Cheeseburger

As the doors kicked open, the first sight to come to them was the oblivious breach of company policy in not allowing Aberrants within the cafeteria. There was a bit of leniency on this one though.

A rather rotund Orca sat among many other handlers with the friendliest smile that could make even the coldest of hearts come around. How Aberrants are named is a complicated process, but this one chose to name itself after its favourite thing. Cheeseburger.

With Cheeseburger around, there is little to no food waste. It simply goes to him by day’s end, and he couldn’t be happier, and for the hundredth day in a row, Cheeseburger hailed them over with a little wave and welcomed them into the world of mediocre food.

Past the crowd, the two eyed up a chalkboard that always carried today’s menu. It was in a large font, but whoever wrote it probably didn’t have thumbs.

“Fried haddock again?! Would it kill them to find some vegetables?” the man groaned loudly.

“We live by the sea, Raian, you’re not exactly going to be finding a herd of bison out there.”

“I wish.” Raian rubbed his eyes, “Sod it, just get me that, it’ll have chips anyway.”

The entire cafeteria had been situated with long rows of tables, and naturally, the handlers, professors, doctors, and miscellaneous staff had organised themselves into their own self-contained groups and cliques.

A table for each group seemed appropriate, and gods forbid you sit at the wrong table. You’ll be excised in an instant.

Typically, Cheeseburger doesn’t stop waving until Raian joins him, so there wasn’t much point in keeping him waiting. Faloux was already with him slurping away at the can Raian had gotten him not even minutes ago.

Faloux was an exception to the prior rule. He just goes wherever he pleases, typically with Cheeseburger in tow. Faloux puts faith in anyone who can appreciate food, and the Orca was a prime example.

Handlers of all shapes and sizes manned the table as a handful of them shuffled to the side to make room for Raian. They didn’t quite give him a warm welcome, it was more room temperature, like a glass of water that had been left on the bedside table for at least three days.

“Hallo!” The Orca greeted him at least, sat across in the corner with a stack of food trays almost as tall as him.

Mochi was, of course, the only Aberrant he didn’t fear, but at least Cheeseburger was the Aberrant he feared the least. If any harm were to come his way from Cheeseburger, it would likely just be from being smacked by his belly whenever he turned around.

“Raian—”

A messy-haired woman with heavy, dark bags under her eyes began for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden clatter of metal trays as Unali joined the fray, tossing down the mangled mess of sub-par ‘food’ before Raian. At the same time, Cheeseburger drifted off elsewhere, likely to go get some more grub.

The man didn’t even acknowledge his lunch, in fact, he decided the moment he walked in that he’d just finish off whatever Mochi didn’t eat tonight.

“Raian,” the severely sleep deprived handler called, “has your Aberrant shown signs of growth?”

“I mean, he’s kind of short, so…” he shook his head.

That got a snort out of her at least.

“No, I meant is he showcasing any abilities? Physical aptitudes? Thaumaturgy?” she smiled politely.

“Not really, no,” Raian peeled away a layer of soggy batter from the fish, “he’s good at problem solving, though.”

“Aren’t you bored?” A rather languid dwarf spoke up, borderline assaulting his plate with his cutlery, “Sitting around all day waiting for him to do something would drive me mad. I would’ve requested a transfer months ago.”

Nods of agreement swept across the table as pity became the general feeling among the crowd.

“Seems you got yourself a dud; it happens mate, don’t beat yourself up about it.” The dwarf continued, before stuffing a wad of chips into his bearded maw.

Cheeseburger returned with another tray with a mountain of chips, of which Faloux managed to sneak a few without the Aberrant noticing. All while Raian chewed at a corner of his lip, deep in silent contemplation.

“So, incubus, I heard God’s Wound got into—” the dwarf attempted to continue the conversation but was immediately cut off.

“Why would you call him a dud?” Raian put down his fork and turned to the dwarf.

He took a moment to swallow the clump of vinegared potatoes, looking mildly affronted as he eyed his fellow handlers.

“Well…” he began, “he’s not exactly prime material, you know? You need that boy to get some muscle on his bones if he wants to stand a chance.”

“Do you train him?” A voice resonated over everyone else’s muttering.

Oselot, an orcish fellow with a magnificent flow of dark dreadlocks decorated with ornaments, chewed through the awfully stale bread with determination.

His tone may be soft, but the horror stories Raian had heard in the past about Oselot caused him to steer clear whenever possible. He was on friendly terms with the veteran, but he wasn’t the kind of man he would take advice from.

Oselot tended to do the dirty work that no one else was willing to do, and whether or not a botched job earned him his prosthetic arm was an irrelevant detail of the past. The fact is he didn’t mind the lost arm. He thought up plenty of creative ways to make use of this new one.

“No.” Raian answered sternly.

“Do you put pressure on him?”

“He gets stressed easily, so I try not to.”

“Then what do you do all day? Where do you take him on those excursions?” his beady, hazel eyes stared down the other handler.

Everyone stopped chewing the slop they were given to wait for Raian’s response.

“We went out for food, and I took him to the beach.” Raian chimed sardonically, shuffling in his spot and resisting the urge to tell Unali to shut up as they began to smirk.

“Those outings are granted as a learning experience. To grow, to fight.” The orc raised a fleshy fist, clenching it tight until his knuckles cracked. “They’re not for playing tourist.”

“He’s not a fighter.”

“Then, forgive me for overstepping, but it appears you have treated him too softly.” The orc swallowed a clump of bread, pointing a metal finger at the man, “If he sits idle, he will go stale.”

The man bit down on his tongue, taking his frustrations out on the fried fish that felt like it had been reheated simply by someone breathing on it. It smelled like it too. He awed at the fact Unali could scarf it down without issue. Senrali stomachs are something else.

The handler groaned and pushed his plate to the side.

“I’m gonna go see what he’s up to.” Raian spoke dismissively, and Oselot scoffed.

Of course, Cheeseburger waved goodbye as he always does, and Raian decided he couldn’t handle their prying and their yapping anymore.

There was a growing pit of dread deep in Raian’s heart. He’s seen what they do to Aberrants once they show potential. It often broke both body and mind. They had to see what their limits were, and the first few to undergo stress testing weren’t fortunate enough to come out the other end in one piece.

The thought of what they would do to Mochi made his stomach turn. As dreary as this place can be, he wanted Mochi to walk through these halls with a smile, and without fear. That pit was growing, and Raian didn’t want to find out what would inevitably come crawling out of it.