Chapter Text

As I take a step toward the slumped form of my attacker, rifle trained on its head, the other raises both of its chitinous hands to cover itself. Perhaps it’s the humanity of the gesture, the desire to survive rather than the heedless, feral rage so typical of these creatures which gives me pause, or perhaps it’s that brief, tantalising flash of metal halfway down a shelled finger. Whatever the reason, as I stare at the oily slime oozing from its shattered carapace and listen to the wet rasp of its ruined lungs, I realise that I can’t pull the trigger.

This shouldn’t be any different.

It’s been almost three months now since I joined up with Michaels’ group, and even that wasn’t the first time I’d killed one of these things. Since then, I’ve notched twenty-eight more, including one this morning. I’ve never had trouble shooting one before, and it’s not as though there’s any option to just let them go. If you’re smart and careful you can usually avoid them, even lure them away from places you need to be, but once you’ve been seen it’s kill or be killed.

Maybe that’s why this time is different. Until now, every encounter with these creatures has been a struggle for survival, a mad scramble of claws and bullets and killing instinct. Staring down at the helpless creature before me, its trembling arms outstretched as its threat bleeds away from dozens of wounds, the hatred of desperation fades away and I find myself pitying the other. While usually I don’t see putting down the crabmen as any different to the rabid dogs we sometimes encounter, the thought of doing so here feels strangely like murder.

“You alive up there, Magpie? We heard shots.”

The drawl of Michaels’ voice is barely audible beneath the crunch of static as the old radio on my harness scratches to life. The first time she called me ‘magpie’ was also the first time I had her pistol tucked beneath my chin, having mistaken her crash site for one long forgotten and begun stripping it for parts. For the first few weeks afterward, I thought that she’d let me go because she’d realised that it was an honest need to survive rather than anything malicious, and that she would hesitate to shoot someone so young. Now, I suspect it’s more that she saw the value in having a decent mechanic tag along, and that she had more food than bullets. Though I don’t take my eyes off the dying creature, I raise a hand to my shoulder and hold down the transmit button.

“I’m fine, captain. You’ll hear one more shot in a moment, got a bleeder here, over.”

“A quick moment. We’ve got less than two hours to make it to the safehouse and Dawes reports movement on the horizon. Michaels out.”

Though one of the creature’s arms slumps to its side, the other remains outstretched, still reaching toward me. I can see the glint of metal there more clearly now - a small ring, perhaps gold, the plate pinched beneath it as though crushed in its grip. It’s with a start that I realise, the ring must have been there all along - the mutations occurring around it, yet unable to break its hold.

As the arm finally wavers and begins to fall, I kneel down, turning to what’s left of the other’s face meet the gaze of its single remaining eye, a dark iris barely distinguishable atop a milky gray orb. Though most of the muscles and skin around it have long since hardened into an armoured shell, there’s just enough moving tissue left to convey something. Not the mindless, feral anger I’ve seen in the rest of its species - intelligence? Desperation, even pleading?

I follow the other’s gaze as that eye spins back to the ring on its finger, beginning to understand. Beneath its mangled, crustacean features, beneath the chitinous carapace, there was once a person. A husband, perhaps a father. A human being with hopes and dreams, stripped down to a tool and deprived even of his own body, yet anchored by that single, precious reminder of identity. How long has he been trapped like this, I wonder? How many years has he suffered, enslaved to this sickness, helpless to do anything but cling on to his sense of self?

Too long.

I carefully pull the glove from my own right hand, revealing the single, silvered ring there. The pearly eye fixes on it for a moment, and when it finally returns to meet my gaze once more, its surface is glossy, glistening wet. A lump rises in my throat as I carefully reach over with my other hand: this close, if the creature decides to attack, I won’t have time to react before it’s upon me. But the moment passes, and I tap twice atop the golden ring before scooping up my rifle once more and rising to my feet.

“I’ll look after it, I promise.”

The other continues to stare at me as I raise the rifle, its breath barely audible now. Amidst the oil and blood, a single drop of clear moisture rolls free from its eye, gleaming as it spills down the scales of the cheek. We continue to stare for a few moments more before the creature finally gives the slightest tremble of its carapace, what might be an approximation of a nod.

Michaels scowls when I return to the outside a few minutes later, jerking a thumb toward the other three figures waiting in the courtyard as she turns. “You took your time.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you at least find the parts you need?”

“Not quite, but close enough.”

“Good. At least this hasn’t been a complete waste of time.” She pauses a moment, raises an eyebrow. “That’s a nice new necklace you’ve got there. I do hope our little magpie hasn’t been wasting time searching for treasure.”

I shake my head, fingering the ring on the chain at my neck. “This was important to someone, once.”

Michaels rolls her eyes as she signals to the others to fall in behind us. “Nobody who matters any more.”