Indebted SFW omnibus edition; parts 6-10 of 10
The overdue second part to the omnibus version
6
I woke up to the low rumbling of the tanks outside.
"They're here", said skinny Joe.
"No shit", said muscle Mike. "We're fucked."
"They'll bomb the hell out of the brothel to paralyse the police, i reckon", he said. "No good deed goes unpunished."
There were screams and some terrific ripped-celery noise, no, bones snapping from the outside. Were they running over the southern military?!
Through the foggy window, the sun hadn't quite risen yet, casting a reddish glow across this gory scene. Or maybe it was just a squirt of blood against the window. We couldn't tell in our panicked minds.
There were noises of panic from the other werewolves in the room, who had likely come to the same conclusion as Muscle Mike. They hadn't the luxury of the letter's advanced warning.
“i know a safe space upstairs, reserved for category I, cushions and supplies galore.", Skinny Joe said in a hushed tone, as if to hide his voice from the others.
He started dressing as the rumbling only got louder and closer, Muscle Mike and i following his lead.
Skinny Joe made a start for the hallway and to the stairs as i was still pulling my shirt over my head.
"They management don't know yet", said Muscle Mike. "They're probably not even awake, so we're lucky"
Well, no, because as we topped the stairs, we saw the one-eyed brothel manager sleepwalking through the double doors of the staff-only section.
He wasn't sleepwalking for long though. A loud shatter and then a bang as the tank shot a shell through the window of the straight wing's main room. I heard some floor-beams fall alongside the various shelves and filing cabinets upstairs.
Let me just tell you how loud this bang was. It's so loud it hurts, so obnoxious that it deafens you for a hot second, so powerful it shakes you a little, so there you feel a little ill. These aren't human tanks. These were home-grown with the excess of power that was common for these creatures.
"They didn't demolish our route", reassured Skinny Joe.
"But they will soon", predicted muscle Mike.
"What the fuck are you three doing here?!", asked the brothel manager, raising his raspy voice. “It's strictly off limits to anyone who's not the staff and not the unpunished!!"
"No time to talk, we need to get to the preservation room!", urged Muscle Mike. "Or we're fucked!"
The manager didn't understand. That didn't matter. Muscle Mike was pushing through, past him, to get to the little room.
The manager chased him through the staff only area. We simply ran after the two.
We reached the safe-room. The brothel manager was furious at Muscle Mike. "And you think it's ok to play these silly games?"
He was too angry to have sense, yet again. I could almost see drops of anger dripping from his claws as he raised one of his arms to release his anger into Muscle Mike.
"Keep away from Muscle Mike", warned Skinny Joe. “You'll be losing too much."
“You're nothing but a whore and a shitty one at that!", retaliated the screaming manager. “He broke my beauty sleep so i'll break his beauty!"
“Don't you dare attack him", said Skinny Joe, between gritted teeth.
“He's not under your employment", replied the manager. "Keep out of this."
Fingerquoting, Skinny Joe simply replied “ 'employment' ".
I heard a flurry of footsteps from the hall, followed by a "What's all this shouting over?!", screamed by yellow-hair. “I was having my first wet dream in months!", a TMI from yellow-hair.
Another shatter of glass and a loud bang. The many walls muted it a little. It wasn't onto the brothel, though.
"Ah, i see, sergeant grey is having flashbacks", explained yellow-hair to us. "Pushing the north back in their place, the cold sea, those years back. It takes a toll"
What the actual fuck are you doing? Muscle mike's about to die and you're going on a fucking rant?!
Oh, but the brothel manager had taken a little pause to comprehend yellow-hair's words.
“That's right, take a breath, calm down, and realise these are your peers", chimed black-arms, stepping into the room.
Muscle Mike took the distraction as an opportunity to hide in the now-locked circular metal bubble. "SEATS THREE WEREWOLVES" said a sign near the door. Really…, reserved for category I?
"Look what you've done!", screamed the brothel manager to the two new werewolves. “I guess we'll have to punish these two by association…!"
I was glared at by his ragged eye. It was the kind that constantly twitched, even more so now that he was irate with irritation.
“Leave them alone, too", said black-arms. "They're the… the only reason you can afford that gin! The oil of life, too!"
I saw a scowl erupt onto the manager's face, but he comprehended gin and comprehended blood.
Defused.
"Lets get into the saferoom, quick", said black-arms.
Yellow-hair knocked on the door and announced his name. And again. Only on the third time did he get in.
We all shoved ourselves into the little bubble of safety, save for the manager, who we locked out in caution, his rapid fists trying to pull open the locked door in vain. We were not three werewolves. We were two werewolves and three humans. And two humans are the size of one and a quarter werewolves. (1.25/2)*3 is 1.88 werewolves, roughly 2. We were equivalent to four werewolves. One werewolf too much.
It wasn't too comfortable. I was squashed between yellow-hair and black-arms, jostled by their little comfort-seeking movements. I realised it felt nice though, so i decided to accept it.
In order from the door to the other side, sat yellow-hair, me, black-arms, Skinny Joe, and Muscle Mike.
It was a weird space. A long bench sat around the circumference of the the bubble, some kind of thin foam padding covering every inch of the exposed surface. There sat three lap-belts, like those seen on some buses. We didn't bother with them. In the middle lay some bare metal floor. It was cramped so we ended up touching the sides of our feet. Black-arms wiggled his toes. Skinny Joe gently stomped on them. A little brown electric light sat in the center, up above us, lighting us all up in some grim shadow. It flickered wickedly, almost as tired and stressed as the two units i was stuck between.
"What now?", asked Muscle Mike.
"We'll camp here for a few hours", said Skinny Joe. "The coup will pass us soon. You did make the brothel fire resistant, didn't you, Muscle Mike?"
"Only the two homosexual wings", said Muscle Mike. "This place is too big."
"Ugh", said Skinny Joe. “Well, there goes the straight wing."
We heard banging outside again. The raspy muted voice of the one-eyed brothel asshole was somehow penetrating the soundproof bubble. “Let me in!"
Erm, no thanks. You'll kill us all, we're sure.
We heard a muted boom. The tanks had shot a building across the street. Through the many walls and soundproof cage, it was almost inaudible, but the tanks were incredibly loud. The raspy voice stopped in shock.
“Where's the food?", asked black-arms.
“In the cabinets above you", said Skinny Joe. “Not that you'll need it."
“Don't mind if i do!", said black-arms.
“We will", said Muscle Mike and Skinny Joe, in an out-of-sync unison.
“Fine", said black-arms, a certain almost-faux-disappointment in his voice.
This place was relatively boring. We had to talk to pass the time, i guess.
“Where's straight-ears?", i asked.
"He's probably gone to a different saferoom", said black-arms. “The others have their own saferooms. They're way more comfortable."
“Let's go there", i said.
“Well, that's too dangerous", said Skinny Joe. “Do that and you'll likely end up killing yourse-"
A boom. Some floor collapsed beneath us. A fleshy noise. The brothel manger had likely fallen. Or maybe not.
We camped out for the next few hours, talking. It was comfortable here, i found.
"We're from the north!" shouted a voice with a foreign accent through the muffling. “Your liberation is here!"
“I thought they wanted to destroy the police through us…?", i said. “Are we not getting bombs?"
“Raw speculation", said Skinny Joe. "No bomb."
Skinny Joe leaned over to slide open a shutter in the door. I hadn't seen that window under the light. “Looks legit", he said. He cautiously unlocked the door.
He was the first to step out. He shook hands with the wiry werewolf standing there, wearing a wide cheesy smile to improve first impressions. Muscle Mike followed soon after. I was pinned between the two hunks, neither of which were awake enough to be willing to leave. I elected to sit here for a little while longer instead.
I watched as they discussed the new polices to be brought here. I wasn't really listening.
After a little while, black-arms rose from his slumber.
The wiry, grey-haired guy standing there continued discussions. "So, most of the money is flowing to the police, right?"
"About 40%, i think, but we'll need the accountant to be sure", said Skinny Joe. "Get straight-ears", he said, directed at Muscle Mike.
The little builder trotted down the hall to grab the accountant, who was likely in a slumber. Black-arms got up and had a look at the two in conversation. "What's been going on?"
"We've just been discussing the decriminalisation of prostitution", said Skinny Joe. "You get to keep your workers and you just need to redirect the bribe into 'taxes'."
"Ah, so we'll be financially better off?", asked black-arms. "Gosh, that'll be helpful"
"Very much so", said Skinny Joe. "Just don't tell anyone... We don't need another, let's say, industrial action happening again."
A wink, referring back to part 3, no doubt.
"The great thing about our prostitution bill is that you don't need to adjust to horrific standards", The wiry man said with a raspy voice. Not the dark and angry voice of the manager (rest in peace, i think), but a softer, more gentle voice. "As your little... lawyer said, right?"
"We all know just how helpful that'd be, right?", said Skinny Joe.
"Yeah, i guess", said Black-Arms, a little wave of tiredness washing over him. It was early for him, i guess.
Straight-ears came into the room and ran a running glance across us. Yellow-hair was also coming to be and the two werewolves locked eyes.
"What the fuck is happening?", they asked, barely in sync.
"We're going to have an easier time", said Skinny Joe. "No need to pay the bribe, just a small coup tax. No investigations. Simplicity and an easy time for everyone."
"How much?", asked Skinny Joe. "Remember that bribes were about 40% of our money"
“30% of ¤300, actually", said straight-ears.
"we request 20%", said the wiry gentleman in his gentle and raspy voice, as if to negotiate. He seemed old. "All you need to pay. For our troubles in bringing you freedom. Viva el feptentrio!"
Spanish...? Wouldn't "norte" fit better?
I shoved that little worry aside.
"Oh, time, we need to continue towards the center", he said, checking his wristwatch. "We'll come back and if we don't get the money you won't have a brothel."
"Deal", said yellow-arms. Not quite confident though.
"Viva el feptentrio", said the departing gentleman.
“viva", the sloozy yellow-arms repeated, blinking his eyes like the glitchy light just outside the brothel.
And just like that, we were alone together under the forced control of a new country. A small thinking-pause.
“And there come the north again, with their silly little independence movement", said Muscle Mike. “Things'd better if they could just surrender to the south. Useless war, useless language, useless everything."
“Woah, slow down", said Skinny Joe. “Don't forget which side you're on! They're the ones that are fighting for your rights. You wanted this, right?"
“What, so i could go work on some mile-high scaffolding doing some ass-boring masonry for some shitty government building?!", retaliated muscle mike. “I hate it here with all my heart. I want to leave, damn you and your libido!"
“I'm not saying you should go work in the shitty places; the portal is in the grand fields of the mid-country. It'd be so easy to go back", said Skinny Joe. “Just take a bus to the nearby village"
“You're too optimistic. Did you forget just how hard it is to get back?!", said the increasingly agitated Muscle Mike. “I'll spend years waiting for my visa, and they'll still say no, you'll tell, you'll snitch, you'll fuck us all up. That fucking sucks!"
“I see your point, but", started Slim Joe. “There are weak spots. There are the carriers. You've got the brothel's money to pay for the trip, and you're back in the human world. Sure, a psych ward, but still in the human world!"
Muscle Mike struggled to reply.
“Just ¤1,000 per person, ¤500 for the transfer from south city. We can make it happen", said Skinny Joe.
“Absolutely fucking not", said yellow-hair. “You're the perfect fit for the brothel and i'm not letting you go."
“It was in the fucking contract", said Skinny Joe.
“The contract you said was written by a snail", said yellow-hair.
“But we can still try to guess what it meant", argued Skinny Joe. “And Muscle Mike is free to go once he pays the loan."
“Snails can't write terms and conditions"
“But when they do, it's on us, lawyers, to understand. And it's in your best interest to keep Muscle Mike happy".
“Or what?"
“Let's just say that the plaster we used was… not quite up to stretch."
Muscle mike gave a pained expression. Skinny Joe winked.
“Without him, you're fucked", said Skinny Joe. “We're fucked, as he would say, if he chooses to splash some alcohol onto the plaster."
“Can confirm", said Muscle Mike. Was he lying?
“We'll just keep the gin away from him, then", replied black-arms. "It'd be better in the long run
“Good luck", said Skinny Joe with a smirk.
“Now then, where the fuck is the brothel manager?", i asked, half to distract us from Skinny Joe's little trick and half to get info.
"How would we know?!", asked black-arms “Just a bang and mush, he's gone!"
“He might've died", said Muscle Mike. “One of the times we wouldn't be fucked."
“Wait, fuck, he might not've…" said Slim Joe. “He's a little trickster sometimes."
“Fuck! Check the money!", screamed yellow-arms to Muscle Mike, the fittest of the group. “Here's they key; unlock the money-room and look for the cash!"
The clientele were different. Military men in fancy costumes, fancy costumes i had a thing for, fancy costumes with the words “viva la tramuntana y fin a laf doloref!" stitched onto the shoulder. From my limited Spanish knowledge, it seemed that “s" was replaced with “f" in this dialect, such that the final phase was “long live the north and end to the pains!".
Turns out the manager had left with quite a hefty sum of the money. Straight-ears was stressed, knowing that the 20% couldn't be paid.
Skinny Joe was here. He told me all about the way the north had their own dialect of Spanish and made it a point to use it instead of English. I've heard of the way the motorway signs try to communicate to people a basic concept like “no tirar bafura", followed by the translation below saying “don't litter". The problem was that the English part would be scratched off or covered by some spray-paint screaming “¡hablar efpañol!", possibly even “¡hablar efpañol Ð feptentrio!" if there was space.
I forgot how much i liked being an amateur linguist. It's one of the main things that influenced my decision to move to Barcelona; to get a fresh start in a place with a fresh language.
I watched one match up with a local werewolf. “viva el norte", he said before they walked off.
It was a good night, w'all decided, eating lunch in the cafeteria. I made a hefty sum that night. Northen cash!
It was nice seeing that the brothel was still holding together; none of the other humans had been lost in the tank blasts. They loved it there, in their spacious safe-rooms.
But Onita had a little bit of insight to offer. Turns out she'd been to the north on a little client-sponsored tour, an escort for a faux-honeymoon. For such an economically productive region, it didn't quite seem like the most organised place. Street planning was as brilliant as the shine of a muddy car, their official governmental signs lacking a common asthetic, heck, even a common orthography; some, particularly the more south-sympathetic ones went for preserving the “s" and “z" letters. The others made no such effort, also eradicating the “q" and “c" letters. Whilst one went for “la nuevo ley por las proceduras de la tribunal", another would simply say “La konfilum nufu por tafmin tirafiku". It presented quite the confusion for foreiginers, as was intended by the northenists.
Turns out there was a little bit of political charge behind your choice of subdialect; go for the official, English-y words and you voice your pro-south opinion. Go for the dialect-specific, foreign words, and you voice your pro-north opinion. Orthography too; use the standard one and you're pro-south, the weird one and you're pro-north. It was a rule of thumb with as many exceptions as the verb “tirar" has; none.
Remember my client, the one who said “viva el norte"? What opinion do the soldiers themselves have? Did the all have the same opinion? Are they really a unified force? And, importantly, are the north really as organised and well-put-together as we have come to believe?
7
“Maybe i should visit", said Muscle Mike. “I dream of better days."
“The days are certainly better there", said the second lesbian. “We can get you a northern newspaper subscription and see for yourself what they concern themselves with."
“Spoiler: they're mostly about tax and managing public funds, and a little bit of celebrity gossip", she continued. “Tyrone 'safety guy extraordinaire', saves another werewolf's life with his 'magic hands'!"
“All he did was tie a bunch of little threads together to hold together the suicide net", said the first lesbian, rendering insensitive the intonation of the second's voice. “Turns out it is quite stressful working in the bank."
“What, because the money moves south?", i asked.
“Exactly", said Skinny Joe. “It's painful to look at the taxes and seeing just how much local banks are extorted from."
“It's just us on a massive scale", said Ortil. “The north can be seen as a category V, bound to their captor, forced to give away most of their meager payment."
“ 'meager' ", fingerquoted Anista. “They're the second most productive community, after south city."
“Ah, so they're just like us", witted Skinny Joe. “Guys who stand to make a lot, all forced to give it away, seen as the same stuff as their captors by the others."
“Yet they have nothing to do with their captors, and as we all likely know, life would be better without them", he continued. “It's quite the tension."
“And i'm sure the brothel'll be ripped apart", said the second Lesbian. “What happens after coups? A re-take-over, right?"
“Exactly", said the first lesbian. “And we're a symbol that each side can use for propaganda, the most successful illegal establishment in the country."
“The north can say that they can make life better for all of us by taking over and making sure the money flows where they think it should", she said. “And the south say that they, with their laws and regulations, can simply guide the brothel towards mutual prosperity"
“We're just a metaphor", said Muscle Mike. “A way to paint the picture people want."
“And each side will turn us into what they want", said the first lesbian.
“We're dough, basically.", she stated. “Now then, what do you want? To be killed or to be held in esteem?"
"It's very simple, either way", said the first lesbian. “It's all about money. We should invest our wages into the north's military and keep ourselves under their control."
“And how would we pay off our loan?", asked Chad. “Your ideas are shit, no offense"
“I don't think the loan sharks will have much chance in this climate", said the second lesbian. “They'll simply disappear as the regulations wash into the brothel."
“I thought the north was mainly about decriminalisation…?", i asked.
“At first", she said. “And then they'll go introduce rules to turn our massive profits into public good."
“Much better than the south's system", she continued. “The north is about turning businesses into prosperity-pushers and keeping them positive places, places free of that selfishness which only every grows. The south is about keeping everyone content"
“TL;DR: The north wants to push society to be the best it can be, the south merely wants werewolf society to be happy", summarised the first lesbian. “Even if they remain unoriginal."
A fundamental divide.
“And the north has… what, exactly to prove for itself?", i asked.
“They have modern technology", said Skinny Joe. “And they'd like to do more, but the south exists."
“I don't think i trust them", said Chad. “Governments generally make big promises and little action."
“You're free to disagree", said Skinny Joe. “Not that it matters when the north are so great. You're free to let yourself die."
“You're always so negative too", said the second lesbian. “Calm down a little, chad! Not a gigachad move!"
Referencing modern internet culture…? I thought she spent years here, with no contact with the human world, right?
I kind of de-focused on the conversation at that point, them going against Chad, ADHD pushing through.
It was evening again. I faced the window, looked out into the street. Northern-owned. It's the north. That was a hard pill to swallow. Could i step out there? Was it dangerous?
And for the first time since i'd been here, a human client came in. Disheveled, clothing too big, mid-20s. A true hidden local. He wouldn't get human clothes; they'd have to be smuggled in, expensive. Those keeping him from the street probably didn't want to bother with that kind of cost.
I wondered what his story was. Was it the same as mine, brought here by coercion? Brought by what?
He paired up with a werewolf and went to a sex room.
“What do you reckon his story is?", i asked Skinny Joe.
“Kidnapped and forced into work someplace", he said. “He was probably a furry, i reckon."
“Hmm:..?", i asked. “A furry?"
“Yeah, furries tend to end up here quite often", he responded. Not an answer. “They meet up with the right shady people and they can pay a hefty sum to end up here. Most of them are scammers. A few aren't, like the ones he probably contacted."
“Oh", i said.
Come to think of it, the loan sharks did push themselves to me as i went on a round of looking for porn, on the furry sites. They said that they could help if i ever got into debt, they could help, that they'd be happy to “accept" me and my plight. That they'd find a use for me whether i paid or not.
Red flags flying everywhere, butterflies in the stomach. But i felt a thrill from thinking about it. I joked; €10,000, please. They wouldn't accept, i thought. My credit rating was too low, i thought. I was a stranger on the internet, i thought; i sent real details but they could be fake details. Not so. They happily wired me the money and i saved myself, got a start in adulthood.
And i was beginning to fall again, fail in socialising, in the non-money matters. I was probably going to get depressed and feel meh again. And then the management came to rescue me, took me here, to this beautiful place. I had my libido taken care of, my basic needs guaranteed, a simple life.
“Yeah, so he probably works in someplace like moped mechanics, judging by the grease", said Skinny Joe. “Either that or he works in a luxury restaurant. Common path."
“That's just speculation", said Muscle Mike. “He looks quite happy in general though."
For once, positivity from this guy?
“How's life for him?", i asked. "Does he have any friends?"
“Not many, probably just between management and him", said Skinny Joe. “Well, they are local celebrities if they're chefs. Posters of their face, visible from the street, so maybe not."
“There are laws against promoting humans, but they always argue it technically isn't promotion because it's 'for the guests's entertainment', which doesn't explain why it's always angled at the windows", he continued. “Not that they're ever punished."
Interesting.
I thought about humans, how i'd get to see more of them if i left. I want to go to north city one day, see how it's like walking in a street where i could easily be killed for my traits, but just… not. I want to feel the danger and realise it's all ok.
“Are we safe to go outside?", i asked.
“It's technically ok", said Skinny Joe. “But i don't think its practically ok."
“Really?", i asked.
“If we lose you, we're fucked., said Muscle Mike. “Well, we're fucked anyways, but without you we're even more fucked."
A werewolf came up to us and interrupted any further conversation. He wanted Muscle Mike.
The night was successful and we made a bunch of money, enough for the loan not to hate us.
I woke up in the middle of the night, hours before sunrise, i was sure. It was the cacophony of gunshots, the noise of a building falling, the bass rumbles as the shells detonated around us. There was a skirmish. A rise of unidentified voices around me swelled up with newfound optimism.
“I think it's the south!"
“Liberation!"
“I'm free!"
Ok, maybe y'all are, but not me.
A werewolf went to the window to watch as the noise of gunshots panned from one side of the room to the other, from the center portion of the city out towards the outskirts. A splash of blood erupted from the back of his head as he fell back and remained motionless. The voices panicked.
“Hairy Hedon is dead!"
“We need to get out of here!"
Skinny Joe slipped into his clothes, Muscle Mike and i having the sense to follow promptly.
We closed ourselves into the 9-werewolf-rated “humans only" safety room, locking the door just before a handful of werewolves threw themselves against the door, begging entry.
We sat comfortably in the bubble, surrounding a padded column in the center. We exchanged glances as the room heated up a degree or two.
“We're fucked", said Muscle Mike, the first to break the solemn silence of the safety room.
“We're all fucked", agreed Chad.
Fucked. That had a double meaning. Did they intend it?
Fuck. What did the werewolves outside do for work? They fucked. Did they consent? Barely. Not enough.
I liked it here. But i forgot that they existed. I wasn't the only ones here. Fuck. I liked the novelty. They? What could they possibly enjoy? Wait, how did they know who was gay?
“Wait wait wait wait wait, this is wrong on so many levels", i said. “So, loan sharks put people into debt and then… then use them for sex work…?! Is this not systemic rape?"
I hadn't thought about this unfortunate fact yet, for whatever reason. Panic set in as i realised just how morally corrupt the place was. Maybe it was Stockholm syndrome. Maybe i liked the management, being dominated by them.
“And you thought they were morally clear?", asked Muscle Mike. “They're literal fucking criminals."
And this was one of the few times i realised that i could now agree with Muscle Mike. I hate this place.
“It was in the terms and conditions, though", said the third lesbian. “They did make it abundantly clear. Not too morally… black."
"Only on the second-to-last page near the middle", said Slim Joe. “Hidden where most people skim over, hidden by plenty euphemism, too."
“These are shady guys, newbie", said Muscle Mike. “Don't forget that."
“I thought this place agreed with my fantasy", i said, a little defeated. I didn't even believe the words that were leaving my mouth. I couldn't shut it in time. “I've always loved my little werewolf dreams."
"Well, i hope your fantasy revolves around systematic capitalistic rape and the destruction of hundreds of families", said the second lesbian. “This is fucking reality, don't forget that. You're not in someone's dreamworld. You're here, in a place with real suffering people."
“People, i must stress you. Werewolves are us but in a different body", she continued. “Same brains and very similar mannerisms, what differences there are easily explainable by their little culture. They may seem foreign to you but they share their DNA with you."
With that final bit of emphasis, she paused in her little tirade.
“Please, Skinny Joe, explain their story", she said. “Let's put sense into newbie here."
“Can i not?", asked Skinny Joe, making a pained expression.
“It's for the best", said Muscle Mike, resting his palm onto Skinny Joe's knee, with an authoritative squeeze.
"A shack in Wyoming of Oregon Country, 1832. Samuel Prechet-Irving used Agent Yellow to mix the genetic content of a wolf with a human", recounted Skinny Joe. "Sent into template eggs, grown in 1,000 different artificial wombs, each growing to adulthood within 3 hours through agent brown."
“Almost all of the results were abominations. Disgusting weird creatures, from a wolf with a wrong-way-turned human head to a human with paws for nipples to a wolf with a tail instead of eyes", said skinny Joe. “Agent Magenta got rid of them, put them out of their suffering before they ever opened their eyes. Well, those who had eyes. They're all gone now, thankfully. all of them. That's what those after him ensured."
All of them. Wait… really? A hint too much emphasis, a hint too much care to get across that it was, indeed, all of them. “all". He interrupted my little thought.
“But one was perfect, beautiful, masculine. He used a biopsy of it and replicated the genetic content to form a clan. He kept them in cages", he continued. “He invented women, eventually. Had them living in a field with the men to, er, swell their numbers."
Muscle Mike mimed a fake little retch. Was it fake?
“Reminder: A genetic study found that it was mostly human genes; the wolf genes mostly played into some superficial aesthetics", said the first lesbian, dropping in.
“Their numbers grew and they formed a little primitive tribe. Prechet-Irving ran away once they started getting powerful, fearing his life. Coward. Their brains 'unmushed' quite quickly to human capacity, within a week."
"Timodore noticed. He setup the portal just near the tribe's old place. That's why there's the portal in Wyoming."
“Who's Timodore?", i asked.
“Long story", replied Skinny Joe.
“Yeah, so herding them into this world", he continued. "Some figured out how to get back, though. One eventually found a protestant outpost and threatened violence if they didn't get what they wanted. He was shot, but not killed, even if in the heart. He got enraged and stole the goods."
“They built a society this way, stealing what they didn't have to make what they did. They were primitive, but they managed", said Skinny Joe. “They took what developments the humans had and adapted it for themselves."
“The colonial government saw and built a pact with the werewolf government"
“We'd get you supplies, but you'd give us help in the labor it took, they said. The werewolves agreed; they saw that violence would be dumb in the long run"
“So we got the supply-getter system and the two societies did work together quite well. Quietly too; civilians couldn't be told, they'd panic."
I had never known of Prechet-Irving aside from some internet fun fact of questionable validity. “Did you know that a scientist in Wyoming once made a werewolf? They were all killed shortly after due to concerns", said the post. The comments underneath cast a fire of doubt on it. They shouldn't have.
“What does the federal government do now, then?", i asked. “I thought machines did the hard work better nowadays…?"
“They use the werewolves to do a bunch of soft internet work. Ever heard of the furry fandom? Massive parts of the commission ecosystem are werewolves doing the work, organised by the government."
Furry fandom. A hintlet of a lewd smile snuck onto my face as i realised just what i had done before i came here. Oh, freelancing! I remembered just what i was asked to draw and write! They always said “This is boring. Too human, go use animalistic traits." or some version of it. I always begrudgingly accepted and edited the story. Never would i have guessed i was working in tandem with werewolves.
“From there, they formed a cyber-force, for the modern day's woes.", he said. "They import modern tech under contract conditions for this kind of stuff, the main way they edit the human world. A lot of power is available now to the various governments, all managed by the UN. Secretly."
“Anyways, the Spanish empire eventually caught wind of this and sent a small group of humans up north, though the portal to live with the werewolves and integrate them with Spanish society and culture. They just weren't told how far north."
“They walked up north to the very tip of the land and they, alongside a group of werewolves, set up a distinct north colony. State of the art"
“Not that it mattered when the south invaded and usurped control from the Spanish empire, who had started neglecting their distant colony, forced English as the lingua franca, started banning Spanish"
“But the north resisted. They had humans to protect, humans who taught them their ways, the clever ways of modern society. And the managed to establish themselves as an exception to the general 'no humans precaution rule', as long as they accepted the southern control"
“Turns out that was probably the best solution; the northern ideas trickled southwards and helped advance their society, which ultimately pushed humans forward, too."
“So now we have this situation", he ended.
“Damn", i said.
“Yeah, they're used to hardship", said the second lesbian in a somber tone. “So let's not give them more."
The inspectors began shooting their guns at our safety-bubble. It was bulletproof, even against the presumably larger-grade bullets the werewolves had.
“Humans, out or face a fate worse then death!", it screamed into the cell. It had quite the gruff, serious voice, one trained from years in the military. Surely, it'd be from the military for such a serious group. It. Those who were willing to kill us for our different bodies, i decided, were not not people, not deserving of a label other than “beast".
The werewolves were human, i also decided. Just of a weird body.
“Raw intimidation. They don't really have anything better than to shoot you in the knees and incapacitate you", reassured Skinny Joe. “Not that bad to be honest."
“Bulletproof to a grade it'd take a cannonball to even dent this shell", reassured the first lesbian.
“Just ignore them; the lock's high-grade", said Ortil.
“I'll beat them up if they ever come in", reassured Anista.
But i've read too many novels and i know just what happens next. We've jinxed it collectively. The doorknob began being shook aggressively. Someone even shot into the keyhole.
They were desperate and they'd get in and we'd be killed, every single one of us. I needed a deus ex machina here. Was anybody watching out? Did anyone know we were here? Did they care?
But this is real life, i thought, hearing the words of the second lesbian pull through my brain yet more.
We are real people and we're all going to die or be killed, said a certain internal voice.
I gave into that monolouge. I listened to it. It'd distract me from the outside, at least i hoped.
They're gonna come in and shoot us by the kneecaps and use their sharp claws to dig into our arms as we're pulled away from our safe space and made an example of, told we should of gone to the north, we have no place here, we're stuck, we're fucked, we're going to die and it's all my fault. It has to be my fault, of course it does, i'm responsible for so damn much this is so much i have to handle it why am i here why did i get into that car crash i could of escaped but dumb Darren, no dumb me, newbie me, naïve newbie me was the one who let him drive. Was he drunk? Probably. Fuck i have no answers. I'm going to die…! the debt should of never of happened if i was smart, why am i dumb then?! stupid life sutipd debt sutpid me and i'm here riscing deaf and i fucked up so damn bahd…! … ! … !
Skinny Joe saw a worried expression me. If i was in cartoon form, i'd have words scrolling by my eyes at the speed of a thousand horses. Voluminous but not fast, overwhelming yet molasses, drowning yet shallow. The volume was what mattered, not the speed. Brains. Brains are weird. And the humans began putting words in the air to calm me. I stopped assigning them to people and just let them replace the internal monolouge.
“Stop panicking, newbie. You'll be ok." i won't be ok this is too much i'm going to die here and i'll probably never live be-
“The worst that'll happen is pain. That's manageable. I've had light back pain all my life. I've learnt how to cope." but i haven't and never will because i'll be dead and forever unconscious and there's nothing i can d-
“just imagine a blue dot on a white wall and time its rythmic swelling with your breathing. Detach the consciousness from its mech-suit." no i can't do that i'm not capable i'm not good enough and i never will be
“In all my time building i've never seen a lock this so secure" but just how much experience do you have?
That was Muscle Mike who said it, right? He was the only builder here.
“We're lucky here, i guess." no we're not fuck you leave me alone let me suffer in silence i'm all alone or at least i'm supposed t-
A hand clasped my thigh. I jerked away but then accepted as it simply tightened its grip. He, no, she told me that “it's going to be ok". Anista had told me.
The banging against the door faded down.
And yet again we were alone.
“As i said, raw intimidation", said Skinny Joe. "Management shut all the safe-rooms, they'll waste their time with the others."
A weak excuse. They could easily continue their barrage against us at a later time and get in.
They'd storm in, shooting their guns into each of our skills. We're dangerous, of course, as humans, small and cunning creatures. We could get into places werewolves couldn't. They'd make sure we only ever visit the afterlife, prevent us from a life of crime we could possibly take up, too sneaky to do anything.
Am i making sense? I'm too stressed to think logically.
“Worst they could do is detonate an explosive underneath", stated Muscle Mike. “We're padded and safe here. Nothing's going to fuck with us."
“Go to sleep", advised someone. I stopped being able to attach voices to people again with a wave of tiredness washing over me, a harsh reminder. Did adrenaline fade that quickly? “Everyone, we'll be better in the morning."
There's no natural light here and we'll never know if its morning unless we open the window and look and that might reveal the barrel of a gun aimed straight at us and kill us
“Is the glass bulletproof?", i asked in a shaky tone. "I'd like to see daylight."
“Of course it is", said Skinny Joe.
Lawyers weren't supposed to lie. Slimy, but not liars. I had to trust him for my own well-being, anyways.
I opened the window to let in the harsh light of the brothel in.
The dim light shut off, turned off by someone sitting near the vaultlike door.
Skinny joe held my shoulder and pulled me close. He'd been through this before, i was sure.
I feel nothing. No tingles. Calm. Quiet. Ok, there are some bombshells exploding. Calm, though. I like that. Oh, i can hear his breathing. That's better.
I timed my breaths to his.
If i focus on that blue dot, actually, maybe green, i can ignore the panic. I think i drank too much coffee. I didn't. I haven't drank it for weeks now. I feel great. Well, generally, not right now. I feel scared, a little. No, just the familiar impending doom feeling. Yes. It's rushing and twisting and destroying my stomach.
Muscle Mike's stomach gargled.
This is ok, i guess. It's getting warm here. I'm sure there's mist on the windows. Well, not windows, the stainless steel. I remember mist, driving from Zaragoza to Madrid. Crossed the morning fog. It was beautiful. Desert in fog. Lovely.
It was a good sign my monologue was going back to its pre-sleep ramblings. Sleep was coming soon. I'll fall asleep soon. Just don't dwell on sleeping and it'll come.
Haha, sleep. As if. Is now the appropriate time? What if they invade? They will and we'll be fucked. I'm sure they have angle grinders. Is bulletproof steel good against angle grinders? Angle grinders. They're interesting. A 90-degree handle for holding it. A dangerous blade.
Muscle Mike, could you ramble about angle grinders for me? It'd be nice to sleep to. No, i mustn't disturb the others.
Muscle Mike. It's weird how people become so negative. Do they just let themselves hate everything? Could i become that by accident? I need my naïve optimism, damn. It's my most powerful asset, i guess. I love my naïve optimism. It pushes me through things, i think. I like it. Oh, i want my journal again. I should write about everything that's happened. I did that once in the hospital, it was amazing. Does straight-ears have paper? Who am i kidding? No, the brothel's too dangerous for flammable paper. No, i'll write about my experience when i come back to earth. Will i ever? I don't know. I love myself. Well, not now. I love Skinny Joe for embracing me as one of the people. I never realised how weird that could be maybe i cou-
How did the werewolves get me from Barcelona to Wyoming? What fucking magic did they use? I don't know. I don't know enough. That's weird.
I was awake. I had slept. Dark. It's like a sauna in here. Weird, i'm still tired, but the sleep doesn't bite.
Nobody else was awake. I was alone.
Well, i couldn't tell. Skinny Joe was still asleep. He'd slumped over. Had we all slumped over? Muscle Mike was slumped onto me, so probably.
I thought about last night. What did we talk about? It started with the locks, no my questions about the government… did i ask them out of the blue? No, they came from the talk about history which came from what….?
I mentally scanned over my last memory of the bubble. Of course, it was the second lesbian asking Skinny Joe to recount the story. Why? Oh, yeah, this entire place was immoral.
I let that thought roll in my head. I'd imagine life as a category V. It'd really suck, i thought. So damn much working and so little pay. Decades.
I'd never have wanted to be here, maybe, as this hypothetical category V. Raped by my system, my pimp pushing me to work. They'd say it's part of the contract i “agreed to". Not fair; you didn't say it clearly.
How would it have came to be?
I hypothetically had needed the money quickly to prevent true personal disaster. The irony. I wasn't greedy, was i? Ok, let's fix that. I had a hypothetical house with a hypothetical problem threatening its soon-to-be-hypothetical structural rigidity. It was going down soon if i didn't pay for a contractor to fix it. Not that i had the funds, i worked overtime, broke the law in some places, almost killed myself.
Peanuts. Nothing. Not a single cent could go into rebuilding my life, being sucked into my liabilities instead, growing liabilities.
I was fucked. Luckily, these loan sharks, their happy smiles. “Sign here and you'll have no problems". A big promise.
Ugh, language is so fucking slimy. If only i knew they meant “and what you think are problems will stop mattering because we're assholes and we'll give you much bigger things to worry about". And they'd probably nonchalantly add “(double meaning intended)" to this expanded definition if they ever would have said it.
Fuck. That's what was going to happen to hypothetical me. He'd be sent here to work for most of his life to pay off an irrelevant debt now, to let himself die.
I half-retched when i realised that i was beginning to imagine myself, an irrelevant debt pinning me here. The insurance should have paid, said Skinny Joe's words. My had began ranting again.
They should have paid. Now you're here, a key part of a human rights movement you never knew existed, a war around you. You're safe here, well, probably. But reliability isn't. Don't think you'll ever get back. There is no concept of normal here. There's the present and what happened in the past. My journey's been crazy. Too fucking insane. And i'm here now, facing what could be my end, in a strange world. Nobody i cared for knows where i am. How much money's being wasted searching for me? Do they know to search in Wyoming, in the middle of shitass fucking nowhere? Aren't the portals guarded? Hidden? That'd make much sense. Make it a hidden place, Area 34 or something.
Wait, i've never faced conflict here; everything has been done for me, the other humans, the werewolves, heck, the war, they all swooped in and solved my problems before i could have a go fixing them. Am i an interesting person? Would people care to read my story? Shit.
I'm boring. I haven't changed much. I'm still a werewolf-loving slut. I have no conflict, no problems, why am i so panicked? This entire safe-room exists to protect me. Is that not a symbol of my life, bubbled and protected from any conflict? I'm pathetic. Do i have plot armour? Am i even the main character here? Who is? The conflict? Society? The human rights movement? Is this all post-modernist shit? Do i even matter in the big machine? I'd certainly be better off without it.
A tear welled up without me realising. It gave my emotions something to coalesce into, fresh release. My hands had somehow wrapped themselves around Skinny Joe, so it was difficult to wipe it away without waking him. I felt it chart its downward course, down my face. It tickled, a welcome distraction.
I stifled a sob. Still audible. Fuck.
“Going through something, huh?", asked Ortil in a hushed tone. Support.
I took a second to think.
“I imagined life through the eyes of a category V, and then i saw myself, i guess", i said in a stifled-crying way. “I don't like myself anymore."
“That happened to me a while back", she said. “I thought i was living the life, a good pimp, a good arrangement here."
“I escaped my bad pimp and came to one of the best brothel's i've ever worked in", she continued. “How fucking ironic that it's perhaps the most morally degraded. The fucking worst."
“And then i had a think", she continued.
“There were only a handful of humans i could ask for support from. None of them understood."
“They were still blinded. Furries, every single one of them, seeing their new life as nothing but good. Optimism blinds you. I'm glad you took off the blindfold."
“Thanks.", i replied. “I want to fix this."
“That's much easier now", she said. “What with the north's little invasion."
Fix the brothel and make it give us all a clear conscience. We deserve a better existence. My new goal had arrived. Face the problems for once.
“Oh, you weren't awake. In summary - the inspectors destroyed the place. There was a fight between management.", she said. “I think black-arms started it, seeking to distract the prostitutes from the reality of the escape available. And then there was the fire, probably lit by the inspector realising just how much sin there is concentrated here."
Burn the bad energy, i guess. My monologue came out, thoughts as raw concepts, packaged neatly. I expanded them into language to understand them, to turn them over, disect them.
Black-arms. It's easy to imagine what happened; inspectors invade, the coward ran upstairs to tell someone, find support against them. He went to yellow-arms to gnabber support. Competing opinions, of some kind. Cremation was his punishment for valuing the money over the people. I knew it was an act.
_He's a selfish asshole. He's just yet another manager, seeking profit over anything. Would he even be here? Has he ran off to some Dacha out in the countryside to live off the money he stole from our labour? Assholes suck. Well, no they let out bunches of shit. No difference either way. _
He was complicit in this systemic rape. Why had he never went to fix this?
Nothing to dissect. It's all true. Power corrupts, and his absolute power corrupted absolutely.
“So… are we going to survive?"
“If we're clever, yes. Stay under the radar until the south is confident they have control."
“I suggest we split. Half of us go north, the other half stay south", said the now awake Anista. She had been listening, i was sure.
“There's a struggling brothel up north. We've been having correspondence and they're ready to accept our lead", she said.
“And we can supply money", said a very quiet Skinny Joe, having just woken up.
“Suggestion: Anista, Ortil, and newbie all go north. You'll do well together, i think. We stay south and rebuild the place", he said. Quietly he continued. “Chad and Muscle Mike are pessimists but they're good for force, good guards, keep the brothel in order. The Lesbians would do well to manage."
“Interesting", Anista said. "Explain how we contribute to our brothel."
“Simple; Anista's a good bouncer, Ortil's for brains and management, and Newbie… he can either use his horny to become a world-class prostitute or learn how to manage money for once."
“I'm in", said Anista.
“Anything to get away from Chad, he's a creep", said Ortil.
“I'm happy to do both during my time", i said. A hint of perversion in a smile i accidentally left out.
“Good", said Slim Joe. “It's daylight, so time we get out."
“Well, we'll find a way, i guess, no matter what happened", said Anista. “Yeah. When they wake up, we're going out and seeing just what we can do to make the brothel a phoenix."
8
Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of blood and gunshot-administered torture, reference to institutional rape, references to violence and weaponised fire, sabotage, discussion of murder to the protagonist, and genetic tampering.
My family wasn't the first. They weren't the last. But they were hard-hit nonetheless.
Unremarkable. Normal. Hard times. Debt. None of us deserved this, yet we had to face the consequences.
Parents, tortured, destroyed, accounts drained. Not enough. Assets drained. Not enough. House sold. Not enough. Nothing was enough. It was because money was numbers and the numbers never ended.
It would have been enough. But their interest rates were too high. We were too late.
Parents, gone. Parents, three metres underneath.
Foster care was somehow worse.
And then i left. Fell on hard times. The parent-abusers made a lot of money. Maybe i could try the same.
I turned to one of my old friends, both of us 19, both of us faced with the true real life.
A 25 year old, too, a business manager. A struggling business.
And his accountant, 18.
Plan: a contract. We'd make our own business. We'd give people money. We'd have dodgy terms and conditions. We'd draw them in, still. When they can't pay, the business manager gets free employees. Very very effective.
Plenty of money for me, too. I'd never be my parents.
"South city business inspectors!", they screamed, banging against the main door. I'd taken a seat here knowing this could happen ever since the north invaded.
Come in, i communicated, mainly by unlocking the door. “What would you like to do?"
“Find and destroy crime", said the leader, behind him a group of people on clipboards, ready to enumerate everything.
“Plenty to be found. Take a seat, i'll tell you about it. You might need some more paper, i'm warning you", i said. “I'm a loan shark."
A furrowed brow and serious eyes.
“Our terms and conditions indicate that without payment, we take them to work here", i said. “30% of what they earn goes into their debt, well, actually, i'm not sure. The rest goes to us, bribes and catering."
He scribbled something down. Many somethings. We talked more. We revealed more. we damned the place more. He was shocked. “Guilty of loan abuse, of institutional rape, of bribing, of underpaying, and possibly causing severe familial disruption."
“I did say you'd need more paper", i said with a reptilian smile. "I'll handle the rest of management, and half of you come with me. There's plenty to talk about. The other half should go to the bedrooms, down the sex rooms hallway, all the way to the door with the double Venus sign. It's locked strong at night, so don't bother trying. Knock down the wall of the adjoining bedroom instead."
“Free everyone. That's important", i added.
I hadn't checked whether the humans had successfully escaped into their safe-rooms. They likely heard before me. Their bedroom was closer to the center of the brothel, in any case.
Well, stupidity kills. Tonight was the night i could finally finish my plan. That was most paramount.
The team split down the hallway. I felt a pang of guilt for sabotaging my co-workers like this, but i knew it'd hurt more to let these poor souls be raped by yet another day here.
Money no longer interested me. It was paper, really. It was immature to care for it, i thought. Take what you need and live comfortably, i thought. Keep money away from your main priority, i thought.
I was always bound to this place by the manager's contract. Since he'd gone missing, the contract was on the edge of flames, on the edge of irrelevance. That was one of the main terms.
I took my group of inspectors, about 6 of them, up to the management area. A stab through my heart. Our humans. The inspectors were fanning out, checking rooms. My humans, my responsibility, they were there. How were they? Were they comfortable? Were they being shot by the bedroom-invaders? Where were they?! Where?!
There were 10 saferooms, spaced around in groups of two. It's the kind of impulse purchase the brothel manager did. Noted; impulse purchases have shitty reasoning but shitty reasoning is still reasoning. Humans should be safe. Everyone will be safe, then.
My humans were here. They needed us to keep them safe_._ The werewolves? They'd never need any sheltering from society. Once they leave, they can knock on the government's door and rebuild their life from their support. The humans had no such rights.
I was too impulsive. I let my desire to sabotage the brothel get in the way of my desire to preserve life. It was too late now, though. I hadn't the time to finish my planning.
I heard the inspectors behind me knock desperately against a saferoom. The same old shout, the same threat; “Humans, out or face a fate worse then death!". They always started assuming the worst, and slowly lightened their threats to coax people out. I really did hope someone smart was in there, someone who looked past it. It was a trap. These safe-rooms are expensive for a reason. They'll protect you. They're terrorist-grade, and some faux-military unit, barely armed with their tiny human-proportioned “incapicitator" will never even scratch the outside. Keep the door the fuck closed.
I was so glad no saferoom doors opened. A week's worth of provisions for each werewolf in the capacity rating. That was a little annoying to me. These portions were all meager and all-too-carnivore-friendly. I can't put fruit there, because they'll rot. The unrottables were too hard to get. Poor humans.
“There's nobody in the saferooms", i lied to an inspector. “We keep them locked and stocked with supplies; condoms, sex toys, plan Bs. We don't care for our workers at all, you know, being illegal."
It hurt for me to say things like that, because it set me on yellow-hair's path, the path which turns you into a mite as horrific as the brothel manager… was. Well, at least i hope he was.
“Really?", he asked. Well, i think “it" would fit better. Willing to kill a human for simply being different dehumanized you beyond what little humanity remained in a werewolf.
“Yes."
I led him to a safe-room. I knew this one. It was the defective one with a hole near the bottom of the bubble. It'd have been the perfect gun-hole to destroy a thigh with, to incapacitate someone. No, i never let anyone stay there.
Inside, as expected, lay the mountains of supplies.
“Talk about long term planning", said an inspector who stumbled back as a loose box of boxes of condoms tumbled to the floor.
“Safe-rooms contain rations for about a month, so not that long-term."
Another lie. This is where we kept our Plan B Plan Bs; the Plan Bs who were in reserve for if we ran out. This one was dated for year-210, three years ago.
“We need to move quick before the management wakes up", i ushered. These keyholes weren't invincible. Small things were generally delicate and weak, and if made by werewolf hands, almost defective. I was glad these were imported from America. Enough well-paced shots, even with the pistol, and the humans won't see the light of day. They'll see the light of a barrel's flash as their illegal existence ends in a simple balloon-popping noise.
Well, no, it'd be much slower. They like to be slow and methodical. They like to move up. They start with the feet. 5 shots, spread for maximum pain. Then the calves. They shoot from behind and try to shatter the femur. That causes a lot of pain. Pain can be a bitch. And then the kneecaps, best kept simple; one glancing shot from behind and another into the cap itself. Shatter and make sharp. A perversion of one of the north's guiding policies. They loved to misuse words and phrases like this.
Move up. Destroy the thigh. Careful here as you continue. A poorly-placed shot will damage the back and numb the person. So, if a man is the victim, they shoot the balls. A woman usually shoots for the men can't bring themselves to. Two shots, one for each, left first for the basic humans. Right first for the wanted humans.
Instead, go to the hands. The knuckles, the middle, the middle of the wrist, a glancing blow across the forearm.
And that's almost done. Let them writhe for 15 minutes. And then shoot across their neck. Be careful to shoot through the Adam's Apple, to maximise suffering.
Drowning then happens, through blood.. Slim Joe knows this procedure. He studied the law dictating it and told me about it. I gave him advice to calm down for he was a little traumatised. I really hope he hadn't told newbie. I could tell he still had some aspect of naïvety left in him. Don't demolish the child spirit, a resilient butterfly. Protect it and nurture it.
Because there were 9 humans, they'd make sure to distribute the shots. Everyone would have their turn for each bullet. Slowly, excruciating, destroy the inner spirit before the body. And that's the way to punish humans. The true, great grudge. I was almost impressed by just how dedicated they were to ensuring humans were scared to come here.
No, i made sure we reached the accounting rooms. A poor prostitute was at work on sums. A team of sum-doers. We broke the Curta by accident; it was too delicate for our hands. Now we use brains instead. It works better to keep people in line, Yellow-Hair often said. It was torture, especially when you had a team of dumbos. You needed at least 3 people of 5 to agree before a sum was accepted. And if there were 3 dumbos, tough luck; you'll still be punished for the “wrong" sums.
And in the rooms nearby were the filing cabinets. Exhaustive info on every prostitute who had ever come to work of us. The internet-form was always asking for that info. We just needed to fill two boxes here; category and nickname. That's why we always “tested" our new clients. I used to enjoy it but apart from newbie, who provided novelty, i hated every session and did them only out of contractual obligation. I'll miss newbie, i guess. I'll miss the rest of the humans.
I had a look at the one still on the table. Category: I. Wing: Gay. Nickname: Newbie.
“Why is species tippexed and replaced with 'werewolf'?", quizzed the peering inspector.
“Their big hands make spelling errors on the human-sized laptop. We fix it."
“If its just werewolves, why do you even need 'species'?"
Fuck. Better lie. Let's go quite far off track. “Do you know of Prachet-Irving?"
“Of course, standard primary school material."
“What if i told you that some of the abominations he made still existed?", i started.
Wait, i know how to make this a not-lie…!
“Do you know of the sex dolls?", i asked.
“Enlighten me."
“They're a special class of creature, thriving off conflict and drama. Prachet-Irving wanted them to help in theater. What they tried to do was hang around the conflict-barer and, and, a-", i trailed off. I had forgot about them. “Shitty lives they have but they're not conscious, i think."
“Oh, you jogged my memory. We should have rid them a long time ago. They're back?"
“Yeah. What did they do?"
“If the drama doesn't stop, They disappear for a little while and then… and then they focus it onto the cause. How many did you have?", asked the inspector.
“One in the gay wing, three in the lesbian wing, seven in the straight wing", i said, well, admitted, really. “All just stopped existing a few days ago."
“That explains it", he said. “The cursed eleven. Prepare for the hell of a time."
This is folk superstition; they're sex dolls and they chase drama, but they never fight fire with fire.
Well, fire… oh, i love fire!
Yellow-arms arrived, groggy. His bedroom was the furthest from the outside.
“Why the actual fuck have investigators arrived?", he asked.
“They forced their way through to here, couldn't stop them", i lied.
“Then why were you explaining Mr Troy?"
Fuck, he was listening. YOLO, IDGAF, here's my chance to express my opinions.
“To damn us", i said. I wanted to watch yellow-arms flame up.
“You'd never. I had shelved doubts that you were loyal a long time ago."
“I hate it here. We're fucked either way, too", i said, to quote Muscle Mike. Yellow-hair didn't like Muscle Mike. "Attack me and the brothel is still going down, or maybe you can run away, and the brothel is still going down."
“You're asking for a fight, aren't you?"
I simply punched his face in return. Too much drama. Blood is better, anyways. I always made sure to donate mine.
“I've recorded every note of cash's serial code. The notes are in a flowerpot near the entrance, the one with the dying plant", i shouted at the inspector. I was taunting yellow-arms too! The inspectors would get there quicker then yellow-arms, at least after what i'd do to him.
He was staring at me, gearing up to attack back at me again. I wasn't quite qualified in fighting. The inspectors wouldn't waste their pretty bullets on him too; we were both complicit. Less to worry about if one or both of the criminals dies due to their drama. Less prisoners.
No, i'd have to take him out myself, i realised. I swung a fist at the bridge of his nose. Don't make this hard on me. I've never wanted to hurt anyone.
He retaliated with a solid swing at my stomach. I didn't care much for his tired reaction and i stepped back. I watched some blood pour out of his nose.
“Yellow-hair?! More like red-hair!", i teased, watching the blood make its way into his hair. It ran past his lips and into his chest, dripping in beautifully formed droplets. Your sin is red and i can see it leaking out of you.
What a beautiful liquid it was! It dripped like honey from his abused nose, infecting every strand of his hair it could find, every centimetre of skin it could find, the tacky wooden floor. Blood is beautiful and to watch this devil bleed his sins out like this was perfect.
He stared at me in disgust. I could see him rile up yet another punch. I brought up a different one and aimed it at the head. It sent him spinning.
He fell, ready to be finished.
“And i hope you stay the fuck away from me, monster". I swung my final punch at him, careful to give him a simple blackout, a simple concussion. Don't make him sleep too long. _That'll be bad when the ethanol gets hot. Let him wake up first. I want him to panic. I want him to fucking suffer. _
He was handled. I told the inspector to leave for an hour. I told him it'd be incredibly dangerous for him to stay. He told me he needed to get some supplies anyways, so he'd be leaving.
It was a dumb idea to leave a criminal, like me, in this sex den. But it was a very good idea to leave me here. You'll never have to deal with The Spice Restaurant anymore.
I went to the bar downstairs. There was a continuous line of prostitutes leaving the building. The faces were lost with a kind of shock, some euphoric, some anxious. You're better off now, don't worry. Half of the prostitutes were women. Great, they're evacuating the straight wing.
I took from behind the counter a Jerry can. Pure ethanol. Don't breathe in the fumes.
“Careful of the dizziness if you're going that route", Skinny Joe had said to me just a few days ago. He was a clever chap. He read so much. What was he doing as a prostitute? “Get out of the space as soon as you can. The disorientation will hit eventually, and you're on the way out if that happens."
The safe-rooms stay cold, don't they? Air-tight, hopefully. Well, fuck it. I don't give a fuck.
Raw ethanol. Two jerry cans, each holding 40 liters of the stuff. It's a little lighter then water, so even with the weight of the can it won't be 40 kg. That's good.
I watched the prostitutes trickle away until none remained. And i began dousing the main room in the alcohol. Do i feel dizzy? I should open a window. Vapor point 13 degrees. It's 20 here, plenty of evaporation. Ignition point, 370 degrees.
The carpets were not going to come back from this. The tacky wallpaper isn't coming back from this. The floorboards aren't coming back from this. Nothing's coming back from this. NOTHING! NOTHING, OH GLORIOUS FUCKING NOTHING!
Pure euphoria. No more crime, no more rape, no more shoddy shit. NOTHING'S COMING BACK…! AT FUCKING LAST!
I went through the holes in the thin bedroom walls to spread my ethanol there. I poured a lot. I was going dizzy. I had to move quick now.
The lesbian's main room was much more utilitarian then the gay one. It was a common stereotype here that lesbians had a bunch of sense and not a bunch of time to waste on frills. It was appealing, a mezzo-futuristic kind of room. Some plastic really helps a fire. Crystallised oil.
I poured in the straight wing, too. A boring room. The gay room was about being vintage and neoclassical. Here, modernity was what mattered. Follow the latest trends blindly, i guess.
The entire brothel was covered. The plastered-up cracks, too, were covered. They didn't dissolve, as i was half-expecting. Lawyers are slimy liars, after all.
I trotted upstairs, into the sex rooms. Beds absorb a lot of ethanol. Very good fire-starters.
I passed into management. I was sure to douse the filing cabinets in the alcohol, the debt records, the identity records, everything we used to track down our prostitutes. Not the money, though; it was mostly fireproof and it'd be very important to give our humans a starting chance in this cruel world.
Red-arms still slept. I doused him in enough ethanol to keep him asleep.
I covered every part of this place in the ethanol. You'll never have another person into your trap again.
Back to the gay wing, my wing. The bar had matches in it. They were used to light our various “spicy" cocktails. Oh, what a beautiful cocktail i had brewing here!
“Never light a match in a room with flammable fumes", said Skinny Joe once. "Only light it where you're safe from the explosion.
I stepped out of the brothel. The cold night air, fresh and unpolluted, brought me back to my senses. A pang of guilt at the childhood friend left lying there. No, he deserved it.
I set out a long line of ethanol, a good 50 metres from the brothel's corner.
And i struck the match. A flash as an explosion moved to hit the brothel. The walls were strong, but the windows weren't sealed An explosion would rock the brothel.
Wait, no, that makes no sense. Explosive limits 3.5%-19.0%. The upper end of this limit was above human tolerances. Werewolf tolerances were a little higher. It must have evaporated more in the time it took to walk back. Lucky i had escaped, damn.
The fire worked its way through the ethanol and into the building. It was a torch of paper as the flames came to grip it like our clients gripped our workers, the heat powered by an external cause, an external obligation.
Boom, at last; air got in. The walls buckled and the whole place exploded.
I felt something change inside me. I felt almost guilty, but i could replace that with euphoria. It felt amazing to know that the majority got what they had been wanting. It's been too long.
Guilt, again. The humans'd be lost. One thing i knew is that they'd be in the country that hates them. I wish i could help them without helping the crime.
I walked away from the torch i set alight. The brothel was so large it had merged all the buildings it once connected to, save for one house i was planning to turn into a library. Well, the plans had fallen flat.
I ran from the brothel to let it burn without my involvement. I didn't want to hear yellow-arms dying screams.
And i looked back at the brothel. The uninformed outsider would never expect that such a typical house would feature such a dark inside. Look good, hide the bad things deep inside. There was plenty inside, too.
The occasional once-hiding prostitute somehow still trickled out as flames spread across the roof. Luckily, no management trickled out. Not that there were any left.
The handcuffs clicked into place and i was dragged into the police van.
And i saw him in the corner of my eye, the Minotaur, smirking wickedly at what we had done to ourselves.
9
The room was in ruins. The rooms were in ruins. From the open vault-door of the saferoom we saw the monochrome remains, everything kissed by the purifying blaze, everything destoyed. Walls had fallen, the roof had given up. Shingles covered the floor, shattered and broken.
Daylight cast wicked shadows across this barren place. The furniture, the chairs, all reduced to a pile of barely-standing sticks, the roof a mishmash of beams and some sections low on the window.
Ash was the main thing. It was like the hot sand of a beach. Pure, morally neutral.
“This isn't so much of a phoenix as a war-ground", quipped Muscle Mike.
“Yeah", said Skinny Joe.
Muscle mike gingerly began pushing his foot out of the door.
“Careful, the floors are made of wood", said Skinny Joe.
The wind dislodged a shingle. It fell onto the floor, which gave away in a cascade of charred wood.
Muscle mike instead took the opportunity to analyse the structure.“Hmm, steel-backed wooden beams. So damn cheap…"
“One-metre gaps between the steel bars, each a 10-centimetre-squared cuboid, class C reinforcement. Not perfect, but probably safe enough to walk on…"
He threw a relatively heavy piece of charcoal out onto the beam. A cascade, revealing a metal beam, bent, seemingly unsafe.
He stepped out onto it. He jamp in place. Hard. A little noise of charcoal falling from its rest in the next room, but other then that, nothing.
“Stop it!", said Chad. “We're shit without you!"
Muscle Mike simply stood there, turning to look at us, inside our little bubble. “Just walk, it's perfectly safe."
Anista, closest to the door, was the first to go. She stepped onto a platform outside the safe bubble. She almost left and uncrouched, but Chad slapped her on the buttock. She wavered on the edge, her hands not quite gripping anything. She leaned forwards and almost fell, if it wasnt for her grabbing another bar.
Skinny Joe cast a dark glare at Chad, before jumping at him and wrestling him to the ground. “Not fucking funny!", he screamed at him, sending a punch careening into his jaw.
“That fucking hurt!", said a glowering Chad. “Don't ever try to kill me again!"
“Don't fucking play these silly jokes. Not now, not EVER!", screamed Skinny Joe back.
“Stop the stupid fighting!", screamed the second lesbian.
They paused a little second and decided it was for the best they pulled apart. They scowled at each other on the seats. They gave us a word of advice; if you get out, hop out and jump onto the base floor instead. Don't touch anything because if it hasn't yet, it's going to fall.
“Let's re-meet back in the cafeteria", said Skinny Joe. “After about an hour, so we can discuss whether this is actually possible or the brothel's a lost cause."
“What can we do if it was a lot cause?", asked Onita.
“We'd probably order a bulletproof tinted-window taxi. Expensive, but north city will be waiting for us", replied skinny Joe. “Even if it'd probably be better in the long run to hold our ground here."
Anista and Muscle Mike ventured to explore the new building. I was stimming more then usual, in the way i usually did when i was cooped up at a desk all day. I hopped out and used the time to stretch my cramped legs. And i looked around me. There was a certain beauty here. I was almost like an astronaut landing on a new planet for the first time. Strange ground? Check. Possibly toxic climate? Yeah. Lack of humans outside the ship? Definitely. Aliens? Well, yeah, if we count the werewolves.
I sat on the beam i was in and jamp through the hole in the floor out onto the bottom floor. The colloquial rooms. The wing-specific bathrooms, complete with showers and washing machines. Not that there'd be much use in these charred metal husks.
I left the lesbian wing's bathroom to enter the hall. “hall". It was nothing more then a barely-sensical collection of blackened and whitened walls, the floor being a mess of burnt-out holes and barely-surviving planks.
I tried to understand this crazy place. I still didn't quite have the perfect mental map of the area. I only really had the areas i usually went to, the gay wing's main facilities, but the other sexualities were a bit confusing. I hadn't spent enough time here.
So, i went through the doors and found my way past the doubled Mars sign, into the gay wing.
Devastation.
All the sofas had turned into a husk of themselves, the tables between them a series of cut-down rectangles, blackened on each end, destroyed.
The floor was a total loss. It was worse, even, then the ones in the hall. I could see the foundation of the building; a bunch of untreated soil interrupted by the occasional stone post and beam.
Yet it was still serviceable. I was sure i could have it revived a little and turned into a proper brothel.
A wave of panic washed over me. If i went outside, i'd most surely be shot. What was i doing here out in the open? Were we even safe?
Probably. I pushed forwards.
I saw yellow-hair's corpse. It looked horrible, his hair covered in ash. He'd fallen whilst trying to run away, i'm sure.
The gay wing was a loss but not entirely horrific, i concluded, after a few hour's exploring
I passed the broken doors into what remained of the cafeteria.
“You're late", said Skinny Joe with a stern tone. “We almost set people searching for you!"
I looked around me at the space. It had become caved-in, smaller, more intimate. It was clear we were the only guys here. Looters would come after a short while, maybe. Wait, does the werewolf society even have looters?
“I checked the lesbian wing. Absolute devastation and all the plastic shit's gone", said the first lesbian. “At last."
“We won't be able to do anything there for a while", said the second lesbian. “I just don't think it's worth it."
“Same for the straight wing", said Chad. “Everything's gone and you can't see the roof."
“As for us, most of the money's been burnt away, but there is some left", said Muscle Mike.
“We'll have enough to restart and start rebuilding the business", said Anista
“The gay wing looks almost all-right", i said. “It just needs a little touch-up, i think."
“Perfect!" said Anista. “We should start there."
“We should build a merged brothel", i said. "Like, we can have all the sexualities intermingle."
We had a little nod of agreement.
“Wait, why are we building a brothel in the first place?!", asked Muscle Mike. “We could do anything and you go for the illegal business?!"
“He's right! If we build a brothel, we're opening ourselves up for legal investigations from both sides!", said Chad.
“Our customers are used to a brothel being on, no, being this block", explained the second lesbian. “It'd be much easier to keep our clients, especially if they haven't heard of the fire."
"I'll allow it, i guess", said muscle Mike. "But I'll start a new business in a different wing, if i haven't left altogether."
"I'll offer something; make the money to pay the smugglers and get out of here if you want. I don't care what you do with it" said Skinny Joe.
"Why can't we use the funds?" asked Muscle Mike.
"We'll need it to rebuild, or we'll never raise the money to send you back."
He plastered a gentle smile onto his face, almost forced.
“Fine.", said Muscle Mike. “But i will leave when i get the money."
“That's perfectly fine, all agree?", asked the second lesbian.
We all had the general vibe of agreement communicated between ourselves.
“Ok, as to the new brothel…", started the first lesbian. “We should make the gay wing some temporary brothel to get rebuilding funds."
And we went to the gay wing and began rebuilding.
It was night again. We'd built a mostly safe place to have our clients. The doors to the straight and lesbian wings were both affixed with signs saying “Still in business (albeit human-only), visit the gay wing!".
So i sat here, on a sofa near the centre of the room, surrounded by little piles of ash, with the 8 other humans. We'd all agreed to spend a few nights working here then use the funds not earnt by Muscle Mike nor chad to continue rebuilding, employ new workers, and set the south brothel up for success. The north brothel would have to wait until we developed the south into a much more successful brothel.
There was much less traffic and humdrum then there used to be. A lot of the clients must have been scared off by the news of the fire.
A werewolf walked in, at last, gingerly..
“Wow, that's impressive", said the slick-back client. “The management has gone to jail and this brothel's been called a lost cause yet you're still here!"
It was Constable Green.
“I missed you!", exclaimed Slim Joe. “How's the invasion been?"
“They kicked out the north, as expected."
"So we're going to be inspected?", asked Muscle Mike
“Well, you were, but there was arson whilst there was an inspection, so they've called it off. It was all over the papers!"
“What should we do now?", asked Skinny Joe.
“Rebuild and make enough money to lobby for the pro-humans."
“Solid", replied Skinny Joe.
“Why come you here?", i asked Constable Green.
“Dunno really, i guess i wanted to see what buisness you had here. Are there any werewolves here?"
“Nah, they all left", said Muscle Mike.
“That's kind of messed up", said Constable green. “Leaving you here to wither, defenseless."
“We'll find a way", said Skinny Joe.
“No… , i'll find you some werewolf guys."
“Hmm…", said the second lesbian. “We'd do well to get some prostitutes."
“No managers?"
“We're perfectly fine doing that ourselves", said the first lesbian. “We just need to appeal to the mass market."
“And to do that, of course, we'll need werewolvian prostitutes", said the second lesbian. “And those that actually agree to work for us."
“Well, that can be arranged", said Constable Green. “I thought having a builder would be useful, not in this way."
Directed at muscle mike.
A cold draft hit me. I looked at the door. A werewolf with boobs had walked in. She shot a lecherous gaze at one of the lesbians. A series of nods, some numbers with the fingers, and they both walked towards the sex rooms, meeting just before the door.
“Oh, i didn't expect they'd use signs", said Anista.
“It's much more efficent and easier", said the second lesbian.
“That does reinforce the stereotype", wryly commented Chad.
Another werewolf walked in, male. It shot a gaze at Onita and they ended up bargaining a rate for some sex. Somehow Onita managed to get twice the initial price.
Money. What a strange thing.
10
Sex rooms, especially those damaged by fire, don't make for very comfortable sleeping spaces. I had only the sleeping bag between me and the plywood floor beneath me. We nestled for comfort and utility, Skinny joe sleeping budged up against me in his own fabric cocoon. He was almost endearing in his search for warmth.
I kept waking at night, if not from the cold, from the snoring. Chad was quite loud, particularly.
“First priority… proper beds…!", stated the first lesbian.
Groans of agreement all around.
I sat up.
“What are we to eat?" i asked.
"There'll be something in the fridge", said Skinny Joe.
I left my sleeping bag. I was cold, even if i was already wearing my clothes.
“We need to manage this place", said the first lesbian.
We got up and dressed before clambering across the remains into the staff area. The brothel manager wasn't there to push us out, yellow-hair and black-arms no longer present to do any of the tasks we'd avoid.
The day passed quickly. Muscle Mike and a group of local builders were working on the gay wing, planning to apply some basic touch-ups. About 10 sex rooms were to be built, too.
The were paid with debt. The first lesbian said it'd be ok given the cash flow forecast she made. I decided to simply trust her and her economic direction.
For lunch, the third lesbian managed to make what little she could from the ingredients that remained. Gas, somehow, still worked. We'd need to order new ingredients.
And then back to work. Yet again.
The main room looked much better. The walls, at least, had been re-plastered and the floors given a do-up. The ceiling was still covered with soot but it was a common thing among humans and werewolves alike to simply not look upwards.
A male werewolf walked in. Anista had a look of concern spread across her face.
The werewolf ran a gaze across us. “Where the fuck did the female prostitutes go?!"
“We're right here", said Ortil.
The male scowled at our shared sofa. “No, the real prostitutes."
Ortil shook her head. “We literally just restarted this brothel."
He stared at us. “You destroyed the place i invested thousands into"
Ortil rolled her eyes. “There's a misunderstanding. We weren't the ones who destroyed the brothel."
“Liar."
The werewolf walked up to us. We stood in retaliation.
“You better give me that thousand you promised you'd spend on my fucking type, and it's not some skimpy mockery werewolves FYI"
He formed a fist and aimed it at the one he was nearest to, Ortil. Chad prepared himself to de-escalate him.
“You don't stand a fucking chance against me."
Erm, no. There are 9 of us and 1 of you.
So, we formed a ring around him..
“Quick, detain him!"
Skinny joe grabbed the punching-arm's elbow, then Chad the free arm. Muscle Mike delivered a solid kick behind the knees, sending the werewolf to the floor. The first lesbian threw herself onto the writhing body.
Curses. lots of them. Anista simply left to go to the bar. “Gosh, i forgot how much i loved doing this", she said as she explored the various chemicals.
She came back holding a small vessel. Inhuman, said the label. Raw ethanol, 100% concentration (200-proof). It was half-full. Food-safe ethanol, after all, was probably a very common cocktail base in the werewolf world. Maybe its what was used to burn down the brothel.
“This is perhaps the most potent fire accelerant we have access to", Anista spoke through the mass of detaining humans. “It'd be so easy to destroy you with this…. hair makes such good evaporation-preventer."
She wouldn't dare. A lot of the stuff here we barely just got. It'd burn the money we were struggling with. It was raw intimidation, really.
She found her way through the humans and kneeled next to the pseudo-client. “So, i'll give you two choices. You'll either leave and never come back, or i'll have to prevent you hurting my employees"
Lie after lie. Possibly white. She was putting herself in power here, just for show. Nobody here seemed to mind, save for the dangerous creature we were holding down, who writhed a little at each word.
The werewolf glared at us, and then at Anista.
Skinny joe moved his hands and pushed his finger into some place near the funny bone. The werewolvian funny bone? “Just here is a pressure point. Humans have it too, barely, but… if i press, just right here… i can easily send pain into you. Not a single drop of blood, too!"
The werewolf tensed, hiding pain, macho .
“So, what is it…? Leave or enjoy our company?", asked Anista, glancing at Skinny Joe with a masochist smile. More pressure, destroy his arm was what she was gesturing.
“Leave!" screamed the werewolf as Skinny Joe pressed a little more.
Cautiously, the humans moved away. I, too. We stood.
The werewolf slowly stood, holding his arm. He glared at us.
“I suggest you leave now", said Anista.
He began turning to leave but then stared at Chad. With a single swing, he scratched across his chest. And then he looked at Anista.
With another single swoop, the werewolf forced contact with skin and left some blood.
And he ran out of the door.
“Probably straight to the police", said Muscle Mike. “They'll investigate and then we're fucked."
“And we're going to need to stop the bleeding", said Skinny Joe.
“The tissues we could use have burnt away", i said.
I glanced around the room. The fabric wouldn't be sterile, quite the opposite. It could work, though, if we were to mix it with the ethanol. “Anista, do you think sterilising with that alcohol would work?"
“I replaced it with water", said Muscle Mike.
“You can flush the wound, i guess", said Skinny Joe. “That's it though."
“We need to stop the bleeding", said Anista. “Flushing's useless for now."
“You don't know what's on those claws." Muscle Mike cringed. “Eurgh."
“Yes, flush the wound", said Skinny Joe.
Anista turned to uncap the alcohol. Maybe traces would remain, not that they'd be of a concentration high enough to do much. Skinny Joe left to search for bleeding-blocker.s
The alcohol was first given to chad. “You ok?"
“I feel ill", he said. “Can't imagine doing work."
Fuck, one man down.
And we continued through the night.
Argh. I hate it in these sleeping bags.
“Any update on the new beds?", i asked the First Lesbian.
“They're getting delivered today", she replied.
I sighed in a kind-of-relief. I tried to stand, look out of the window. My neck complained. “I've gone sore."
“Just keep moving, it'll be gone by the evening", said Skinny Joe.
So, we got ready. And we found our way back to work.
Around halfway through our work, a werewolf was brought to our office, guided by Anista. “She's looking for employment."
The first lesbian turned to face her. A flash of familiarity hit her face. “It might just be possible", she said. “But funds'll be difficult."
“I just need housing", said the werewolf. “And i'll be happy."
What had happened here? Had she been let out of the brothel? Why was she coming back?
“The government's supposed to provide subsidies for those seeking housing", reminded the second lesbian. “How come you here?"
“I don't like the government", said the werewolf. “I trust you more."
Skinny Joe shifted in his seat. “Honestly, i'm sure we could organise some kind of petition and have you sent home."
“I will work here", she said. “Sick and tired of the outside."
"ok then", said the second lesbian, with a shrug.
And that was our first employee, our first real prostitute.
We'd only grow from there.
So, when it came back to evening, we relished in the new company, in-between the growing number of clients.
Ortil and i discussed the northern brothel. Skinny Joe was in the process of calling smugglers to take us north. Muscle Mike would also be taken to a portal and sent back to the human world after us.
We were in communication with the northern brothel and we were all happy to accept the merger. Money was beginning to flow again.
The phoenix was rising from the ashes yet again.
The end
Some Notes:
6
“…,” after really isn't a typo; it indicates double-hesitation and new clause; English is my native tongue and i will do with it what i will.
Gosh, I'm such a linguist and I've made a dialect of Spanish just for worldbuilding.
New words:
"Feptentrio" comes from Latin “septentrio”, meaning “northerly”, appropiated to “north”
“tramuntana”, comes from Catalan “tramuntana”, meaning “north”.
“knofilum” comes from Latin “consilum”, meaning “plan”
“nufu” comes from Arabic “?????”, almost similar to “nuevo”, meaning “new”
"tafmin tirafiku” comes from Arabic “??????? ?????????”, meaning “graphic design” (i chose Arabic because quite a few Spanish words already have Arabic roots and my dictionary wouldn't come up with Latin for “graphic design”)
I'm planning for the character of a different series to go on a honeymoon to the north and see all the interesting things there. Spoiler: English isn't seen in such a positive light there.
Yes, i am using the word “sloozy" for a mix between “woozy”, “sleepy”, and “drowsy”. Go use this word please! I'd love to coin new English words!
Little notes from today's editing session:
“Muscle Mike took the distraction as an opportunity to hide in the now-locked safe-room”
I like this little quote because it implies that in the course of reading the sentence, Muscle Mike's already locked himself in.
Expect yet more of this kind of note
“A wink, referring back to part 3, no doubt.”
(i also refer you to part 3, and part 1, too)
The brothel does have showers and razors.
I'm basing the protagonist's stubble off mine. I only shaved a few days ago and the annoying little hairs are coming back! I'm too dumb for a unixbeard and too young to look like a wise stylish old man of the hill.
Sometimes i suprise myself when i write; plenty of details here just suddenly appeared from my inner monolouge going “here's a great idea”. That's why this general plot and story arc has meandered and bounced around so much from a simple brothel soap opera to a "change society” plot. Same for the handcuffs and having black-arms sleep on the protagonist.
7
Some facts on the werewolf society i haven't slotted into the narrative yet.
The werewolf society is formed of a single country roughly the size of Spain (which is the second largest country entirely (excluding those silly islands in the middle of nowhere) within continental Europe)
The country is split into these levels of power:
Community - The largest level; think of how the UK has splits like Wales and England or Spain has splits like Madrid, Andalusia, and Aragon
Province - Each community has a handful of them, each centred on a specific regional city. Think of Catalonia's Lleida, Tarragona, Girona, and Barcelona
County - Centered around main towns in each province
Municipality - A general term for the region controlled by a settlement, be it a village or city. Think of the Catalan ajuntamentos.
Characters
I've realised the protagonist is basically just a massive Mary Sue, has too little conflict, and has a too-easy time. I'm working on making him intresting.
This is why i included that little dialouge in the safety pod. They might be safe from the external conflict of the army, but are they safe from the guilt?
Guilt's really the only way to cast conflict over the entire published part of the series
Yes, history diverges slightly in the 1830s, but not much; the werewolves are contained and history carries on as usual. Well, “usual”, save for the 20 border guards on the human side sponsored by the UN to keep werewolves in save for special circumstances, from the supply-getters to bribes.
The internal monolouge is based off my own. At times, i let it write the story for me. Also, i do sleep by letting it waffle like this. I don't wake up to it though. That was a narrative tool.
Selected quote explanations
“We're just a metaphor”
Not intended to be a meta-talk about the story, yet can be taken as such.
Mainly intended to say the brothel itself being used as a metaphor by the two sides
Has the light intention of foreshadowing my plans for the sequel to Indebted.
“Not that it matters when the north are so great. You're free to let yourself die.”
(yes, i am trying to annoy the reader here)
This quote is a foreshadow.
I am challenging a different author who i really don't like anymore, where in his story, “Characters repeatedly bring up plot relevant conversation topics that are then immediately shot down by some other character.”, as per Reddit user possuHorizontal line. Press Enter to type after or press Shift + Enter to type before the widgetmpecker's words.
“I hadn't thought about this unfortunate fact yet, for whatever reason.” [as referring to the entire brothel being wrong]
“Whatever reason” turns out to be divine distraction.
I'm so sorry for not mentioning this earlier
I'm going to blame it on the ADHD he's supposed to have lol; he keeps getting distracted from being distracted by such thoughts growing from little seeds.
“This is fucking reality, don't forget that. You're not in someone's dreamworld.”
Yes, this is designed to be ironic
I'm playing with you. This is fiction.
Please, please, i seriously urge you, don't take debt from loan sharks because they're most likely to be regular boring violence-based loan shakes rather than the werewolves i wrote
Heck, even those have shady ethics and probably aren't good people to hang around with
8
6 feet is 1.8 metres. I went for three. Werewolf bodies are bigger. That was a subtle hint i left for the unprepared reader who was thinking about their burial practices.
Ok, my research for this story led me to being put on the Spanish governments "posibles pirómanos” list, so you better be glad of my commitment to this trade…!
A jerry can is usually 20 liters, but i'm sure the werewolves are stronger then humans. There you are; some plot-relevant differences caused by the different body..
Yes, the werewolves use the metric system; they might have come from America but they realised that the metric system was better for the development of their society, Oh and also, i live in a metric country. I know a bunch of the anglosphere furries don't because a bunch of anglosphere people are American, but i'm British. I'll continue using British norms to write. And EU ones too.
Black-arms comes off as almost insane here. That was the intention. It must be noted that werewolves in general aren't insane here; Black-arms is just stressed, pent-up, and filled with some kind of deep rage against the system. He dosen't think clearly as a direct result.
Hell, some werewolves can be seen as smarter then humans (in some aspects), hint hint, Alexander's Accounts, hint hint.
9
A rant on failing life-compartmentalisation
“mass market” like seriously why is some of the stuff i keep being told about in my A-level classes being brought into my story like this like, at one point, this might become an outlet for what i keep being told about..! Get ready for “newbie selects which employee motivation model to choose” and “newbie cash flow forcasts the brothel to ensure the maximum economic productivity” and “newbie handles liability by turning the brothel into a public limited liability company to ensure he dosen't have to pay so much debt”
Likewise, get ready for “First lesbian uses triangle laws to help with structural stability” and “First lesbian uses integration and differentiation to help with her graphs” other shit as what little i learn of pure maths is dumped here.
Or not because i feel slightly ashamed because what i learn in a-level is already covered and built upon in Sri Lanka, according to M.I.A (as per https://genius.com/2411435 ) and the fact i struggle to shove it into my brain is kind of indicative of what effort levels i'm capable of producing
Also or not because i think furry porn and a-level education aren't great fits for each other; nobody wants to learn about the shit you do with graphs and how to prevent buisness failure whilst they're reading about a werewolf having it with a human…!
Don't worry though, i will find ways to quietly slip in some of the stuff i learn into newbie's attempts to manage the buisness education
Now i think of it, learning a-level content through furry porn is an interesting proposition…
Ok guys sorry if this part isn't as perfect as it could be; over the last 5 days i've been kind of overworking myself and kind of had a breakdown today. Don't worry, there's plenty of backlog i've been working on, so the next few parts should be better.
I wonder if anyone reads my little rants here or they just care for the main body of my stories. Eh, i don't mind either way, “some notes” is becoming more and more of a venting tool.
10
Ok, so i'm kind of tired of the Indebted series and i have found some problems with it. If i ever make it a novel, i'll have to fix the following issues:
Shallow(ish) characters
A lack of actual conflict facing Newbie
The complete trivialisation of rape
The barely-edited sex scenes
Sorry for subjecting you to this series lol
And at long last, female werewolves are proven to exist in this world. +1 for world sense.
Yes, Newbie does mature a lot in the next series. He takes more of an action role.