, eyeing the talon warily.

“I’m making use of the tools that this new body provides me dear Steward.” The griffon said, puffing up the grey feathers on his chest.

Before his patient had the time to flinch or retreat, he slipped a talon under the wire, cutting it with little resistance meeting the sharp bit of keratin. A twirl of his tweezers later and the wire was extracted from the Greek’s flesh and tossed in the trash.

“See? No trouble at all. If anything it’s easier to use than scissors.” The griffon stopped to eye the wound with his sharp eyes. “And from the looks of it the wound is sealed enough that I can remove the rest as well without it breaking open. Now if you would please relax you big baby.”

Removing the rest of the wire posed no more trouble than the first bit. The sphinx’s wounds would result in scars on his paw and his head, but his fur looked thick enough to hide the scar tissue and preserve his good looks. Vadim proceeded to wrap the scarred over wounds under some bandages before straightening up, his work finished.

“By the way Farkas, how’s it going mentally? I know most of the guys turned gals on the crew have been sticking with each other to cope but I don’t see you socializing much.” Vadim tried.

The Greek sphinx turned his head to address the griffon a cold stare that made the feathers on the back of his neck stand up.

“Schmitt and I have been keeping tabs on the situation of the females on this crew.” He said coldly, his earlier demeanor now gone. “You needn’t worry about it; it’s perfectly under control, Zinoviya.”

Farkas stepped off the bed slowly before making his way to the door. He turned to Geert halfway through the door.

“I’ll be in the cafeteria.” He said before leaving with a huff.

There were a full twelve seconds of silence before Vadim finally spoke up.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asked in confusion.

“Not that I know of. It’s just him in particular.” Geert said with a shake of his head. “Don’t bother yourself with it; I’ll just bring it up with Schmitt later. Can’t say that was unexpected tho’.”

“What do you mean ‘not unexpected’?”

“It’s a bit hard to tell with him because he hides it so well but he’s been distancing himself as time passes.” Geert shrugged. “Of all the close relations he has on board, there’s only Schmitt that’s been gender bent. The rest? Alejandro, the Captain; friends indeed but not so close that he could talk to them freely about it.”

Vadim winced. Maybe pushing on with work like they did was just delaying the problem and not actually addressing it. He took a look at the clock in the room. Half past noon.

“I don’t have time to deal with this right now. I only got half an hour to grab a bite of something before I leave with Micha, and I still got to tidy up the infirmary…” Vadim said, trailing off.

“Then let me help.” Geert offered. “Go to the cafeteria, I’m not as busy as you are, can’t be that hard to shelve medical supplies uh?”

The griffon hesitated for a bit, staring at the parrot that was sitting on Bart’s bed before shaking his head in resignation.

“Alright, just be careful with the gear. It’s fragile. The tweezers and tools go in the sink, just put them in a tray filled with disinfectant.” He said, stowing his stool under one of the beds. “You’ll remember to bring up Farkas’ case to Schmitt?”

“Don’t worry, I will.” The parrot said with a dismissive wave. “Now shoo, you’re gonna be late at this rate.”

“Yeah, right. Uh, thanks for that and…” He pointed a talon towards Bart. “Mind the wound; I don’t wanna redo those sutures, copy?”

“We get it, now git before I change my mind.” Geert said, one claw pointing towards the door.

Half an hour and a quick stop at the ship’s vault later, Vadim was coming down the stairs next to the stern ramp, ready to leave. He had made some adjustments to the layout of the pouches on his flak jacket after having had the chance to try out shooting the day before. The new layout gave him a better access to his mags and shifted the less essential pouches (like the one in which he kept loose rounds) to his back. The fit still wasn’t ideal and would remain that way until he took the time to tailor the jacket to his new form, but the ergonomics were miles ahead of what he had used when he had raided the clinic in Zeebrugge.

Boris had already rolled one of the unimogs out of the holds (one of the olive green ones) and was in the process of mounting one of their machineguns to what looked like a ring mount.

“Didn’t know these could mount a gun…” He mused as he approached the vehicle.

“I know right?” The Russian said, having heard his superior. “At first glance I thought these were just made for extra lights and maybe a winch or an external roll cage but then I noticed the hatch in the ceiling of the cabin. They’re made to fit MAG’s to boot… which isn’t really a surprise come to think of it. We did get the mogs and the guns from the same base.”

Saying that, he finished securing the gun to the ring and jumped off the vehicle, landing neatly on all fours.

“I packed four belts for it, one’s already loaded on the gun, and the others are in the cabin. If we keep that, plus our rifles and pistols we should be fine I think, ladno?”

“Fine by me, I don’t have any less-lethal on me though.” Vadim said, rolling his shoulders to emphasize the FNC slung across his back as well as the pistol holster he had put on his offhand shoulder.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that.” Micha’s voice came from the back of the truck. “I got a 303 pistol myself, if that’s even a thing we’re gonna need.”

The female griffon came walking around the truck, already clad in proper gear and with one of the ship’s few SCAR’s slung across his back (his results on the range the day before justified him getting one over other crewmembers). Tucked under his flak jacket was a map of the city he had been inspecting prior to Vadim’s arrival.

“How was lunch?” Micha asked politely.

“Decent. Had to hurry a bit because I got held up in the infirmary but at least Nguyen is cooking things that aren’t necessarily Asian now.”

“Hmm, maybe one day I’ll convince him to make pierogi for a change. Been years since I had some.” Micha commented. Vadim noted in passing that the bald-eagle griffon wasn’t deepening his voice as hard as he used to. “You filled the tank yet Boris?”

“Da.”

Having already planned the trip on the map, Micha took the wheel after programming the planned address in their GPS. Vadim took the seat in the centre of the cabin, with Boris taking the last one just beneath the hatch for the machinegun. After asking the approval for the trip to the bridge via radio, they finally rolled down the ramp and drove out of the harbor terminal.

The two sailors left at the checkpoint waved at them when they passed, and then they were on the road. The distance to downtown Antwerp may have been close as the crow flies (and none of the griffons in the group could), but the design of the extensive port installations was complicated to get out of due to the many artificial waterways that had been dug into the banks of the river, creating a literal maze of locks and bridges. The GPS made them take numerous turns to go around other terminals and refineries. While the port did have a highway system, it was unfortunately leading out of the town (logical in a sense, few cities would want a continuous stream of lorries passing downtown).

After a good half-hour of driving, they broke away from the port and finally drove into the city proper. The particularity with the Scheldt River and Antwerp was that there were no bridges built over it, only tunnels. The sailors’ green mog emerged out of the tunnel into a city they were more or less familiar with, having already stopped there a few times in the past (though if they were entirely honest about it they had more experience with its red light district than its churches).

Before the Event, Antwerp had been a rather well off city, and most of all it was an old city. Modern glass buildings shared the streets with centuries-old houses, and large avenues were just as likely to be found as the twists and turns of old paved streets typically found in European cities. Along the banks of the river, they could see a castle sharing the space with the modern control tower of the harbor authority. All in all, a city that had seen its fair share of history, which made it a shame that it was now completely abandoned and left to deteriorate like that. Almost two weeks after the Event, the city was still almost pristine save for small signs like overgrown flower trays and swarms of flies coming from food shops and restaurants.

The bigger concern the crew had with going downtown was the zoo that was placed in the very centre of the town, next to the Central Station. Vadim would have liked to take a peek at the iconic building; unfortunately he didn’t fancy getting devoured by escaped lions. Sure they could have gone there and shot the critters, but what would be the point in doing that? The animals didn’t deserve an execution like that. Micha made a point of avoiding the area by taking the smaller, narrower streets instead of the avenues that focused around the station like wheel spokes around a hub.

Vadim turned his focus away from looking at the passing buildings and to the Russian griffon beside him. Boris was idly flicking the control of the gas valve on his rifle back and forth.

“So Boris…” Vadim started. “I saw your name on the volunteer list for the medical assistant position yesterday. I must say, I was rather surprised. Care to explain?”

“Uh?” The goshawk took a second to realize his superior had asked him a question. “Yeah, I did volunteer. What’s with that?” He asked, his head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Coming from you, I’d call that odd.” Vadim continued before Boris got any chance to open his beak and retort to that. “Before that whole Apocalypse thing got started your performance reports were noticeably lower. Not bad per se, but I’m curious as to what’s gotten into you since we all grew a pair of wings?”

Boris quirked a feathery brow at that remark.

“Look Vadim, I know you think I’m some sort of backwards moron.”

“I don-“

“Yes you do.” The Russian frowned. “And up until now I never bothered to correct you ‘bout it ‘cause that meant my boss wasn’t gonna start laying more work on me for nothin’. There was no reason behind getting any better, and as long as you thought that way… well, it was all the better for me.”

“So the gopnik behavior was just a gig?” Micha butted in, eyes still focused on the road.

“Performances are met and I maximize my free time. I just wasn’t interested in working overtime. Not worth it at the time.” Boris explained.

“So it takes the fucking Apocalypse to get you off your ass? Neat, now that I know what to do next time then. I’ll just… end the world as we know it, no biggie.” Vadim drawled. “You’re still a gopnik in my books tho’.”

Boris let out a snort out of his beak nostrils.

“Woe is me; my superior thinks I’m an idiot.” The goshawk rolled his eyes. “You’re saying that like you’re any better. Surprise surprise, last time I checked we went on bar crawls together. Wonder what that makes of you.”

“Unlike you I can muster some class when necessary and I’ve proven it in the past, whereas I only have your word to go by that you’re more than you let on.” Vadim gestured vaguely with his claw. “So by all means Boris, show us how wrong we are.” He taunted.

“’cause the results I got on the last few tests weren’t enough?” Vadim could see the smirk on the Russian’s beak. “Go ahead, give me the position, doc, you won’t regret it.”

“First, don’t call me that, ever.” Vadim glared at the smirking griffon. “Second, you can consider yourself on trial for the position, mudak, but if I ever see you straying one single step to the side, you’ll be wishing the world wasn’t as fucked up ‘cause I’ll whoop your ass.”

Vadim then held up his claw for the Russian to shake. His smirk not leaving his beak, the other griffon took it and squeezed. Hard.

“I’m sure you will, sir.” The sarcasm on the last word was palpable.

“You guys done with the dick measuring contest?” Micha interrupted.

“Hey! We’re no-“Boris attempted before Micha slammed his paw on the brakes.

Both Boris and Vadim slammed their heads against the dashboard and erupted in profanities; the former in Russian, the latter in Ukrainian. While both males were picking themselves up from the sudden stop, Micha turned to them with a stern look on his face.

“Now listen up both of you. As the Second Officer and, need I remind you, your superior to you both, I will not allow that kind of behavior as long as I hold that position.” The Pole pointed an accusatory talon at Vadim. “You do not have the right to threaten him in such a manner, regardless of whether you’re actually going to do it or not and you…” The talon switched target to point towards the Russian next to Vadim “…Need to get off your high horse as well. If you think you’re too good to ‘reveal your hidden talent’ to the rest of the crew then you can fuck right off.” The Pole clicked his beak once. “I’m not going to threaten to beat you up, but be certain of this: now that the cat’s out of the bag about your actual capabilities, I’ll be very keen on looking at the progress of your performance reports, this time without you fooling us, zrozumiano?”

Both griffons nodded frantically.

“I swear Micha, those were just hollow insults. We do that all the time.” The grey falcon griffon turned to the Russian by his side. “Don’t we?”

Boris gave another nod.

“Don’t know, don’t care. No threatening your subordinates with physical harm on my watch. Insults I can live with, but legit threats?” He shook his head. “Keep that to bars and free time if you think it’s necessary, but please, don’t do that on duty Vadim. The Apocalypse is no reason to start behaving like criminals.”

“Will do, I promise.” The griffon said immediately.

The Pole stared at the two other griffons for a few seconds before the corners of his beak shifted upwards in a smile (and how their beaks could be that expressive, Vadim had no idea).

“Much better. We good?” He asked, claw hovering over the gear stick. “Target ain’t much further from here.”

“Sure, we good.” Boris said. Then he leaned over towards Vadim.

“What does zrozumiano mean anyway?” He asked in a whisper.

“Understood. It’s Polish.” The Ukrainian whispered back.

A few minutes later, their truck reached a small paved square surrounded by tall buildings made out of bricks and brownstone. There was a small fenced basketball court in the centre next to some benches. A ring of trees around the square provided shelter from the constant drizzle that pelted down on the city. The trees’ shade, coupled with the grey cloudy sky above gave the area an eerie, gloom filled atmosphere that wasn’t helped by the oppressive feeling the buildings were giving. A couple cars were parked around the area, having been unoccupied at the moment of the Event. From the decorations on the buildings and the car brands, Vadim could see the inhabitants certainly hadn’t been threatened by poverty.

There were a few small sized shops around the square, most of which used to sell antiques, as well as a couple art galleries. The one that stood out from the rest was their target: a gunsmith with a lever action rifle sign hanging above the storefront. Micha stopped the truck right in front of the shop, not caring one bit about designated parking areas.

There were a couple hunting rifles and trophies on display visible through the front window, each held up by a carefully crafted wooden support. What little they could see inside the shop showed more in the back, but now came the matter of entering the secure building. Not helping the matter was the fact the alarm was probably still on: the city had a vast array of wind turbines that kept electricity running despite the shutdown of the nuclear plant, a fact that had just as many ups as it had downs.

“Well that’s all good Officers but I don’t think you actually came expecting to bash the door open with a hammer.” Boris said, noting that Micha did indeed have a hammer on his flak jacket.

“Nah.” The Pole pointed at the apartment windows just above the shop. “I’m thinking vertically.”

The apartment was just one floor above the storefront, but the architecture style of the neighbourhood was made with some pretty tall floors. There were lead gutter pipes on either side of the building that ran down the building’s facade, each burping out a constant stream of water from the rain.

“Last I checked none of us had figured out how to fly yet.” Boris said. “You can’t be thinking ‘bout climbing those pipes?”

“Watch and learn, Ruskie.” The female griffon said.

Micha then shuffled past Vadim, his tail brushing against the Ukrainian’s side and sending a tremor up his spine, his tail going rigid for a second. Vadim got a weird look on his face before shaking his head. Unaware of this, the Pole approached the gutter and took off his safety shoes before grasping the pipe with both claws. Looking up, he saw that most of the wall up to the first floor was made of bricks. Good he thought as he flexed his paw pads, unsheathing the sharp claws on his feline legs.

The other two sailors watched flabbergasted as the Pole started slowly climbing up the facade using the pipe. As he went up the wall, they saw how he was using his paws’ claws to grip onto the wall and hold himself up while he used his forelimbs to pull himself higher. Micha seemed to have a bit of a difficulty doing it, but he eventually reached the first floor without falling and climbed on the windowsill. He pulled out his hammer and brought it down against the apartment’s window, shattering it and opening the way for him to get in.

A few minutes later, a rustling sound came from behind the shop’s door and out came Micha with a smug smile on his beak. Neither Boris nor Vadim entertained the Pole with a comment, entering the shop silently while Micha went to retrieve his shoes.

The shop was, admittedly, small: a single counter presided over the room with a discrete door leading towards the back and into the workshop part. Most of the space inside was occupied by glass display cases that showed a large choice of hunting and sport rifles, optics and ammunition boxes but not much of anything else. Pistols were noticeably few in choice, a mark of the country’s hard stance on self-defence weapons. A single AR15 was displayed in a reinforced glass case, fully kitted out with accessories. Those were famously hard to obtain in Western Europe. An interesting sight, but of no use to them since they already had better rifles of their own, those with selective fire and full auto.

Micha came out of the back of the shop with a travel case cradled under a foreleg and a huge smile on his beak. Noticing Vadim’s inquisitive stare, the bald eagle griffon set down the case and opened it.

Inside the case were a scoped hunting rifle and a few spare mags, held in place by foam cut-outs. The rifle was a bolt action, with a beautifully crafted varnished wooden stock. A folded bipod occupied another spot inside the case, ready to be fitted on the rifle.

“It’s a Sako 85. I always wanted one in the past, they’re damn accurate and the handling is just lovely. I mean... look at that stock! Gorgeous I tell ya, these Finns know how to make good rifles.”

Vadim nodded passively.

“What does it shoot?”

“.308, so it’s compatible with the 7.62 we have on board, though the 7.62 is rated at a lower pressure.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about with pressure but as long as you think it’s fine, I’m gonna trust you.” He waved a claw around, designating the whole shop. “What do you want us to take?”

“No use for the hunting rifles beside mine, military weapons are just better for what we do. The Sako is just a ‘gift’ for myself, so to speak. There are plenty of tools I wish to take in the back on the other hand, so I say we pack as many optics and accessories as we can, then the tools. I saw a reloading bench and plenty of primers and powder for .223 and .308, and there are also some spare picatinny rails which I think we can attempt mounting on the FNC’s. That’s about all we need here.” Micha stopped to think for a bit. “While you’re at it take some .38 too, for the Captain’s revolver. We didn’t find any of that at the base so the supply is kinda low.”

“Tools, accessories, .38, primers, got it.” Vadim nodded. “You heard that Boris?”

The goshawk griffon just moved towards the back and started picking up the gear Micha demanded.

All in all it didn’t take long for them to acquire what they needed from the shop. In about an hour they were already out and moving towards their next objective. Micha’s new rifle had taken a place in the back of the truck’s cabin, its case tucked between the seats and the back of the cabin.

They hit a couple more objectives that day, the most relevant of which were the libraries of both the university and the local maritime academy. Both yielded good results as far as intel was concerned, but they still found themselves forced to raid a book shop by the marina to get the travel guides they wanted to complete data from the university’s directory.

One last thing of notice was what they discovered as they were going to retrieve some specific high end computer parts that had been put on the salvage list (by whom, they didn’t know nor care). They had just raided a sewing shop and a couple clothing stores just for the heck of it and were following their chart to a computer store when Boris motioned for Micha to stop the truck.

The street they were following was halfway closed by works that had been underway before the Event hit. Boris got off the truck and approached a patch of muddy ground next to a cement mixer. Vadim saw him stare at something on the ground and decided to take a look himself. Still very much with the mindset of a bipedal human, Vadim wasn’t particularly fond of walking in the mud with his claws (even though he had gloves on) but alas, such was the life of a quadruped.

A couple of footprints were set in the sand among puddles of rainwater. Very large footprints that were oddly mismatched. Judging from their size and depth, the creature that had made them must have been about as big as a large buffalo, maybe bigger.

Except that unlike those of buffalos, the prints weren’t hooves... at least half of them weren’t, even though they clearly belonged to the same creature: some were distinctly feline while the rest looked more like goat hoof prints.

“Monster?” Vadim asked.

“Most likely.” Boris nodded before raising his head, eyes scanning the area. “Have you seen one of these demonic circles in the area?”

“This city is too much of a maze to find it.” Vadim replied with a shake of his head. “I don’t like this, let’s hurry with the computer shop and go back to the ship.”

Both griffons hurried back to the truck. Vadim quickly used the truck’s radio and switched it to the ship’s frequency in order to warn everyone about the potential risk they had discovered in town. Looking at their map, the Ukrainian scribbled down the location of the prints and their general direction –the zoo apparently, not much of a surprise there-.

They didn’t encounter a monster that day, but the other group (the one busy with getting them the Land Rovers) reported hearing a lot of roars coming from the zoo.

One day earlier

Getting out of the car had been much harder than it had any right to be, and the time it took her to get out wasn’t helped by her having a full blown panic attack upon discovering the extent of the changes her body had undergone. It took her half an hour of happy thoughts and deep breaths to finally manage to calm down.

The hooves prevented her to work the latch on her car’s door which had left her with only one choice.

“Sorry mom.” She had said before hitting the window with one of her hooves. It pained her to damage the car her mother had gifted her like that but she had no choice. The little Toyota had been her faithful companion ever since she had got her license a few years back... but extreme situations lead to extreme solutions.

The window shattered easily under the impact and made the girl-turned-mare aware of one more change she hadn’t noticed yet. Her hearing, which had improved significantly. The crashing noise of the hoof against the glass was enough to make hear ears ring. She pressed her hooves against her large ears, letting out a soft whimper.

The transformation had shrunk her, a lot. Fortunately that made escaping her seat belt and clambering out of the car rather easy. The little equine landed roughly on the asphalt, bruising her shoulder slightly, but she was free.

She tried to get up on her legs but failed miserably. A look at her body to assess the ‘damage’ told her she was some now kind of tiny horse, and naked. Her clothes had fallen off her body when she escaped the car, now way too large for her small frame. Skipping a more thorough inspection of her body, she decided to stick to moving on four legs since that appeared to be what that body was designed for.

Rising up on trembling legs, the mare managed to slowly take her first steps in the direction of the building she had been about to leave before she woke up as a tiny horse (a pony? Probably a pony). The blades of the nearby wind turbines told her the building must have power but... She stopped to look at the sky. It was much brighter than when she had left. Not in the morning... it rather looked like it was in the evening. Had she been gone a whole day? That had felt like the blink of an eye to her, except maybe for a brief flash that had preceded the disappearance.

One of the large fluffy ears on her head twitched and pointed in a direction. She turned her head to follow and stared at the antennas on top of the building in front of her. Faintly, she could hear a beeping noise coming from them.

But that was impossible! Her mind instantly recognised the noise as the signal the antennas were supposed to emit at regular intervals, on MF frequencies. She wasn’t supposed to hear that!

Disregarding the oddity of her newfound audition, the mare walked over to the automatic doors leading inside to the building’s lobby. The place was exactly like when she had left it, barring a very fine layer of dust. She didn’t expect anyone to man the entrance desk at such an hour but... she should have at least heard something coming from the offices or the rec room. Slowly, she started to go deeper inside. All lights were off inside the building, but the whirr of ventilation told her power was still running. On the bright side, her eyes didn’t have any trouble adjusting to the darkness.

She stopped for a second when she saw her reflection appear on a window. Staring back at her was a very short pony. She would barely reach waist height next to a normal human being. She had large yellow slitted eyes that gleamed in the darkness of the building. The eyes were affixed to an equine head with a small muzzle from which two cute little fangs poked out, and fluffy mobile ears that swivelled around to track incoming noises. Her mane was white with a single blue stripe running down its centre, which made a stark contrast with her dark purple coat of fur. She also had a tail, with the exact same color and stripe as her mane. Both had messy hair that stood out at odd angles and frizzy ends, making it look like as if she had a permanent bed head. She could live with that, her hair hadn’t been much better before the change, though at least the color didn’t make her look like a Punk wannabe then.

“Well shit… I’m fucking adorable.” The mare muttered under her breath.

Stranger even than the fact she had somehow turned into a miniature pony, was the pair of bat-like wings neatly folded on her sides. She tried to no avail to move them and, failing that, touched them with a tentative hoof.

Bad idea.

The touch of a hoof against the new appendages sent an electric shock coursing through nerve endings she never knew she had and made her fall over with a cute squeal.

The act of falling over made her notice one last thing about her new appearance: on both sides of her rump were identical marks that reminded her of cattle brands. She recognized the symbol as a wave graph and noted that it appeared to be imprinted on both her fur and the skin beneath it.

The mare shook her head and stood back up. Maybe now wasn’t the ideal time to explore the extent of the changes. She needed to figure out what had happened, stat.

Exploring the building at her slow, hesitant pace revealed she was the only one left here. The guys from the night shift had all but disappeared without a trace. She tried to search the locker room for any possible clue, which showed her that the bags belonging to the guys on the night shift were still there. Either they hadn’t taken them when they left… or they didn’t leave at all.

That evening, the little batpony laid down to sleep on a couch in the rec room, her mind filled with dread and unanswered questions.

Author's Notes:

Nothing much going on for the crew at that time, but now their numbers swell with one guy being relieved from the infirmary.

Plot wise, that's one chapter to go before I put them into gear for the next arc. I know that one can be qualified as filler but I follow a list of tasks they do in each port and I was never much good at making time skips... which explains how they're only two weeks into the story at the 240 pages mark. I might need to improve on that.