You can keep climbing. Remember: pain, of all kinds, isn’t a sign of the limit of strength; it’s both the prize and the price. People have just forgotten how to use it. You’ll figure it out, just by knowing it’s possible. So get up, we have a long way to go…

Dad. I remember, now. It was his words I needed when the bullets hit. Perhaps I already knew them. Perhaps I found my own way to the lessons he’d learned under similar circumstances. Would he be proud? Those were police bullets I suffered, after all.

It’s so hot. And I’m so thirsty.

“Good morning. Rise and...well don’t shine, that might kill you, wouldn’t it?”

I feel my eyes fly open, but the only thing in sight is a pervasive, perfect black. Have I gone blind, or is it truly that dark in here?

“What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“Probably nothing,” the werewolf rumbles beside my head, “The power went out and we’re underground. I can’t see much of anything either.” The realization of our proximity to each other illuminates the conscious perception of thick, warm fur pressed to the bare flesh of my back, chest, and legs. Beneath me, I feel warm, smooth concrete. I expect to feel disgusted and terrified at once, but in the dead dryness of blood thirst, emotion holds no sway over me and I find myself simply appreciating the sweet, floral scent of shampoo. I pick my way out of her curled form, brushing aside the huge arm that falls over my hips as I sit up. Thankfully, my underwear weren’t removed, but the cuffs on my forearm are gone. “Awh, come back to bed, honey,” she taunts.

“Where’s my backpack?”

“Hm? Oh, in the fridge. Get me a snack while you’re in there, would you?” My eyes would surely glow, if I could respond as I normally would. Perhaps it would even provide a useful amount of light.

“Where?”

“Just find the door and follow the wall on the right.”

I move in an arbitrary direction until I touch a wall with my outstretched hands. Padding along this in a counter-clockwise fashion, I come to an open doorway. My hands brush across warped hinges and the smell of decayed dust fills my nostrils. I feel cracked and broken ceramic tiles mounted to the walls. A decorative beam of rotted, worm-eaten wood separates this lower section from the rough concrete above. Eventually, I round a sharp corner and enter another doorway some yards further. Inside, a low humming can be heard. I follow the sound until my hands come across glass of a size and shape reminiscent of the industrial coolers housed in the Bionex. The handle proves to be an odd, fist-sized bar. I pull on this and find the whole machine trembles, but the door remains firmly shut. Curious, I twist and am met with bitter success as the squeaky mechanisms hurl shards of pain into my head via my ear drums. The unexpectedly weighty door swings open on willing hinges and a wave of cold air washes over me. My hands are groping the interior without conscious command. They come across the damp, unmistakable nylon sack and wrap around it. I pull it forth and hug it to my chest as I sit on the floor, setting it before me.

Inside, the rigid ice packs chatter with the lumps of frozen material floating inside what melted. I reach in and unzip the insulated lunch box, my other hand pushing through the gap as if it were a creature all its own, eagerly seeking the precious blood within. I withdraw a plump, full bag, feeling my fangs extend in anticipation. I bring it to my mouth and bite through the thin material. Everything else fades away in the rapture of feeding, suffusing me with a vigor that brings into context the bone-deep misery of the state I left behind. In the wake of this catharsis, comes a primal, savage horror of that biological descent from which I feel I’ve escaped. I don’t recall feeling the degradation of body and mind, but the new blood coursing through me, and the searing vitality it brings, tells a different tale. It eludes me as to which should be properly ascribed as reality.

An empty bag crinkles in the hand that holds it to my face. I’m about to reach for another when I feel more plastic wadded into the fist of my other hand. I let go, feeling two similarly crumpled blood bags fall into my lap. Appalled, I reach into the backpack, dreading the complete absence of the reserves I went through so much trouble to steal. Four bags remain. I fall back, relieved.

For some time, I lay there, wondering how near I came to losing all of what I’ve worked for, due to a transitory loss of control. As with so many other moments over the short time I’ve experienced life as a monster, I gain yet another grain of understanding of the dire need to seek methods of control. As I’m rising, the voice of the werewolf breaks through the relative silence.

“You okay in there? I didn’t take all those shots and pull lead from your skin for five hours for you to keel over by the gods-damned fridge!”

Five hours?

“What time is it?” I shout back.

“I don’t know, look at the clock—oh, wait!”

I’m almost disappointed that I’ve already become used to her sarcasm. I’m not annoyed enough to cause my eyes to glow. I try all manner of straining and focused willpower, but give up after a few minutes, feeling foolish.

“Where are my clothes?”

“One door down, across the hall, drying on a line near the back wall! If you’re looking for your phone, it broke when you fell, but what’s left of it is in there, on the counter across from the sinks! Tough luck, bat-boy!”

Yeah, or you broke it.

I don’t dare voice my thoughts—I know she’d hear it.

I feel my way through the dark, finding another doorless entryway. The smell of detergent is strong in here. I stretch out my arms as I pass through the room. Hanging ghosts of soft fabric brush across me as I make my way to the back, and the unmistakable shape of a bra drags across my face. Well, at least I know the werewolf really is a girl, probably. Eventually, I find the opposite wall and locate the still-wet set of clothes I had worn, mainly recognizable by the location of the bullet holes. Seven in total. I didn’t even realize I’d been shot that many times. With a sigh, I retreat from the laundry room after confirming that my phone was, indeed, smashed.

Screw it, she’s probably already seen me naked and I’m sure as Tar’ not wearing soggy clothes.

I trudge back down the hall, toward the sound of her beating heart, suffering a short-lived cut on my foot from a piece of broken tile lying in my path. Once I return to the doorway, I lean against it and cross my arms. I realize I’m striking a pose for someone that can’t see it and whose attention I don’t even think I want.

“So where are we, then?”

“Us? Well, I’d say we kinda skipped first base and are hovering around second.”

“You’re so obnoxious.”

“I’m a badass, nothing I do is obnoxious; it’s automatically cool.”

“Rainbow?”

“What?”

“Nothing. What is this place?” I ask, feeling my patience begin to slip.

The werewolf hums thoughtfully, “You know, I’m not entirely sure. Looks like it could have been a lab of some sort, but it’s definitely too old to be modern. All I know is, a drug-running street gang used to set up down here, but they’re long gone.”

“Great, then where’s the exit?”

“Somewhere around here, but one is probably being watched by the cops and the other is going to be covered in daylight for the next four or five hours. I’m assuming neither would be good for your ‘health’.” I could hear the quotation marks she put around the word health. I appreciate the ironic humour of it and a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “Looks like you’re stuck down here. With me. Just...the two of us.”

I roll my eyes, “I’m not about to brush your coat.” This garners a thunderous chuckle from her.

“That’s okay, we can hash out foreplay another time.” Her tone darkens, “Right now, I think we need to have a talk about what to do next.”

“There is no ‘we’. There’s you, and there’s me, and as long as we stay out of each other’s way, and you keep your paws off innocents, our ways can stay separate.” I hear her rising as I speak, and before I even finish my sentence, I can sense her standing over me.

“Listen, kid, just because I like you, doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to all your white knight bullshit and let you run off before the threat to our lives is taken care of.” Her voice is harsh and low, the nearly scalding air from her lungs washing over my cold, dead skin. I expected her breath to smell of the death of Vale Hardywine, but the air passing over my nostrils is remarkably fresh. It’d be comically subversive if it didn’t remind me of my failure to protect the life I saved and the casually symbolic dismissal of it. “Not to sound dogmatic, but we were obviously chosen by someone or something to get rid of that moldy, jerk-stick of a necromancer, on pain of death. You can be a miserable little shit and cry about how awful it is to have to drink a little blood and pass on invitations to picnics, even though your new lifestyle comes with superpowers, but that needs to come after we take out the thing that wants to literally murder all of Canterlot.”

I clench my fists at her words as I bite back a lame retort. It stings, but she’s not technically wrong. I’ve been so worried I’d lost all control of my life that I didn’t see how the pursuit of regaining that control had been the same as the pursuit of power, the thought of which had tickled my natural disdain for authority. Regardless, I had been so preoccupied with my own goals I didn’t see the obvious fact that whatever has been speaking to me might actually be capable of destroying me. It could even be what made us this way in the first place.

“And what do you expect us to do about it? That thing threw us across the street with a wave of its hand.”

“That’s what I’m saying we need to think about. Shit’s about to get real in this town and if we don’t take down the cause, we’ll be dead anyway. Think about it. I can’t eat dead flesh, and you can’t drink dead blood. Sounds like that’s all that’ll be around if the evil wizard mummy gets his way. Even sipping on those stolen bloodbags is dangerous since you don’t know if the donor is even alive anymore. If the old vampire stories are right, I’m assuming you don’t want to find out if that matters.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and tap my foot in agitation. “I can’t exactly go around biting people, either. There don’t need to be more things like me around. I hardly have a handle on this damn vampirism, as it is.” I hear her claws click and scrape across the floor as she turns in place and settles back down with a hot, airy whumpf.

“That brings me to a couple of points and the heart of what I’d like to discuss.”

“Well, I guess I’m not going anywhere so let’s have it.” I immediately bite my tongue as I realize how that sounded.

“Maybe later, babe. I was thinking about a different kind of joint operation that might prove mutually beneficial in the long run.”

“What kind?” I ask, knowing I won’t like the answer.

“We’re gonna fight the local mafia.”

I laugh out loud, “No, you’re gonna fight the local mafia, super-wolf. I’m done taking lead showers and I’m not interested in learning what it’s like to be stabbed.”

“Would you think ahead for one fucking second, bat-boy? Tell me, how well did that raid on the blood bank go for you tonight?”

“Uh, well, I—”

“Most of the job was already done for you and you still got caught, probably killed an officer, severely injured another, and—”

“Wait, you were watching that?”

“I became a werewolf and met a cute vampire within two days. Cubetube and Webflix in my jammies doesn’t really hold a candle to watching what you’d be up to after what I assume was your first kill. If I hadn’t kept an eye on you, I’d be pretty confused about what ‘slay the revenant’ means.”

“Fair enough, but I’m still not interested in being part of a dynamic duo with you.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” A growls rolls through the room like distant thunder, “You’re a terrible thief, but you refuse to see that a more combative line of work could provide a source of blood, and serve your self-righteous need to be a goody two-shoes about getting it.”

It’s at least an elegant idea, I’ll give her that. Still, recklessly risking my hide every time I need to feed isn’t a sustainable lifestyle. Eventually, no matter how durable I turn out to be, I’d put money on it that someone is going to find a way to kill me.

“I can find a less destructive source of blood, thanks.”

She growls again, “Weren’t you the one who so nobly demanded we should use our abilities for the better? What happened to that little creed? Or did the cops just shoot off your balls? I didn’t see any blood down there, maybe they’re too small a target, or maybe you don’t even have—”

“Alright!” Gods, I can’t stand that she’s so infuriatingly right, turning my own damn words against me. “Fine, I meant what I said, but how are we supposed to fight a war on two fronts? We’ll be fighting the mafia on one side and a powerful fucking lich on another! I can hardly control my super-speed and I don’t even understand how any of my powers really work. Or what it takes to activate them, half the time.”

“What, like the way your eyes are glowing now?”

“They are?” I put a hand to my face and notice a dull, red luminescence against my palm. I lift my gaze to glance about the room, but find that my eyes are doing nothing to help me see in the pitch darkness. “Huh, that’s disappointing.”

“Gods, there’s something so strange about that light. It looks bright, but it’s not lighting much beyond the skin near your eyes.”

“Maybe it’s not ordinary light, then. Honestly, I haven’t found a purpose to this stupid reaction. It only happens when I feel upset or surprised.”

“Well, maybe we’ll find out what it does if you decide to join me.”

“Still can’t say I’m interested.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, do I have to spell it out for you? Think of it as a video game, I’m sure you understand that. These mafia guys are the starting level trash you fight so you can understand what you’re capable of and get stronger for the boss fights.”

“Cute.”

“No, you are. Anyway, if you can think of a better way for us to learn about ourselves and train up to take on the lich, I’m all ears, but for now, this is the best chance we’ve got.”

She has a point. We’d have the element of surprise and no one would know how to deal with us. Weren’t these the same thoughts I had after taking Rock’s blood for the second time? I’ve already arrived at the same conclusions and didn’t realize until now.

“Hypothetically speaking, where would we begin on this vigilante venture?”

“Hypotetck—hypuh—rrrgh…”

“Why don’t you just change back into a human so you can talk normally? Can you even change back yet or does it have something to do with the moon?”

“I can change back anytime I like, I just want practice talking when I’m like this.”

She has indeed been difficult to understand this whole time and I’ve been somewhat surprised I could follow along up to this point, but her speech has already gotten markedly better.

“How...pragmatic of you.”

“You just know how to push all my favorite buttons, don’t you?” she says, in what I assume was an attempt at a sultry tone.

“Anyway…”

“Yes, anyway. If you were to, hypo-thet-ic-ally join me, we would start with Miss Hardywine’s parents.”

“What?”

“She was a willing mule for the local cartel, dude. She knew her parents are a part of it and participated. That girl was bad news. She ran drugs to clubs and sold to everyone, including kids younger than us. Everyone in that scene knew her.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I used to be a part of the same circle. Why do you think she was out tonight? A lone girl all by herself on the streets after dark? Honestly, you did that homeless man a mercy. If her parents ever found out what had happened to her, he would have been hunted down and the blood would have left his body a lot slower and painfully than how you took it.”

“Huh. Wait, why should I believe any of this?”

She huffs a bassy sigh, “What, you want proof? We can get proof, bat-boy. I’ll show you where they arrange deals and you can watch it go down. You still remember that address or was that all talk to scare her?”

“224 Hockwood Drive.”

“Good, then that’s where we’ll start.”

“I didn’t say I’d—”

“Oh, give it a rest.”

I suppress a sour curse and cross my arms tighter.

Bitch.

We fall silent as we brood over the conversation. What does this make us? Vigilantes? Superheroes? Anti-heroes? I can’t help feeling like I’ve lost even more control of my life. My mother is going to be worried sick and Celestia is going to be massively disappointed that I missed the very first day of community service. Gods, the cops are also going to be more suspicious of me, as well. Disappearing for a whole day, right after a murder that has strong ties to me, reappearing after even more murders. I’m so incredibly screwed. Despite all this, I feel oddly calm, but that’s not unusual. I’ve always had an inexplicable sense that things are going to turn out fine, or that I’ll find a way to slip the consequences, even if I know I should be afraid. Thinking back on my life, it’s probably been conditioned into me by the extraordinary strings of fortune in times of trouble. Sometimes, I feel like I’m being watched over. Just as often, I feel cursed, and for good reason. Which is it, really?

“So your name is Gyre Strand, huh?”

“That’s me.”

“Hm. I like it.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s yours?”

“It...doesn’t matter anymore. Call me whatever you like, just don’t make it something stupid.”

“That’s not fair, you know my real name.”

“Life’s not fair, Gyre.”

“So I’m supposed to fight the mafia with someone who won’t even give me the courtesy of telling me her name?”

A dangerous edge creeps into her voice, “Yep. That’s how it is.”

“Tch. Alright, sunshine.” There’s a moment of silence before an idea strikes me, “Heh...Sunny. Now that’s a good, ironic name. Sunny the Werewolf.” I expect to hear her growl a mean-spirited protest, but she rumbles with low laughter for a long moment, “What’s so funny, Sunny?”

“Oh, nothing important. Sunny is fine with me. At least it’s not a lame rhyme, like Gyre the Vampire.” I clench my fist at this, and hold in a frustrated growl. She’s too good at getting the last word. “Goodness, look at those pretty, red eyes of yours.”

I snap my eyes shut, “You said you were part of the drug-runner circle once—how?”

Sunny gives another short chuckle and falls silent for a few beats before speaking, “That’s a long, sad story.”

“Even if we weren’t blind right now, you wouldn’t see me going anywhere. Besides, maybe we should at least get to know each other a little better, considering.”

“Considering we’re probably going to kill a lot of people together?” We fall silent again. After almost a minute, Sunny speaks again, “I suppose you’re right. But I’ll only tell you my story on one condition.”

“I’m not going to brush your coat or perform any other euphemisms.”

“Darn. And here I had my hopes up.” She deadpans. “Just come here. I promise I won’t bite.”

“You have no idea how non-reassuring that sounds, do you?”

“Do you want to get to know me, or not?”

I sigh inwardly, lacking air in my lungs with which to do so externally, in that moment. Uncrossing my arms, I take a few steps closer to Sunny’s voice. Without warning, hot arms fold across my shoulders and back and I’m heaved forward into a mess of coarse, but surprisingly soft, fragrant fur.

“What are you doing? Stop!” I try to push away, but the arms hold me to Sunny’s chest in an adamantine grip. In a moment of blind fury and panic I bring my claws to bear and begin tearing whatever flesh I can reach. Hard, dense muscles are cut to ribbons directly under my palms, first. I can feel bone somewhere near where I dug in. The beast’s grip tightens fractionally, but still lacks enough force to cause anything other than emotional discomfort. “Let me GO!” I bellow, summoning every ounce of supernatural strength I can muster into pushing myself away from her. Just as I reach the peak of exertion, the grip disappears and I feel the force of my efforts launch me partly across the room. Somehow, I land on my feet in a steady stance.

It’s at this moment that ghostly pale lights begin to flicker on somewhere down the hall. With my enhanced night vision, it’s as if the light in this very room had been suddenly activated and I can see everything for the first time. The lower half of the walls are covered in crumbling, stained tile that must have once been a clean, glossy white. As I had observed by touch earlier, a strip of wood separates this from a formerly wallpapered upper half that leads into ceilings of solid stone, supported by rusting metal rafters, several feet above my head. Though the room’s original purpose is impossible to guess at this point, perhaps a small office, it had clearly been converted into a sparse bedroom. To my right, a conspicuously clean and newish mattress sits atop a bulky, but ancient-looking metal frame with fixings to support different types of restraints. Beside this vaguely sinister bedding, a squat file cabinet acts as a nightstand, topped with olive-colored sheets and a cover, all folded neatly.

My eyes find their way back to the werewolf and the trail of blood between us. She remains on the floor, head turned away and eyes cast down with her upper back pressed to the corner of the room across from the open doorway, arms hanging limply at her sides. The mutilated flesh on both sides of her hips close as I watch, leaving ruddy stains in the dark grey fur as the only sign of violence. As much as I tried not to look, I notice a distinct lack of genitals between her splayed legs, where the fur is thinnest.

“What in Tartarus was that?” I demand. She doesn’t answer right away, only continuing to stare at the floor beside her. My head fills with a strange, subtle pressure and it takes a moment to realize that my interpretation was incorrect. I’m not feeling something, I’m hearing it. A high-pitched subsonic whine that starts and stops at short, almost regular intervals. It sounds so familiar, like…

Oh.

It’s Sunny. I wonder if she even knows that she’s keening, like a kicked dog. I hardly know the girl, but it’s difficult to imagine her crying. Perhaps she would be, if she was in her human form. What for? She’s the one that assaulted me. What right does she have to mope? None. But why, then, do I feel so bad?

“Hey, uh…” I try to say something, but forming the appropriate words comes as easily as trying to accurately guess the next step in the mid point of brain surgery.

“Just go.” She rumbles. “I’m...sorry.”

Gods, what should I do? She’s not my girlfriend to comfort. Tar’, I can’t even call her a friend yet, can I?

“Wait, just...well, what’s wrong? I didn’t mean to react like that, I just didn’t know what you were doing.” Sunny curls up on the floor and lays with her eyes closed.

“Don’t worry about it. The lights are back on, maybe you can find another exit; I haven’t fully explored this place yet.”

“What about getting to know each other? I still think it’s important.”

“Some other time, maybe. I don’t feel like talking anymore. The exit to the elevator shaft we came through is straight down the hall, you can’t miss it. The other way out is a manhole in a field. Follow the black arrows I painted near the ceilings.”

“I don’t suppose you want to walk me out?”

“You’re a big boy, Gyre.”

“Alright then.”

I return to the makeshift laundry room and feel my face flush at what the light reveals. Two dingy, fluorescent bulbs shine with harsh white light onto several pairs of underwear hanging just inside the door. Bright red and lacy, they’re hard to ignore as I duck under them and make my way to the sinks on my right, where a bottle of detergent and a washboard lay on the countertop. I wash my hands of most of Sunny’s blood, picking fur and flesh from under my claws. When I’m done, I move toward the back and come across yet another pair of ladies’ underwear with a thin rear strap meant to reveal some of the wearer’s anatomy and flatter it with minimal coverage. When I manage to tear my eyes away from the lingerie, more practical sets of bras hang beside stylish, fitted clothing clearly made for women of a thin, attractive size. It seems she certainly wasn’t lying about her human form’s aesthetics. A girl who looks that good could have any man she wants, why is she so interested in me? I’m painfully average-looking and being a vampire hasn’t changed that. Most of the clothing, besides the underwear, is dark black and well maintained in color, but splashes of violet stand out among the dark threads. I weave through the clothes lines and retrieve my holey shirt and pants from the back, folding the soggy mask and socks into them, along with my leather gloves. I find my shoes on the floor in a corner and, after a moment of inner debate, decide to leave the remains of my phone behind.

I find the first arrow and follow it a short distance back toward the room I awoke in, before spotting the next, pointing left, down the corridor that leads to the refrigeration room. I spy Sunny’s still form through the doorway as I glance down the hall. I didn’t notice it before, but her heartbeat picked up after that awkward moment and hasn’t slowed yet.

“Hey, maybe we can meet up Friday night? I’ll catch you at the edge of Crystal Park.” She doesn’t answer, but I’m positive she heard me. With a shrug, I walk away, following the guidance of her arrows. I grab my backpack from the fridge and continue on.

After a few turns, Sunny’s voice echoes to me, “It’s a date!”

Of course she’d say that. I grin and continue walking, wondering where this giddiness is coming from. And why it’s tinged with guilt.

“Son of a bitch.” I hiss. I’ve been walking for ten minutes and there are still black arrows pointing me onward to entirely new sections of this sprawling network of halls and rooms. I can’t decide if this was some sort of lab or secret asylum, but I assume it was both. Each cell-like room I pass instills images of inmates with horrid disfigurements, fresh from a visit to the rooms housing old-style versions of something resembling a dentist’s chair. Gods, what were they doing here?

Distracted, my foot lands on a sliver of glass that digs into my foot. I curse and carefully pull it off. I had lost count after thirty and the constant stopping is slowing my progress considerably. As it happens, my skin is now tough enough to resist being cut and pierced, but it hurts just as much as it normally would when sharp objects are pressed or jabbed into it, though the pain is short-lived. Thus, I don’t think I had actually cut my foot on tile earlier, but the realization speaks volumes of how sharp my claws and fangs are, to be capable of cutting or stabbing myself so easily. I thought about donning at least my shoes, but considering my future is likely filled with battles against gun-toting gangbangers, I figured I should at least get used to pain so I don’t collapse, like before. Sunny must have been through some shocking tribulations to be so resilient.

I take a left turn, following another arrow. The hall here is broad and long, with two large openings on the right. Other than the arrow pointing to the far end, past the two doorways, I find a painted symbol I haven’t seen yet. A black question mark is painted beside a doorway with the peeling words ‘Entrance Only’ stenciled to the side of it in three different languages. Beyond, a set of stairs leads down into a cavernous space. There are no lights on in there, but enough light floods in from the hallway for my sensitive eyes to see. Curious, I step through and descend the stairs into the gloom. The place looks to be a platform, similar to a subway station. I look over the edge of the platform and confirm this as I observe a set of rusted tracks. The tunnel that would lead in and out of this chamber is collapsed on both ends, plugged by heaps of boulders the size of cars.

Something huge was happening under Canterlot that has been kept a secret for a long, long time. What caused everyone to abandon this place, though? Furthermore, why would a drug-runner gang give this place up? It’s the perfect hideout for a group of lawless bastards. Questions for Sunny.

Now, I wonder if there’s something down here she didn’t tell me about. Flashes of creatures with tentacles for eyes and ribcages that open like mouths run through my head as I try to imagine what would cause an entire criminal enterprise to run from such a valuable stretch of territory. Most of the glass I’ve stepped on has been from broken beer bottles or stained flasks likely used to brew meth, or whatever else they were selling. There’s plenty of evidence that they were here, so why leave?

Just as my thoughts begin to reach truly terrifying places, the light blinks out of existence and I’m left in the perfect darkness with only the company of my imaginary monsters. I drop everything I’m holding and sit on the smooth, cold concrete.

“Welp...guess I shoulda seen that coming.” I groan and lay back with my feet dangling over the edge of the platform.

I stop myself from whistling for the third time in what has felt like as many hours. Now that I know monsters are real, if there are any sci-fi abominations down here, I probably shouldn’t broadcast my location to them.

Staring at the darkness, I drift into a half-hearted meditation, summoning vague images of stars and nebulae to occupy my mind, so I don’t start hallucinating. One image in particular sticks, repeating throughout the rest of the improvised scenery. It gets annoying, breaking my sense of immersion in the pretend celestial tour and I try shaking it. When it remains, I know something strange is happening. My eyes are open, I can feel the dry air against them, but the image of that constellation stays fixed in the center of my vision. It’s nothing I recognize, but there’s an undeniably forboding feeling attached to it, the same as when I considered replicating the ritual pose I take when receiving messages from the Voice.

The vision blinks away as a sound snatches my attention. Crunching glass. It’s distant, but clear to me. Another tinkle and pop as the shards snap under a heavy weight. I grab my shoes and jam my feet into them. Pants are a luxury when you might have to run from a bloodthirsty lab experiment. The footfalls come even closer. I lower myself off the platform and cringe as the shifting gravel I land on seems to scream and echo around the room. There’s a long pause before I hear the next step.

Oh gods, did it hear me?

Second by agonizing second, I listen, each sound coming from somewhere closer. I start to get angry, cursing all the powers that this thing just has to be heading my way. It isn’t until I hear it speak that I realize how much I overreacted.

“Gyre?” A strong, feminine voice drifts through the station to reach me. It’s surreal being able to hear well enough to pick it up. I imagine that if I could hear ghosts speaking to each other in the afterlife, that’s exactly how they’d sound. “It’s me, I just wanted to make sure you made it out okay!” So that’s how Sunny sounds in her human form. She still sounds upset. Why was she so bothered by my reaction? Surely, she should understand.

“I’m here!” I call back.

The footsteps come faster. Soon, I can hear a heartbeat and the steady thud of boots on tile. Eventually, I sense Sunny standing in the entrance doorway to the platform.

“What are you doing in here, bat-boy, looking for a place to roost?” Now that she’s nearer, I can hear a sharp, perhaps even bitter, quality to her voice. Besides that, there’s something familiar about it, but I’m sure I’d recognize her if we had spoken before.

“Ha ha.” I deadpan.

“Seriously, though, the lights used to stay on longer than this, but they were still on long enough for you to make it if you just walked.”

“I wandered a lot on the way.” I lie, “Kinda curious about this place. Hey, if you know the way, why don’t you just show me out, now that you’re here?”

“I don’t, yet, I just followed your scent. You smell like blood and petrichor.”

“The Tar’ is petrichor?”

“It’s that earthy, after-rain smell.”

“Oh. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” she says, sounding marginally brighter.

Awkward silence. Sunny crunches over the small bits of debris that litter just about every square foot of this place and settles on the edge of the platform, some yards to my right. Her heartbeat is still elevated, but not to the extent as before.

“So...while we’re here, do you still wanna talk?” I remove my shoes and climb back onto the platform to sit on the edge. “More practice for your wolf form.” I offer.

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay. Guess I’ll just...roost, then.”

We sit in silence for several more minutes until Sunny breaks it.

“I’m sure all this crazy stuff sucks a lot more for you than it does for me, but...I’m glad I’m not alone.”

I smile in the dark. “Yeah. Me too.”

Hozier - To Be Alone

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