Hannah made a clicking sound with her mouth. "I can't avoid this. Guess I'll just tell you." A sly grin grew on her face.
She knew this trick well—pretend to hold information, or lie about its value. A basic parlor game, the kind anyone should've picked up in the Outskirts.
The New Democracy wasn't a secret, nor did it try to be. Thankfully, Arman didn't know that yet. He hadn't even left Lumenport—she was the one meant to drag him out.
Herd sat patiently, his soup can empty of its rotten contents. She loomed over him as he slouched in a chair barely held together. For the first time tonight, she had a sense of control, one step ahead of this crazy old loon.
"Alright, there are a number of things I could start with, but I'll go with the beginning. Since we like telling stories."
Herd nodded, while Arman sat like a statue—eyes glazed, staring into the shadows without moving.
"There was once a man who lived in Lumenport. Yeah, I know, nothing special. But he'd lived there his whole life. For years, he gave himself up to that city—the place he called home. He was fairly happy, I've been told. Some of the best years of his life. He had everything he could ever want—"
The wind outside picked up, rattling the wood paneling. The noise cut her off as things inside the house shifted with the draft. She noticed Arman hadn't budged. Not an ounce of movement. He looked more robotic than human.
She shook the thought off and continued. Herd just stared at her, which at least felt more normal.
"Ahem. He had everything—except something very important. Our autonomy. Humanity. The ability to choose who you want to be, what you want to do. That was all ripped out of him by those fuckhead elites."
"These 'elites,' you call them—the leaders of Lumenport, then?"
Just as Hannah was about to answer, Arman spoke. His voice was flat. "You would be correct, sir."
She looked over. He still looked soulless, though now he fidgeted in his seat. Herd's story must have gotten to him.
Herd stayed silent, nodding, motioning for her to continue.
"So, he got sick and tired of it all. He begged and pleaded at their feet, hoping someone would give him anything to start a change. No one cared, obviously. He was torn away from his family and home. Ripped out like an insect, stamped down, and tossed into the Outskirts. All for questioning a broken system. How unfair is that?" She didn't give him time to answer.
"He had restraint. If it were me, I would've slit every one of their throats. But that's besides the point, he eventually created his own place where everything was free. Anyone from any walk of life could join him, make a better world. A place where you had your own autonomy. Now that's something this shithole of a world needs."
She breathed heavier, catching herself. Herd and Arman both sat unmoving. "Now are you satisfied?"
Herd's eyes twitched. His cane thumped softly as he thought. "I guess it was an alright sales pitch. But nothing really top secret."
"I told you what I knew, old man. You have to give us the rest of what you know now." She snapped, and out of the corner of her eye, something about his shadow twitched.
Still he just sat there, thumping his cane. "I think it's time to hit the hay."
Ignoring her words, he grabbed his lantern and hobbled toward the stairs, the thump and creak of his cane and floorboards blending together.
"You're seriously going to make me say all of that and then not give me anything back? You've got some fucking nerve."
Herd turned, lantern casting a crooked smile across his ruined face. He took one mangled step toward her. "I said it is time to sleep. You'll get what you want to know in the morning."
His voice was calm, smooth—nothing like his appearance. Only the rancid stench of moldy soup reminded her it was still him.
She nodded, tired of playing the fool. His shuffle up the stairs soon vanished.
The only thing left for her was a damp mattress blotched with black and yellow stains. It reeked like the rest of the house—rotten.
Arman still sat slumped in the chair, arms and legs pulled tight against him like a kid hiding from the world.
"There was something up with Herd," he muttered.
Obviously, Hannah thought. Just Outskirter behavior. "He was just a strange old man, Arman. People out here act crazier. He's just another drop in the bucket."
"No, you don't understand." His head lifted from the cage of his arms. "He was one of those things. I have no doubt about it."
"Sure he is. About as much as I'm the ruler of everything you see." She added that last bit to cut his fear down. "We can sleep in shifts. Doesn't matter where a monster comes from, we'll deal with it."
He gave her a doubtful glance, then tucked his head back down. "I guess we can try…"
The unease rolling off him made the air heavier.
"Well, I'm getting some rest first. I'm easier to wake than you. You grew up cushy. I've been doing this forever." Her voice was firm. She laid her head on the cold, damp mattress, eyes closing into darkness.
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Arman sat rigid, his whole body tensed, ready to spring.
Every sound—the bushes outside, the groan of the windows—vibrated violently around him. He felt like a caged animal.
The silences in between were worse, creating their own oppressive noise.
The darkness pressed in, the boarded windows choking out the moonlight until the shadows seemed alive. His mind twisted them into monsters, shapes curling toward him and then away.
Time dragged on as he sat frozen in the chair, sinking lower the longer he stayed there.
The only thing that didn't surprise him was Hannah's occasional snore—a harsh, guttural sound that came and went.
Then it came: that familiar prick inside him. A calling. Inhuman.
It dug deep, writhing and burrowing into him like a parasite. Closer than in the alley. Right here. In the room.
Creeping closer with every second he didn't act.
He couldn't see it in the dark. Couldn't place it in the shadows.
His eyes strained, darting, but when he tried to rise he realized he couldn't.
Pins and needles gripped his body, sending electric waves through his legs—sharp and painful, like burning knives sketching across his skin.
Arman fought to push himself up, to say anything, but nothing came.
How was this possible?
Moments ago he was fine. Now he was trapped in the chair—no answer, no escape.
Fear closed in with sharp pricks stabbing into his skin.
Something brushed his legs; it was like a wet mop caressing him, only making the tingling worse.
His eyes strained again, but then it touched his arms. His neck. Crossing over him, circling, tightening.
He couldn't scream. Couldn't move. Hannah's snores sounded distant, as if drowned under waves.
Then he felt it. A tug. Wires crossing and cutting into him.
A low crackle filled his ears—not a sound from around him, but from inside.
His bones were fractured and crushed under jaws he could not see.
This was a nightmare—an impossibility given life. Yet there was no one who could help him.
He was all alone. He was going to die again.
Until a gunshot rang out—a crackle of life forced into the dark world around him.
A noise of pain came from the thing around him: a loud screech that rippled through his body.
"Got you now, fucker!" Hannah bellowed as she fired two shots in quick succession.
Darkness stopped enveloping Arman as a slight hint of light broke free. Cold, moldy air seeped into his lungs as the thing violently ripped itself off him, its teeth tearing through his flesh as it attempted to escape. It was like fishing hooks being pulled out of his skin.
Hannah didn't give the thing time to flee. With her last two bullets she fired again. Each shot lit the room for a split-second, throwing monstrous shapes against the walls that vanished with the flash.
For those split seconds Arman saw it:
It looked unnatural—completely black, almost like a void in space, with mismatched parts growing out of impossible places. The shadows licked off it like blood seeping from the hole she'd made.
Holes that revealed glimpses of reality within the void of the creature.
And just like that, it gave one last horrifying screech and fell into a puddle of itself. The liquid seeped into the floorboards, never to be seen by the pair again.
"Bullets kill monsters easily. Good to know." Hannah's tone was confused but proud.
Arman was still unsure. However, that feeling of connection was gone now. All he could feel was blood coming from his wounds, knowing pieces of his skin were probably gone. He didn't want to look.
"Now what the fuck happened to you? I have a feeling I'm gonna have to take drastic measures."
Arman tried to protest, but he felt too weak. Whatever was paralyzing him was still coursing through his body.
She went over and picked him up. Pain shot through the spots she touched like frozen burns, but she was surprisingly gentle.
Carrying him out to the truck, she set him down in the back seat, turning the engine on to get some light on him.
Her face grimaced as she looked at him. Arman didn't want to know what he looked like. Probably like shit.
"It would probably be best if you weren't awake for this. You'll thank me later."
Her words barely registered before he felt something heavy hit him on the head, and his world went black again…