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"create_datetime": "2017-05-02 00:23:12.712688+00", "create_datetime_usertime": "02 May 2017 02:23 CEST", "thumbnail_url_huge": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/1893/1893437_arbon_gesshru_-_chapter_11.jpg", "thumbnail_url_large": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/1893/1893437_arbon_gesshru_-_chapter_11.jpg", "thumbnail_url_medium": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/1893/1893437_arbon_gesshru_-_chapter_11.jpg", "thumb_huge_x": "206", "thumb_huge_y": "300", "thumb_large_x": "138", "thumb_large_y": "200", "thumb_medium_x": "83", "thumb_medium_y": "120" } ], "pools": [], "description": "My question for this chapter: \"What plan would you have come up with to try and escape the compound? Can you think of any others that haven't been discussed in the story already?\"", "description_bbcode_parsed": "My question for this chapter: "What plan would you have come up with to try and escape the compound? Can you think of any others that haven't been discussed in the story already?"", "writing": "\nMy name is Freya Savitri, and you know … maybe the pain could be ignored a while longer.\n\nI’ll be the first to admit, this wasn’t a plan I’d have ever come up with. Nor was I entirely certain it would work. The whole thing depended on a Gashn concept of filth.\n\nSporcizia in Italian. Sordem in Latin. Snavs in Danish. Spina in Slovak. Yokungcola in Zulu. Pislik in Turkish. Immundicia in Catalan. Ndyresi in Albanian. Prljavstina in Bosnian. Nyansi in Chichewa. Salete in French. \n\nWhatever word used to describe it, this facility is usually the opposite. Pristine walls, an off-white color to most of the panels, smooth featureless tiles that were long ago installed to look like a fancy bathroom and cover up the rough cement. It wasn’t typical Gesshru construction methods, all learned and mimicked from their knowledge of earth, but it was required to keep us from simply tearing apart the cage and smashing through walls. \n\n“They don’t like the place being dirty.” Soto had explained all those hours ago, recounting his tales of adversity while I was off getting my ass handed to me by things the size of housecats. “But you aren’t a clean creature at all.” \n\nHis logic was sound. Having witnessed the mix of both old fashioned and primitive cleaning methods alongside their miniaturized version of my shuttle’s sterilization tools. \n\n“As soon as this room was empty they all came in with hoses and soap things and strange glowing spears. And they just cleaned everything until it all shined.” \n\nThe other rat prisoner knew, at least in part, that I was controlled by the collar and they had a way to turn me off. He took it for granted that I would even want to escape, though considering I destroy cities for a living and thus far haven’t even harmed him yet it wasn’t too much of a stretch for the poor guy to figure out on his own.\n\n“I didn’t want them to notice me and … you know. So I hid inside the food bowl. Buried myself whenever they got close and waited until they left.” \n\nSoto had explained this plan in complete detail, and it made absolutely perfect sense in my mind. A bit of convincing was required, which he took less as a reason to refine his argument and more to repeat what he’d said with louder words and exaggerated gestures as if I simply failed to understand, but it was indeed a workable plan. \n\n“So what if we make this place so dirty, they have no choice but to come in and clean up right now?\n\nAfter two hours of living with the smell I was very strongly coming to regret his creativity. \n\nThe latrine was emptied near the far doorway, making sure human mess and dripping unmentionable was seeping through the cracks and into their grand hallway. My blood wasn’t so much a puddle staining a few spots on the ground as it was several wet smears, finger painting to make sure it was more difficult to clean out. The grey paste splashed against walls and floor and ceiling with little tosses. Not all of it mind, but enough to stick like a spitwad and certain to harden into the tiles before too long. \n\nThe stink of my armpits didn’t give the appearance of a stain, but Soto assured me that it was quite unpleasant for another Gesshru to be close to. So of course he’d persuaded me to rub the sweat on select parts of the floor and wall as if sewage wasn’t enough of a displeasing aroma to draw them in.\n\nGashn forces must have been busy with something, because they didn’t set foot inside the room for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Leaving myself and Soto to sit patiently in the far corner next to a mostly empty food bowl, and positioned right in front of a water bowl. Each of us trying our hardest to keep our nostrils from falling off.\n\n“hrmpsh.” Came the whimpering noises of my prisoner with his face tucked inside my blanket. The only other feature being those feeding tubes in the wall, but they wouldn’t do anything until it came time to refill the two pet bowls. Assuming they chose to do so rather than just leave us to suffer. \n\nI said nothing. That was part of the plan you see, I had to keep my mouth closed. That didn’t stop the Gesshru from speaking, but I guessed with some degree of certainty that he was pleased by the lack of thunderous responses. Or perhaps amazed by the fact I’ve listened to him at all. My voice alongside the smell of week old sewage would have just compounded his suffering. \n\n“Ohcore this is just insanity. Completely insane.” \n\nMy lack of speech didn’t do a thing to stop him from talking, and even if it wasn’t painful it was heartbreakingly annoying. \n\n“Inside a Gashn stronghold, days away from the nearest civilization, sitting inside a Max unit’s food bowl, sending wishes to the core that this all turn out okay. Did you think that’s how this week would go? I sure didn’t.” \n\nHis incredulously for this week somewhat mirrored mine for the past several years, stranded on an alien planet while somehow held prisoner by a race of primitive creatures that seem to instantly copy and improve on earth’s technology only to then slowly dwindle back down to mediocrity as the generations pass. \n\n“I should be back home. I’m supposed to be a farmer, not … feed for the livestock. Come on door, just open.” \n\nIt didn’t open at his command, nor at his pleading. Even his shouts were met with no response for yet another hour still. Silence reigned when the man fell asleep, but the lights never dimmed and I refused to move from my spot. Our plan required exact positioning. Within arm’s reach of my food bowl and with my face just above the water bowl.\n\nAnother hour passes, coming onto four hours of stink and anticipation. My limbs cramped and my mind as blank as possible, the taste of spit and water long dulled into a noxious blandness that left me wanting for a real drink. Some hard liquor perhaps, I don’t usually get drunk but just dulling the pain might be worth it. \n\nMuscles locked.\n\nI could feel when they’d clicked me into lockdown, and with my lips still closed I hummed as loudly as I could manage to make sure the little guy wakes up. My hips bend and my face angles toward the ground, but that water bowl was directly in the way.\n\nMy face, carefully aimed, scrapes against the edge and slides my chin up. Painfully, robotically as if ignoring the existence of this obstruction, but enough to make sure my head was pointed forward even as my body angles downward. A strain on my spine as muscles keep trying to level this out and get my face pressed to the ground, a pain on my chin from building pressure. \n\n“Hmph … wha?” Soto grumbles awake. But he can see it, across the room.\n\nThat door was starting to creak open, and a new wash of smells were billowing into the room. Standing at the precipice were an interesting swarm of Gesshru all neatly concealed behind … hazmat suits? No, cobbled together clothing of rubber and plastic with tinted orange visors. The same color as my own helmet. Their clothes looked ill fitting and hastily made, all appearing to stem from the food wrappers used to store prisoners. There wasn’t an air tank and they did appear to be air-tight, even if they weren’t vacuum sealed. \n\nGesshru could go a long time without air. They were probably holding their breath beneath the helmet, and these things were only just built an hour ago if I had to take a guess. I’ve never seen them employ this sort of technology before, especially not for this application. \n\n“Oh starflung mother of a Gashn, no! This will ruin my plan!” I heard Soto chitter in a hurried whisper. His position beneath my chin left him mostly hidden from view, but then if the bowl slipped there was a small chance he’d be crushed beneath my face. The suits? Why would those prevent our plan from …\n\nOh …\n\n“No, nononono! Come ooooooonnnnn!” I heard the clicks a short time after spotting Soto move into action. My helmet was unfolding, and if it finished then it would cover my face almost completely. Even with the holes near one end it wouldn’t leave my moth exposed, and that’s the part I needed. Forget the suits. \n\nSoto bodily flung himself between the interlocking plastic, grabbing his tiny paws atop the high end of the collar and trying to keep it locked in place. Holding it still, his thin body straining against motors and whirring gears to prevent the inevitable. \n\nThis helmet still only had the same amount of force as a toy, and if I were given free movement I could have done exactly this with one finger. But Soto’s entire body was about the length of my finger, so I could imagine his difficulties. It was enough though. \n\n“Ggnn. H-huury!” he whispered again, hoping not to be seen and knowing that he’s in trouble regardless of what happens. I needed to search. Look for where that signal was coming from, look for one with the remote. \n\nOne, two, four, no that makes six, and then I think another three. There had to have been ten Gesshru cleaners in makeshift protective gear, all stepping gingerly over the layer of dried sewage. Every last one of them evidently thankful to have a full body cover, and moving slowly. They were pretty far away …\n\nI wasn’t going to be able to make the shot, and I’m not sure which one to aim for. \n\n“Can’t … hold …” Soto gasps, and I can feel the plastic wrapping up beneath my chin. I can feel the way it clinks against the side of a water bowl and tries to push past, struggling from that sheer pressure of my neck straining to press down. It expands out, but then folds back slightly. This prisoner’s strength proving enough to keep it in position. \n\nThey just weren’t close enough. There was … wait, no. I could see one now, in the far back and turning his head to inspect a spot of crimson spelling out rude words on the wall behind him. There was a controller in his hands, damned dollar tree remote control that does nothing more than house a button or two and send a very simple radio signal to my collar. It’s cheapness was insulting. But then it’s cheapness housed an age old limitation that every child with electronic toys and heavy rainfall has grown to dread. \n\nEarliest ones were approaching, closer and closer as if more to inspect the damages than to actually begin cleaning. One got his foot stuck in the half dried food paste, panicking slightly and getting laughed at by his friends. Two moved up to assist, grabbing the shoulders and pulling him free with a bit of effort.\n\nCome on, not you guys. The other one!\n\nThe helmet whirred, straining harder. I could hear Soto’s pained cries as muscle worked against tireless robotics in their hideous struggle. Soto was losing after a fashion, the back part unfolding just enough to cover my skull in a half circle and only my visor remaining locked down in its earliest stage. Of course without the supporting fragments that the visor slots into, there wasn’t enough to fold out against with the side plastics intended to wrap around my face. \n\nCloser. That one guy with the remote now remains near the doorway itself. Too far, annoyingly too far. What if he never comes close enough, does that blow my chances at this? How many more chances will I even get before they adapt. Because that’s what they will do, adapt again and make sure this gambit never works. Another doomed …\n\nScreaming.\n\nIt didn’t sound like screaming to my ears, but that’s what Soto was doing. The shrill screech, a high pitched squeaking that starts off low and extends into a long note of pure agony. That got everyone’s attention, and suddenly the whole swarm was coming closer to investigate. Oh! Even my target funnily enough.\n\nI could smell blood. That iron scent of Gesshru blood all too similar to the blood of a human. Fresh and clean, not dried and old and clearly infected. I could feel the warm splatter. There was soto in the corner of my vision, no longer holding the helmet open and free to step away from my neck. His teeth were bloody and his lips stained crimson.\n\nHis tail was missing, cut off at the midpoint …\n\nI didn’t have to ponder long to figure out what he had jammed my collar open with, gears and intricate folding plastics don’t function well under even the slightest obstruction. \n\nThe swarm was close enough now. My face was aimed perfectly and my targets in sight, without any obstructions. So I unleashed my weapon.\n\nIt has often been said in ancient myths and legends that a dragon held the capacity to breath fire or spew venom across a field. After I spit a mouthful of water at full force into the nearest Gesshru, I can’t help but imagine there will soon be legends of a human who can breath mist. Drinking water and old spit crashes into the first protected cleaner, flinging him backward and leaving the poor thing tumbling through a light puddle. He slams into the next, and a third simply falls backward while holding up two paws to protect from the spray. Two managed to simply slide back into a crouch, or anticipated my attack early enough to lean into the water and hold their ground.\n\nI’m shamefully forced to admit that I didn’t even hit all of them, my aim was off and some weren’t close enough. I’d only sprayed five out of the ten with any decent blows. \n\nSoto didn’t take this as discouragement though, even with five still on their feet … they weren’t armed. And he was going to die anyway. He rushes around the corner of the bowl and takes to all fours in a dead sprint. Paws splashing in the water, his fur stained by my blood. His own stump of a tail leaked drops of crimson behind, but he didn’t slow down. \n\n“C-come on! An-another!” he screams. There was terror in his voice. A gnawing panic on his face that showed he knew, that man knew all too well, this was his last chance. \n\nI couldn’t move my head to suck in water from this angle, but I did have enough saliva already in my mouth. I took to collecting a spitball. \n\nThe one in a crouch stands back onto his feet, the three on the ground slide up into a crouch, and the seven others already on their feet take a defensive stance. Their movements slow and their visibility dropped, and of course they’d all be managing a fight without the ability to breathe. But even still it was ten against one, and I wasn’t helping much.\n\nSoto dives in amongst the crowd with a screaming bravery. As if he had to hype himself up just to get over the fact he was doing this at all. Target lined out, he rushes up to the closest and burliest Gashn, then immediately darts right past. Splash and splash, the puddle spreads thin and the liquid wets his paws.\n\nThey retaliate of course, giving chase. Everyone on their feet and surging toward that one man, four within range and reaching to grab. One latches onto soto’s shoulder and holds him still, another grabs the waist, a third misses completely as he swipes too soon, and a fourth finds purchase on that prisoner’s hips. \n\nThere was no time. Never enough time. I don’t bother taking careful aim, I just point my lips in his general direction and blow. A glob of spit fired in desperation, and then met with failure. Even in the middle of a grapple that one Gashn had enough time to see my lips pursing and duck beneath the oncoming liquid.\n\nThis was not good, this was not good at all. \n\nSoto attempts to tear his way free from the three assailants, but isn’t doing any better than I am. The whole swarm closes in. Surrounding the man completely, chittering to themselves beneath the layer of rubbers and plastic, making sure there was no avenue of escape. \n\nOne focuses on tearing the prisoner’s legs out from under him, knocking Soto to his knees and leaving him scrambling against the weight and the water. Slick and damp and bleeding profusely, his severed tail staining the suits. My helmet groans as even now it’s still trying to close, it still has the order to do so, and that man’s sacrifice is the only reason it hasn’t yet. \n\nIt’s all happening too fast. Can’t think, can’t plan, the two others grabbing hold of him try to push the man prone, but his arms balance against tile and his strength is enough of a match for them both. Uncoordinated efforts and unskilled grappling from all parties, leading to an awkward shoving match of ups and downs. \n\nI pursed my lips, there was no helping it if I didn’t take aim. Firing blindly wasn’t going to work, and trusting Soto to accomplish anything but distraction was foolhardy in this instance. I had to hope … \n\n“Is that all you’ve got?!” Soto shouts, tugging his shoulder forward and wincing at the pain. He wasn’t breaking free from their grip, and for his shout they respond with a kick to the face. A glancing tap that wasn’t aimed well even if one didn’t account for the suit, but enough to annoy. Still others try to shove him down, pulling his face to the floor and his legs behind him. He’s striving, applying all of his strength against the bulky looking hazmat suits, and only manages to throw one off balance. One arm behind his back and the other pressed against his chest, full weight of three rats baring down on him.\n\nLast chance. I simply had to hope that if I get that remote control wet it will actually release the collar. If it was just a toggle that I’m set to rather than an ongoing signal, then I’m completely screwed, and honestly I don’t remember what the case was. Usually it’s soldiers coming in while the assistants with remote controls hang outside, I haven’t had many chances to experiment on them. \n\nI took aim. Careful breathing while Soto screams and bites, hisses and squeaks. Receiving a bruise for his trouble. The one guy with a remote was close, stepping into the crowd. He was saying something yet it was too distant for me to tell what.\n\nI spit. My lips puckered and breath heaving, a forceful glob is sent flying into that one man. He falls into the ground and skids a good distance away from the sheer force of that impact, his control clatters to the floor at his feet.\n\nIt was in liquid now. Not covered in spit the way I would have hoped, but still splashed into that thin line of dampness looking all too similar to when someone started to mop a bathroom floor. I tried to move. This just had to work, I had to …\n\nNo movement came. My arms just as bound, one helpfully extending out to produce a ramp while the other quite nicely supports my face. Ohgodwow my neck hurts, this wasn’t me trying to look straight ahead this was every muscle in my body shoving downward to force my head to peer into the floor, and there just happened to be a solid object in the way that prevents me from doing so. But my body is so dumb anyway that it doesn’t care, and keeps applying pressure as if that might solve anything. \n\nMy face turning white from the lack of blood to my chin, my neck cramping and sore and likely to do so for a long time. I could breathe, I could speak, and that was just about it.\n\n“A-aarrghgg!” the sound was far too bestial to have come from me. Was I really that damaged? A primal scream. A wordless rage against fate itself that left me closer to the impression of a wounded animal than the rational analytics of a trained linguist. My name is Freya Savitri, and the girl I know did not shout in such agony.\n\nNone of the other Gesshru knew that girl however, as each appeared to express an opinion of shock in my direction as if I were somehow the cause of their burst eardrums. Or maybe my face, twisted in anger while scrambling to build another spitwad just to spite them was enough of a distraction. \n\nSoto tries to claw his way forward, pinned on his chest and with the controller right in front of him. His one arm free …\n\nHis one arm that, bless his little soul, presses the button.\n\nEveryone had a collective moment of “ohshit” or some variation of the expletive the moment my arms were working again. The very instant I felt slack on my neck, watching this whole fight and knowing that Soto would loose. Knowing any one of them could just press the button again and I’m back to helpless.\n\nNo hesitation.\n\nMy left hand scoops up a glob of nutriment paste and lobs toward the crowd in a single motion. I wasn’t aiming for them, but it was a big enough handful that some had to dive to one side anyway. Soto has his face matted down but his legs are sticking out, two of the people who were holding him break their grip and throw themselves to once side, a third Gesshru attempts to dodge and fails miserably, while a fourth …\n\nDove into the attack.\n\nHe was diving hand-first and headlong directly at the target of my own attack, and if that splattering of food mush wasn’t enough to slow him down then there is nothing to stop him from pressing that button again.\n\nThere were no words, only movement. Pain as my aching legs stretch too far and clotted burn marks start to bleed again. My feet slip over the wet floor and obstacles in my path. I trip once, landing knee first and bashing it pretty hard. Doesn’t slow me down in the slightest.\n\nMy hands slap down on top of the grey mush and close, pull the fingers around. I felt one but didn’t relax as I couldn’t tell which one. Felt for the other, shoving aside paste and reaching for the rodent, plucking him up by the feet. Most of the rest had avoided my lunge, but weaponless and without a remote themselves there wasn’t much they could do. The ones in my grip were the real focus, and unable to see past the sloppy mush and their thick suits I was forced to feel their hands.\n\nNot fast enough. Too slow, why is everything so slow and aaaarrghh!\n\nThe touch of plastic. Tiny and fragile between my fingers, one of the rubber suit rodent things was clawing to keep hold of it. Waving tiny paws at the botton and shoving at my fingers as if this would force me to let it go. \n\nI brought the remote control to my lips, placed it sideways between my teeth, and bit down. All movement stops and all of their hopes seem to dwindle as my chewing reverberates through the room.\n\nNo time, can’t bother with these cleaners. \n\nSoto took the brunt of an attack and probably couldn’t breathe. My elbows were almost on top of him. I’m sure I knocked down at least one of the panicking Gesshru as I stood up. But it was easy to make out which food covered rat was naked, and trivial to scoop up Sotoral’s legs and hold him toward my face. I was already on the move, no stopping, no delay, this is my moment and I need to just escape. Worry about details later, move, and move and don’t stop moving.\n\nI spit out the plastic and copper, wires tasting awkward on the palette and giving me a newfound perspective on what freedom tastes like. Tiny mouse thing gripped between my fingers, a running start toward the open hallway.\n\nOhgod my legs screamed at me every time I stepped. But I carelessly abused them for all their dedicated and justified alarm concern the state of my damaged skin. Barefoot, I didn’t want to walk through the deliberately spilled sewage and was forced to jump inste- \n\nCLANG!\n\nEven as I jumped through the doorway, they were closing it. My forehead smashes into the metal and forces a slight dent, my feet fly out from under me and I’m left with a hard slam of shoulders onto tile floor. I have just landed belly up in a smear of my own filth, while half naked and bleeding. A glance to my left I could see him, a terrified Gesshru in a lab coat working for all his life on that door panel. \n\nThrough the corner of my eye I could still see the sliding metal doors coming down on where my neck would have been. I’m sure if I stayed there long enough that could kill me, and in all honesty dying right now wouldn’t be that bad. I’m never going to live down this embarrassment, so can I die down it? \n\nNo, not when I’m this close. Avoiding that fate was as simple as sitting up and trying not to think about the awful stains on my arms and legs.\n\nSoto was wiping his face clear and hyperventilating. That one poor lab assistant had the smart idea of stepping inside my cage rather than running away, after all humans walk faster and the door closed almost immediately behind him. The guy could even open it from the inside, and all that really mattered at the moment was making sure that whichever side of the doors I was, he wasn’t.\n\nSo … \n\nI was in the main hallway? He wasn’t anymore. \n\nMy smile grew in spite of the aches and blood and clear risk of infection. Something I’ll never worry about so long as those medical nanites work as intended. \n\nOn my feet with the enemy ahead of me, a food stained Gesshru in hand, and the full panicked outpost of many little screaming rat people.\n\nDoth was probably dead by now. I wish I’d known her well enough to catch her opinion on revenge. \n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "
My name is Freya Savitri, and you know … maybe the pain could be ignored a while longer.

I’ll be the first to admit, this wasn’t a plan I’d have ever come up with. Nor was I entirely certain it would work. The whole thing depended on a Gashn concept of filth.

Sporcizia in Italian. Sordem in Latin. Snavs in Danish. Spina in Slovak. Yokungcola in Zulu. Pislik in Turkish. Immundicia in Catalan. Ndyresi in Albanian. Prljavstina in Bosnian. Nyansi in Chichewa. Salete in French.

Whatever word used to describe it, this facility is usually the opposite. Pristine walls, an off-white color to most of the panels, smooth featureless tiles that were long ago installed to look like a fancy bathroom and cover up the rough cement. It wasn’t typical Gesshru construction methods, all learned and mimicked from their knowledge of earth, but it was required to keep us from simply tearing apart the cage and smashing through walls.

“They don’t like the place being dirty.” Soto had explained all those hours ago, recounting his tales of adversity while I was off getting my ass handed to me by things the size of housecats. “But you aren’t a clean creature at all.”

His logic was sound. Having witnessed the mix of both old fashioned and primitive cleaning methods alongside their miniaturized version of my shuttle’s sterilization tools.

“As soon as this room was empty they all came in with hoses and soap things and strange glowing spears. And they just cleaned everything until it all shined.”

The other rat prisoner knew, at least in part, that I was controlled by the collar and they had a way to turn me off. He took it for granted that I would even want to escape, though considering I destroy cities for a living and thus far haven’t even harmed him yet it wasn’t too much of a stretch for the poor guy to figure out on his own.

“I didn’t want them to notice me and … you know. So I hid inside the food bowl. Buried myself whenever they got close and waited until they left.”

Soto had explained this plan in complete detail, and it made absolutely perfect sense in my mind. A bit of convincing was required, which he took less as a reason to refine his argument and more to repeat what he’d said with louder words and exaggerated gestures as if I simply failed to understand, but it was indeed a workable plan.

“So what if we make this place so dirty, they have no choice but to come in and clean up right now?

After two hours of living with the smell I was very strongly coming to regret his creativity.

The latrine was emptied near the far doorway, making sure human mess and dripping unmentionable was seeping through the cracks and into their grand hallway. My blood wasn’t so much a puddle staining a few spots on the ground as it was several wet smears, finger painting to make sure it was more difficult to clean out. The grey paste splashed against walls and floor and ceiling with little tosses. Not all of it mind, but enough to stick like a spitwad and certain to harden into the tiles before too long.

The stink of my armpits didn’t give the appearance of a stain, but Soto assured me that it was quite unpleasant for another Gesshru to be close to. So of course he’d persuaded me to rub the sweat on select parts of the floor and wall as if sewage wasn’t enough of a displeasing aroma to draw them in.

Gashn forces must have been busy with something, because they didn’t set foot inside the room for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Leaving myself and Soto to sit patiently in the far corner next to a mostly empty food bowl, and positioned right in front of a water bowl. Each of us trying our hardest to keep our nostrils from falling off.

“hrmpsh.” Came the whimpering noises of my prisoner with his face tucked inside my blanket. The only other feature being those feeding tubes in the wall, but they wouldn’t do anything until it came time to refill the two pet bowls. Assuming they chose to do so rather than just leave us to suffer.

I said nothing. That was part of the plan you see, I had to keep my mouth closed. That didn’t stop the Gesshru from speaking, but I guessed with some degree of certainty that he was pleased by the lack of thunderous responses. Or perhaps amazed by the fact I’ve listened to him at all. My voice alongside the smell of week old sewage would have just compounded his suffering.

“Ohcore this is just insanity. Completely insane.”

My lack of speech didn’t do a thing to stop him from talking, and even if it wasn’t painful it was heartbreakingly annoying.

“Inside a Gashn stronghold, days away from the nearest civilization, sitting inside a Max unit’s food bowl, sending wishes to the core that this all turn out okay. Did you think that’s how this week would go? I sure didn’t.”

His incredulously for this week somewhat mirrored mine for the past several years, stranded on an alien planet while somehow held prisoner by a race of primitive creatures that seem to instantly copy and improve on earth’s technology only to then slowly dwindle back down to mediocrity as the generations pass.

“I should be back home. I’m supposed to be a farmer, not … feed for the livestock. Come on door, just open.”

It didn’t open at his command, nor at his pleading. Even his shouts were met with no response for yet another hour still. Silence reigned when the man fell asleep, but the lights never dimmed and I refused to move from my spot. Our plan required exact positioning. Within arm’s reach of my food bowl and with my face just above the water bowl.

Another hour passes, coming onto four hours of stink and anticipation. My limbs cramped and my mind as blank as possible, the taste of spit and water long dulled into a noxious blandness that left me wanting for a real drink. Some hard liquor perhaps, I don’t usually get drunk but just dulling the pain might be worth it.

Muscles locked.

I could feel when they’d clicked me into lockdown, and with my lips still closed I hummed as loudly as I could manage to make sure the little guy wakes up. My hips bend and my face angles toward the ground, but that water bowl was directly in the way.

My face, carefully aimed, scrapes against the edge and slides my chin up. Painfully, robotically as if ignoring the existence of this obstruction, but enough to make sure my head was pointed forward even as my body angles downward. A strain on my spine as muscles keep trying to level this out and get my face pressed to the ground, a pain on my chin from building pressure.

“Hmph … wha?” Soto grumbles awake. But he can see it, across the room.

That door was starting to creak open, and a new wash of smells were billowing into the room. Standing at the precipice were an interesting swarm of Gesshru all neatly concealed behind … hazmat suits? No, cobbled together clothing of rubber and plastic with tinted orange visors. The same color as my own helmet. Their clothes looked ill fitting and hastily made, all appearing to stem from the food wrappers used to store prisoners. There wasn’t an air tank and they did appear to be air-tight, even if they weren’t vacuum sealed.

Gesshru could go a long time without air. They were probably holding their breath beneath the helmet, and these things were only just built an hour ago if I had to take a guess. I’ve never seen them employ this sort of technology before, especially not for this application.

“Oh starflung mother of a Gashn, no! This will ruin my plan!” I heard Soto chitter in a hurried whisper. His position beneath my chin left him mostly hidden from view, but then if the bowl slipped there was a small chance he’d be crushed beneath my face. The suits? Why would those prevent our plan from …

Oh …

“No, nononono! Come ooooooonnnnn!” I heard the clicks a short time after spotting Soto move into action. My helmet was unfolding, and if it finished then it would cover my face almost completely. Even with the holes near one end it wouldn’t leave my moth exposed, and that’s the part I needed. Forget the suits.

Soto bodily flung himself between the interlocking plastic, grabbing his tiny paws atop the high end of the collar and trying to keep it locked in place. Holding it still, his thin body straining against motors and whirring gears to prevent the inevitable.

This helmet still only had the same amount of force as a toy, and if I were given free movement I could have done exactly this with one finger. But Soto’s entire body was about the length of my finger, so I could imagine his difficulties. It was enough though.

“Ggnn. H-huury!” he whispered again, hoping not to be seen and knowing that he’s in trouble regardless of what happens. I needed to search. Look for where that signal was coming from, look for one with the remote.

One, two, four, no that makes six, and then I think another three. There had to have been ten Gesshru cleaners in makeshift protective gear, all stepping gingerly over the layer of dried sewage. Every last one of them evidently thankful to have a full body cover, and moving slowly. They were pretty far away …

I wasn’t going to be able to make the shot, and I’m not sure which one to aim for.

“Can’t … hold …” Soto gasps, and I can feel the plastic wrapping up beneath my chin. I can feel the way it clinks against the side of a water bowl and tries to push past, struggling from that sheer pressure of my neck straining to press down. It expands out, but then folds back slightly. This prisoner’s strength proving enough to keep it in position.

They just weren’t close enough. There was … wait, no. I could see one now, in the far back and turning his head to inspect a spot of crimson spelling out rude words on the wall behind him. There was a controller in his hands, damned dollar tree remote control that does nothing more than house a button or two and send a very simple radio signal to my collar. It’s cheapness was insulting. But then it’s cheapness housed an age old limitation that every child with electronic toys and heavy rainfall has grown to dread.

Earliest ones were approaching, closer and closer as if more to inspect the damages than to actually begin cleaning. One got his foot stuck in the half dried food paste, panicking slightly and getting laughed at by his friends. Two moved up to assist, grabbing the shoulders and pulling him free with a bit of effort.

Come on, not you guys. The other one!

The helmet whirred, straining harder. I could hear Soto’s pained cries as muscle worked against tireless robotics in their hideous struggle. Soto was losing after a fashion, the back part unfolding just enough to cover my skull in a half circle and only my visor remaining locked down in its earliest stage. Of course without the supporting fragments that the visor slots into, there wasn’t enough to fold out against with the side plastics intended to wrap around my face.

Closer. That one guy with the remote now remains near the doorway itself. Too far, annoyingly too far. What if he never comes close enough, does that blow my chances at this? How many more chances will I even get before they adapt. Because that’s what they will do, adapt again and make sure this gambit never works. Another doomed …

Screaming.

It didn’t sound like screaming to my ears, but that’s what Soto was doing. The shrill screech, a high pitched squeaking that starts off low and extends into a long note of pure agony. That got everyone’s attention, and suddenly the whole swarm was coming closer to investigate. Oh! Even my target funnily enough.

I could smell blood. That iron scent of Gesshru blood all too similar to the blood of a human. Fresh and clean, not dried and old and clearly infected. I could feel the warm splatter. There was soto in the corner of my vision, no longer holding the helmet open and free to step away from my neck. His teeth were bloody and his lips stained crimson.

His tail was missing, cut off at the midpoint …

I didn’t have to ponder long to figure out what he had jammed my collar open with, gears and intricate folding plastics don’t function well under even the slightest obstruction.

The swarm was close enough now. My face was aimed perfectly and my targets in sight, without any obstructions. So I unleashed my weapon.

It has often been said in ancient myths and legends that a dragon held the capacity to breath fire or spew venom across a field. After I spit a mouthful of water at full force into the nearest Gesshru, I can’t help but imagine there will soon be legends of a human who can breath mist. Drinking water and old spit crashes into the first protected cleaner, flinging him backward and leaving the poor thing tumbling through a light puddle. He slams into the next, and a third simply falls backward while holding up two paws to protect from the spray. Two managed to simply slide back into a crouch, or anticipated my attack early enough to lean into the water and hold their ground.

I’m shamefully forced to admit that I didn’t even hit all of them, my aim was off and some weren’t close enough. I’d only sprayed five out of the ten with any decent blows.

Soto didn’t take this as discouragement though, even with five still on their feet … they weren’t armed. And he was going to die anyway. He rushes around the corner of the bowl and takes to all fours in a dead sprint. Paws splashing in the water, his fur stained by my blood. His own stump of a tail leaked drops of crimson behind, but he didn’t slow down.

“C-come on! An-another!” he screams. There was terror in his voice. A gnawing panic on his face that showed he knew, that man knew all too well, this was his last chance.

I couldn’t move my head to suck in water from this angle, but I did have enough saliva already in my mouth. I took to collecting a spitball.

The one in a crouch stands back onto his feet, the three on the ground slide up into a crouch, and the seven others already on their feet take a defensive stance. Their movements slow and their visibility dropped, and of course they’d all be managing a fight without the ability to breathe. But even still it was ten against one, and I wasn’t helping much.

Soto dives in amongst the crowd with a screaming bravery. As if he had to hype himself up just to get over the fact he was doing this at all. Target lined out, he rushes up to the closest and burliest Gashn, then immediately darts right past. Splash and splash, the puddle spreads thin and the liquid wets his paws.

They retaliate of course, giving chase. Everyone on their feet and surging toward that one man, four within range and reaching to grab. One latches onto soto’s shoulder and holds him still, another grabs the waist, a third misses completely as he swipes too soon, and a fourth finds purchase on that prisoner’s hips.

There was no time. Never enough time. I don’t bother taking careful aim, I just point my lips in his general direction and blow. A glob of spit fired in desperation, and then met with failure. Even in the middle of a grapple that one Gashn had enough time to see my lips pursing and duck beneath the oncoming liquid.

This was not good, this was not good at all.

Soto attempts to tear his way free from the three assailants, but isn’t doing any better than I am. The whole swarm closes in. Surrounding the man completely, chittering to themselves beneath the layer of rubbers and plastic, making sure there was no avenue of escape.

One focuses on tearing the prisoner’s legs out from under him, knocking Soto to his knees and leaving him scrambling against the weight and the water. Slick and damp and bleeding profusely, his severed tail staining the suits. My helmet groans as even now it’s still trying to close, it still has the order to do so, and that man’s sacrifice is the only reason it hasn’t yet.

It’s all happening too fast. Can’t think, can’t plan, the two others grabbing hold of him try to push the man prone, but his arms balance against tile and his strength is enough of a match for them both. Uncoordinated efforts and unskilled grappling from all parties, leading to an awkward shoving match of ups and downs.

I pursed my lips, there was no helping it if I didn’t take aim. Firing blindly wasn’t going to work, and trusting Soto to accomplish anything but distraction was foolhardy in this instance. I had to hope …

“Is that all you’ve got?!” Soto shouts, tugging his shoulder forward and wincing at the pain. He wasn’t breaking free from their grip, and for his shout they respond with a kick to the face. A glancing tap that wasn’t aimed well even if one didn’t account for the suit, but enough to annoy. Still others try to shove him down, pulling his face to the floor and his legs behind him. He’s striving, applying all of his strength against the bulky looking hazmat suits, and only manages to throw one off balance. One arm behind his back and the other pressed against his chest, full weight of three rats baring down on him.

Last chance. I simply had to hope that if I get that remote control wet it will actually release the collar. If it was just a toggle that I’m set to rather than an ongoing signal, then I’m completely screwed, and honestly I don’t remember what the case was. Usually it’s soldiers coming in while the assistants with remote controls hang outside, I haven’t had many chances to experiment on them.

I took aim. Careful breathing while Soto screams and bites, hisses and squeaks. Receiving a bruise for his trouble. The one guy with a remote was close, stepping into the crowd. He was saying something yet it was too distant for me to tell what.

I spit. My lips puckered and breath heaving, a forceful glob is sent flying into that one man. He falls into the ground and skids a good distance away from the sheer force of that impact, his control clatters to the floor at his feet.

It was in liquid now. Not covered in spit the way I would have hoped, but still splashed into that thin line of dampness looking all too similar to when someone started to mop a bathroom floor. I tried to move. This just had to work, I had to …

No movement came. My arms just as bound, one helpfully extending out to produce a ramp while the other quite nicely supports my face. Ohgodwow my neck hurts, this wasn’t me trying to look straight ahead this was every muscle in my body shoving downward to force my head to peer into the floor, and there just happened to be a solid object in the way that prevents me from doing so. But my body is so dumb anyway that it doesn’t care, and keeps applying pressure as if that might solve anything.

My face turning white from the lack of blood to my chin, my neck cramping and sore and likely to do so for a long time. I could breathe, I could speak, and that was just about it.

“A-aarrghgg!” the sound was far too bestial to have come from me. Was I really that damaged? A primal scream. A wordless rage against fate itself that left me closer to the impression of a wounded animal than the rational analytics of a trained linguist. My name is Freya Savitri, and the girl I know did not shout in such agony.

None of the other Gesshru knew that girl however, as each appeared to express an opinion of shock in my direction as if I were somehow the cause of their burst eardrums. Or maybe my face, twisted in anger while scrambling to build another spitwad just to spite them was enough of a distraction.

Soto tries to claw his way forward, pinned on his chest and with the controller right in front of him. His one arm free …

His one arm that, bless his little soul, presses the button.

Everyone had a collective moment of “ohshit” or some variation of the expletive the moment my arms were working again. The very instant I felt slack on my neck, watching this whole fight and knowing that Soto would loose. Knowing any one of them could just press the button again and I’m back to helpless.

No hesitation.

My left hand scoops up a glob of nutriment paste and lobs toward the crowd in a single motion. I wasn’t aiming for them, but it was a big enough handful that some had to dive to one side anyway. Soto has his face matted down but his legs are sticking out, two of the people who were holding him break their grip and throw themselves to once side, a third Gesshru attempts to dodge and fails miserably, while a fourth …

Dove into the attack.

He was diving hand-first and headlong directly at the target of my own attack, and if that splattering of food mush wasn’t enough to slow him down then there is nothing to stop him from pressing that button again.

There were no words, only movement. Pain as my aching legs stretch too far and clotted burn marks start to bleed again. My feet slip over the wet floor and obstacles in my path. I trip once, landing knee first and bashing it pretty hard. Doesn’t slow me down in the slightest.

My hands slap down on top of the grey mush and close, pull the fingers around. I felt one but didn’t relax as I couldn’t tell which one. Felt for the other, shoving aside paste and reaching for the rodent, plucking him up by the feet. Most of the rest had avoided my lunge, but weaponless and without a remote themselves there wasn’t much they could do. The ones in my grip were the real focus, and unable to see past the sloppy mush and their thick suits I was forced to feel their hands.

Not fast enough. Too slow, why is everything so slow and aaaarrghh!

The touch of plastic. Tiny and fragile between my fingers, one of the rubber suit rodent things was clawing to keep hold of it. Waving tiny paws at the botton and shoving at my fingers as if this would force me to let it go.

I brought the remote control to my lips, placed it sideways between my teeth, and bit down. All movement stops and all of their hopes seem to dwindle as my chewing reverberates through the room.

No time, can’t bother with these cleaners.

Soto took the brunt of an attack and probably couldn’t breathe. My elbows were almost on top of him. I’m sure I knocked down at least one of the panicking Gesshru as I stood up. But it was easy to make out which food covered rat was naked, and trivial to scoop up Sotoral’s legs and hold him toward my face. I was already on the move, no stopping, no delay, this is my moment and I need to just escape. Worry about details later, move, and move and don’t stop moving.

I spit out the plastic and copper, wires tasting awkward on the palette and giving me a newfound perspective on what freedom tastes like. Tiny mouse thing gripped between my fingers, a running start toward the open hallway.

Ohgod my legs screamed at me every time I stepped. But I carelessly abused them for all their dedicated and justified alarm concern the state of my damaged skin. Barefoot, I didn’t want to walk through the deliberately spilled sewage and was forced to jump inste-

CLANG!

Even as I jumped through the doorway, they were closing it. My forehead smashes into the metal and forces a slight dent, my feet fly out from under me and I’m left with a hard slam of shoulders onto tile floor. I have just landed belly up in a smear of my own filth, while half naked and bleeding. A glance to my left I could see him, a terrified Gesshru in a lab coat working for all his life on that door panel.

Through the corner of my eye I could still see the sliding metal doors coming down on where my neck would have been. I’m sure if I stayed there long enough that could kill me, and in all honesty dying right now wouldn’t be that bad. I’m never going to live down this embarrassment, so can I die down it?

No, not when I’m this close. Avoiding that fate was as simple as sitting up and trying not to think about the awful stains on my arms and legs.

Soto was wiping his face clear and hyperventilating. That one poor lab assistant had the smart idea of stepping inside my cage rather than running away, after all humans walk faster and the door closed almost immediately behind him. The guy could even open it from the inside, and all that really mattered at the moment was making sure that whichever side of the doors I was, he wasn’t.

So …

I was in the main hallway? He wasn’t anymore.

My smile grew in spite of the aches and blood and clear risk of infection. Something I’ll never worry about so long as those medical nanites work as intended.

On my feet with the enemy ahead of me, a food stained Gesshru in hand, and the full panicked outpost of many little screaming rat people.

Doth was probably dead by now. I wish I’d known her well enough to catch her opinion on revenge.
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