Piercing green eyes haunted Drax in his dreams. The scaly beast cut off every escape route, appearing before him each time he tried to leap to freedom. Cuts peeled away layers of his skin, gradually thinning his arms to the satisfied smacking of the monster’s fangs, which kindly inquired about his well‑being. A sharp slash damaged his vocal cords, and the boy could only wheeze, unable to curse the sadist or even speak his name.
You will always be mine…
Sweat soaked his blanket, and he no longer wanted to sleep. He folded his hands on his stomach to the hum of the force fields covering his fists. The bracelets had activated. His power had triggered instinctively, alarmed by the surge of anxiety. Drax lay in the dark for a long time, spending half an hour calming down, mastering his power, and shutting off the spatial anomaly. Then, twenty minutes before his alarm, he jumped out of bed, refusing to give in to melancholy.
Finally! His heart pounded with excitement as he examined himself critically in the mirror, inserting his translator into his throat. No dust or stuck food between his teeth. A jab with his left hand, then his right, produced a series of electrifying cracks along his arms, and a light jump spread them through his whole body. Next came the injection prescribed by Vipstana, into his neck, near the carotid artery. A simple shot prevented the buildup of layers of salt and bone upon his muscles, eliminating unnecessary cracks throughout the day.
According to the doctor’s instructions, he was supposed to take a painkiller twelve minutes before the procedure… but the injection, which spread heat through his throat, no longer caused much discomfort.
Morning rays of sunlight reached into his den. His room. The home they had been given exceeded the family’s expectations. Everyone had their own room, and a special modification was being finished for Eloria, with the ceiling lowered. As it turned out, his little sister preferred confined spaces.
Well, he wasn’t one to judge tastes.
Across from the mirror hung a poster of Eugenia Mylli’s team, Iterna’s greatest champion. Five people served in her inner circle, including a Malformed armed with an axe. Even though Skulltaker had never spent a day in their herd, his very existence proved that coexistence with Normies was possible. Even more posters were pinned above his bed, featuring Jumail, Yura, and Eliza Vong.
The first was especially important to Drax. Hearing about young heroes, he had immediately concluded that, first, heroes existed, and second, given the context, a Malformed could become one of them. Unfortunately, he was partly wrong. Officially, the Elites and trainees weren’t heroes. The population considered them such, but they served the state.
Jumail, the size of a small truck, towered on spider‑like legs above a group of trainees who had gained popularity after an incident in another country. At first glance, his hairy hide, rounded body, and mandibles screamed “spider.” But behind the mandibles was a jaw with ordinary teeth. Human arms pressed against his abdomen.
A Malformed! He had already begun paving the way for understanding between peoples, and Drax had no intention of falling behind.
His bookshelves were bursting with comics. Every time he opened the cabinet doors, several books fell out. He owed this gift to the staff of the adaptation camp.
Drax had been sure that all their personal belongings were lost. Far from it. The protocol‑obsessed civil servants had catalogued their finds, and the family got back everything, down to the last piece of raw hide. The story in his book belonged to a comic series that had been published before the catastrophe and was now in the public domain.
While his parents filled out paperwork, the administrator printed the entire series and gave it to the children in hardcover. Drax immediately read everything he could to his brother and sister, and kept doing so every day, stubbornly memorizing the alphabet. It became their personal ritual. Fortunately, the series he had come to love was truly endless. Issues had been released every three days for a century, without even stopping for holidays.
Drax dressed in jeans, a blue t‑shirt with a red comet crossing his chest, and threw a sleeveless jacket over it. Checking his backpack was pointless; he had packed his notebooks, documents, and writing supplies the night before. Clenching his fist to make sure it wasn’t trembling, he dashed into the hallway.
“Good morning,” he whispered to his mother.
Axel was shamelessly asleep, with Eloria curled up on his bed. His siblings had tired themselves out playing with Nonus’s grandchildren on the model railway and sampling Mrs. Floria’s various pastries. Mother always worried that they were abusing the neighbors’ goodwill and felt bad that she couldn’t repay the favor.
The old couple never complained and kept inviting the younger members of the Vilehearts family to drop by more often.
“No changes?”
“Worry. About. Yourself.” Nariko gave her son a stern look, then hugged him, awkwardly rising on her hind legs.
Mom had flourished since arriving in Baal. Outwardly, she still appeared too thin around the ribs, but her eyes burned with determination; purple veins stood out sharply against her skin, and she was no longer afraid to go outside. On her first day, Nariko visited every resident in the building, introducing herself and getting to know them. Some, valuing their privacy, were unsettled by this behavior. On the other hand, she now had acquaintances outside the family, and she had begun to trust her husband to look after the children while she made solo trips to the supermarket.
See, you bastard? We’re becoming happier! Drax didn’t dare tell his family about his nightmares, not wanting to spoil the mood. He would handle it himself.
“You’re early, aren’t you?” Dad slung his bag over his shoulder.
“I’m not sure I’ll find the right way immediately,” Drax admitted sourly, “and I don’t wanna make a fool of myself.”
“You’ll be fine,” William assured him.
“Just. Go. With her,” Nariko rasped.
“Don’t want to,” Drax stubbornly refused.
“Then. You. Should have. Scouted. The route. Earlier,” Mom cut him off mercilessly.
William smiled faintly. After Artificer’s operation, his sharp skin plates no longer stuck out in all directions, ready to impale an unwary passerby. Now he looked more like a giant wrapped in an extra layer of armor, without the overly clumsy shoulders his son had. He also dressed in light summer clothes, not even taking a jacket.
Of all of them, William had integrated into human society the best. He seemed to have returned to his own kind, causing no discomfort to the neighbors, smoothing over misunderstandings, and explaining the rules and peculiarities of behavior to the children. No assigned helpers trailed him. In the evenings, he sometimes went out drinking with Pierre, rekindling an old friendship. Drax considered the other mutant a jerk but didn’t tell his father how Pierre had treated him on the ship. Why spoil their relationship?
Dad had found a job at the docks. The state had offered him a higher‑paying position at the local city hall. After discussing it with the family, William said he didn’t want to accept an unearned handout, and Nariko supported him. At the docks, he helped unload containers from ships. Where Normies used exoskeletons and mobile walkers, William single‑handedly lowered heavy cargo intact. The rest of his work was a dull routine of stacking materials in the warehouse.
Relenting, Nariko kissed Drax. Today, Mom would take the younger ones to kindergarten and then go to see a person with a difficult‑to‑pronounce profession.
Drax stepped outside with William. Father’s gaze was distant, as if piercing through walls and reaching far away.
“Still scheming a get‑rich‑quick plan?” Drax asked.
“It’s not a get‑rich‑quick plan.” Father snapped out of his thoughts and patted him on the shoulder. “The Frontier farmers are thriving on hand‑grown produce. City dwellers are drawn to the chance to sit in old‑fashioned cafes and restaurants. The two sample suits we put up for sale online were snatched up within a couple of hours. My idea will work…”
“But?” Drax prompted, now interested.
It was good that Dad was thinking about the future. Drax himself worried that the government might have bought both suits, cheating them of their hopes. Thinking logically, why would Softskins need oversized suits? His suspicion was strengthened by the buyers’ refusal to let Dad alter the clothes to their size. Back in the Nest, such services, or repairing torn clothes, were common.
“But nothing. It all comes down to cost. Renting a workshop for a month would cost me two months’ salary. Add in tools and permits, and the expenses bloat. It’s not wise to take that risk right now.”
“We could ask the program directors. They have money…”
“Drax.” William stopped on the first‑floor landing and gestured around the entrance hall. “Everyone here works honestly. Nonus held a post in the postal service for thirty years. Do we want to become a worthy part of society or leech off it?”
“The former.”
“Then we can wait. A year, two, or more. My skills aren’t going to escape anywhere.” William smiled. “We promised not to sacrifice our dreams, and I won’t break that promise. I’m studying the ins and outs of social welfare. We won’t end up hungry or on the street, Iterna takes care of its citizens. It’s just… I don’t want to be a beggar.”
“I get it,” Drax answered honestly.
Before, Dad had been the family’s pillar. When the chieftain had wounded Drax, he had treated his injuries. William had taught him to read, invented games for Akrn, now known as Axel, calmed and always supported Nuergh, now Nariko. Euka had stamped her foot in the camp and chosen a random name Eloria, had never been afraid of the sharpness of her father’s blades. He had provided food and always knew what to do.
Here, William was lost. Axel was better with the terminal; Nariko had figured out more quickly how to buy pastries at the supermarket, and Drax had been the first to meet the neighbors. There was no need for protection against monsters. William felt sidelined, and a suspicion smoldered in him that he wasn’t pulling his weight for the family.
Naturally, that was nonsense. No one thought he was lazy, but he needed to prove otherwise. His son believed in him and didn’t distract him.
Besides, Drax had his personal trials ahead. Stepping outside, he grimaced at the sight of a grinning woman rocking on the toes of her sneakers in the middle of the pedestrian path leading to the sidewalk.
“Ready for your trip, Nutcracker?” asked Horatia Russo, shaking William’s hand.
Father covered several meters in two strides and slowed down at the bus stop, nodding to a startled man who looked up from his terminal. Together, they boarded the arriving bus.
Drax was left alone with her. Crap.
“Yes. I don’t need a babysitter.” He stomped past her.
“Of course you don’t, big boy. Should I read you the schedule?” Horatia called playfully after him.
“I can read the routes myself.”
“Whoa! Learned our alphabet while I wasn’t looking, egghead?”
“No. I got a lens,” Drax ground out through his teeth.
Horatia got under his skin, but not with open hostility. The woman assigned as their family’s social guide was quite responsible and resolved situations without making them look like ignorant fools. She dressed casually, in loose clothes, and her temperament was nothing like the officials he encountered before. Her only official insignia was a blue ID badge pinned to the collar of her jacket.
His problem with her was the sarcastic condescension with which she teased him. She was respectful with his parents, brought sweets to the younger siblings, and never missed a chance to needle him. Her manner was too reminiscent of Raoul, and it infuriated him.
Drax took out the transparent lens. It settled over his eye without any discomfort, not causing any irritation, and the squiggly lines on the bus stop display lit up. Focusing his pupil on the letters made the words sound in his ear, and he silently repeated them to himself.
Their apartment building was in the south of Baal, near the bridge over the rivers and north of the huge island that seemed to pierce the city’s heart. Buses on this side of the road ran west along their street. The route he needed circled residential buildings, the church, and the supermarket, then headed north on the main road. It turned west before the business district, passed the airport, and then went north again on the map. Sixteen stops, and he would be there.
Easy! Drax pocketed the lens, confident of success.
“Take the day off, Horatia,” he advised. “I won’t get into trouble.”
“Afraid to be seen in the company of an adult woman? Such a gentleman. And here I thought I was the shy one.”
He turned to face the road, trying not to listen to her pointless muttering. Virsavia and Tigrin’s orphanage was two streets away from the school. The girls wouldn’t be there today; they had mentioned some farewell party. But… maybe he should drop by to see them anyway. He missed them.
“At the risk of interrupting your brooding, I need to check something. You didn’t forget your ID, did you, bony bull?” Horatia sat on a bench, folding her arms. “You know, the school security will have to call your parents to confirm, and the poor driver will have nothing to scan…”
Fuck! He disgraced himself again. Drax opened his backpack and put the bracelet with the green card around his neck. Somehow, that rectangle stored all his information, a few personal credits, and a free‑ride pass.
“Uh… Listen, collars are for girls and animals. You should wear it on your wrist.”
“I like animals. They’re tasty,” Drax shrugged.
“No, seriously. People will laugh at you.”
“Laughter prolongs life.”
“Fine, be a clown if you want.” Horatia looked away. “If you ever want to improve your public image, come to me, I won’t be stingy with advice. I’ll limp behind you. Your stomping can be heard a kilometer away.”
I’m not that heavy. Drax snorted through his nostrils. Enough of it. He sighed with relief when he spotted the right bus and stepped through the open doors. The driver recoiled from his bow to the validator, which scanned his card and issued the travel permit. The boy moved down the aisle, puzzled by her reaction. Wasn’t a bow a sign of respect?
“Did you see that mutie?” a dark‑haired teen whispered to her friend. “He’s wearing a collar. Like a dog. Why do they let him out without a muzzle…”
“Quiet!” the second girl blushed.
There were few people inside that morning, and most seats were empty. Deciding it would be rude to take up two seats with his backside, Drax sat in the back, apologizing to a passenger who jumped up and stood by the exit. Had he done something wrong? He hadn’t touched the man, and there was plenty of room left. Maybe he should have introduced himself? The girls in front kept whispering, glancing back at him over their shoulders. The first one pointed her terminal at him, and the second snatched it away, twirling her finger at her temple.
“Hello.” He raised a hand. “Name’s…”
“Shut up, you creep,” the dark‑haired girl raised her tanned nose. “Your growling is annoying.”
“Didn’t mean to offend…”
“The girls already said they’re not interested in you.” A boy from a middle seat turned to him. Tall, with a shock of brown hair, his pale skin almost glowed against his well‑fitted black uniform. The inside of his sleeves was bright red, and on his chest gleamed a golden star leaving a trail to the right. “Or without a dog walker you don’t get human speech? I can put it in simpler terms.”
The boy’s skin darkened, turning gray. His clothes expanded to accommodate his broadening shoulders. Dense growths formed on his face, together creating a rough shell that hid his blue eyes deep within. His limbs thickened, his legs lengthened, and his tucked‑in the boots pants came loose, exposing fresh bumps. His nails fused with his elongated fingers.
“You have a power!” Drax clapped his hands. “I have one too…”
“That doesn’t mean you should flaunt it, beast.”
“I’m not a beast.” Drax leaned forward, tensing and baring his teeth.
“Look at your behavior.” The transformed boy grimaced. “You chased away a passenger. You’re harassing girls. And now you’re snarling like an animal. What else should I call you? What, do you enjoy bullying the weak? I think your kind calls it domination.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, try to dominate here and I cave your teeth in. Instead of showing gratitude for being let into civilization, you act like a piece of shit…”
“Enough, Gunther!” the blushing dark‑haired girl snapped. “When I need protection, I’ll call you. I started this.”
Drax frowned. Muttering to the girls that he hadn’t meant anything bad, he stood up and got off the bus under Gunther’s watchful gaze. The boy deflated, returning to his human form only after the doors closed and the bus hovered away.
The Malformed shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the spires of the business district, lit by the morning sun. Drivers pulling into surface and underground parking lots stared at him. Café patrons clicked their terminal cameras, filming the unusual newcomer standing out against this utopian backdrop.
The wind brought him the scent of Horatia, watching from a distance, but Drax decided not to wait for her. He walked on, wondering whether his siblings would have to go through something similar. Were his parents perceived as potential killing machines? He hadn’t done anything wrong, yet people still feared him, saw him as a threat. Unbidden, a certain saying came to mind…
Nonsense. Dad liked his job. He had talked their ears off about it and shown photos. It was just that the world had jerks in it. No reason to waste time on them. Cheered up, Drax took stock of his surroundings.
Ahead, a defensive platform flew slowly through the sky, one of three conducting an unceasing aerial patrol. A fat airship rose nearby and moved off. At least he hadn’t gotten lost. Soon, the airport would be on his right, and then the road would merge into a ring. Impossible to miss that. He would keep heading north and reach school with time to spare.
Drax grunted. When you think calmly, things weren’t so bad. Not making a complete clueless fool of himself on the first day was already a decent success.