DISCOVERY

The head was still warm when Calen found it.

Bracing the head by a pair of sizable horns, Calen inspected it with a detached, clinical interest. It was… Humanoid, yes -‘human-adjacent’ they called these types back at the lab - but it certainly wasn’t human. It was massive, to start, with a circumference nearly double that of the average human male. The skin was harder than that of a human and black as night.

He stared at it for a long moment. There was an uncomfortable surrealism in looking at these types. The mind was quick to look for human characteristics. His eyes clung to every visual key that might indicate intelligence, awareness… Humanity.

Seven eyes punctuated the hard visage; twin primary eyes, where those of a human might be, smaller secondary eyes bordering the primaries, and a large lateral eye in the centre of the forehead. Each was a lidless glossy black.

Like a raven.

Calen supposed the eyes might function more like a spider, though. Primary eyes for full vision, secondaries for detecting movement only. Gods Below only knew what purpose the middle eye served. He wasn’t a spider specialist. Hardly anyone bothered with the study of insects and spiders when there were real, living monsters walking the Earth.

Calen turned the head to examine it from the side. 

The expression, if one could, indeed, say such creatures had expressions, was relatively neutral. No grotesque tongue lolling or horror. It gave the impression that it was peaceful. Possibly a trick of loosening muscles in death, he supposed but… Even amidst the entirely macabre concept of it being the severed head of an actual monster, Calen couldn’t deny that it was oddly… Pretty. In a monstrous sort of way, of course. But still - pretty. He turned the thought over in his head like he was hiding some sort of shameful object in his hands. And he was, wasn’t he? This grotesque set piece?

He scoffed. 

It wasn’t like anyone needed to know his personal opinions. It wasn’t going on the investigation report. And there wasn’t anyone peering into his mind and judging. Unless, of course, that third eye served some sort of mind reading purpose.

Calen looked into it skeptically. It was as unmoving and sightless as ever.

Ridiculous.

But.

He tucked the thought far away, in some shadowed, obscure corner of his mind.

Calen drew a gloved fingertip along the jaw. 

Small nodes bumped against his hands, like tiny spikes. Similar structures ran in ridges over the brow and cheekbones. No way of knowing what those were for without proper lab equipment. He continued his inspection. A relatively human nose, punctuated by gill-like structures on either side. The ears were raised and pointed, somewhere between “elf” and deer. The horns erupted from the top of the brow, proud and coiling behind the head in elegant spirals. They were solid, with an almost-scaled like texture, all too dissimilar from the horned beasts of Earth.

Where a human might have had hair there was, instead, a head of black feathers. From afar, the feathers even resembled hair.

Fascinating.

They looked soft. Calen wondered if they might feel like raven’s wings. Not that he’d be touching this thing directly. They’d yet to encounter diseases that could jump from monsters to humans, but the risk was always a possibility. He didn’t fancy being the first monstrous vector.

The head was getting heavy in his hands. Calen placed it on a plastic tarp, giving a swipe at the flies that were already descending. The sooner he had it packed and secured for evidence, the better.

It was the fifth decapitation that morning alone - but only one among many severed limbs, shredded organs, and bits of scattered viscera discovered by his team. Hours deep in the investigation, and the evidence bags were only getting heavier and filthier.

The gruesome nature of the investigation didn’t bother him. Calen was used to handling organs, amputations, foreign tissue, you name it; he had never shied-away from blood as a kid, and the years of his medical residency had washed away any lingering consternation anyway. 

No, it was the flies and the heat that set him ill at ease. As the sun ascended in the sky, insects were emerging and congregating over the bloody extremities that littered the ground. Blowflies and beetles, drawn in swarms to the scent of decaying flesh, congregated in a nauseating whir of black buzzing and sweltering meat. It would only worsen throughout the day. Calen didn’t expect that all of the body parts would be salvageable by this point, and it wasn’t even midday yet.

The head he was inspecting was still in good condition, though. That indicated to him that the owner couldn’t have lost it all that long ago. Blowflies could find a corpse within a few minutes of death. That was great news for the investigation, but not so great for the investigative team. 

Something big and strong had been killing these raven-eyed monsters all across the region. The fresher the head, the closer they were to the killer. Their so-called “monster-expert”, David, had failed to identify what kind of monster was doing all the killing. Nor could he properly ID the raven things. So Calen and his team members were just ambling around, likely circling in the vicinity of a group of monsters of indeterminate species and in an indeterminate number. Possibly being pursued by something bigger - or at least nastier.

And the suppressive team still hadn’t arrived to keep the investigative team safe.

Business as usual, he supposed. Central wanted to have their cake and eat it too. The suppressive team was a valuable asset, composed of specialists that had practical experience putting down monsters. Central would drag their feet as long as possible to prevent their deployment if it felt that their presence wasn’t desperately needed. Saved them deployment costs and kept experts in their walls keeping all of the Executives safe.

Calen bagged the head, sealing the evidence bag once he was certain there weren’t any flies inside. Using a permanent marker, he wrote a large “5” in the top left-hand corner.

All five heads had been discovered within a one mile radius, like a gruesome breadcrumb trail leading into the crumbling remains of the city. Each showed similar damages; deep gouges and claw-like wounds along the throat that indicated a significant struggle. No torsos yet, leaving the largest bodily mass unaccounted for.

Perhaps their assailant - or assailants - were eating all the rest.

“Dr. Smith!” Joaquim’s voice called out. “You gotta see this! The fuckers have wings!”

“Wings?” Calen stood. “You’re certain?”

“No offense, Doctor, but I’ve got better eyes than you do!”

Calen clambered over a heap of rubble. “Full offense taken; I’m not a doctor.”

“Answered to it, didn’t ya? And if you weren’t, you wouldn’t get to sit pretty while the rest of us work!”

His brow twitched. 

Joaquim was tolerable, insofar as colleagues were considered. He was a bit like a persistent golden retriever, buoyant and vying for attention. Or, at least, Calen presumed he was retriever-like. He’d never had a dog of his own, so his guess was as good as any. But Joaquim’s sunny demeanor seemed to fit with what Calen remembered of retrievers. He was always poking fun at something, always laughing at something. He had taken notice of Calen’s admittedly withdrawn disposition immediately, and seemed determined to get him to crack.

“If I were a doctor, do you think I’d be out here at all? Where are you?”

“Down the escalator!”

Calen grimaced. The escalator was choked in a thick blanket of ivy, making it difficult to discern one step from the other. He inched along the side of the stairs, reaching out for the nearly non-existent handrail, drenched as it was in plant life.

Pain lanced through him.

Calen recoiled, the sting following his hand. Damn. Something had torn straight through his glove. The underside of his hand was criss-crossed by long, thin, but admittedly shallow looking cuts. Cat scratches. Blood was just starting to bead along the cuts.

Hand to his chest, he scanned the handrail, envisioning shattered glass or metal or other unmentionables. But they were only red thorned vines, so tightly wrapped together with the ivy that he hadn’t seen them. So red, in fact, that the thorns almost appeared to glisten with blood.

A bit of dew, perhaps. Nothing to worry about. Cuts like these were unlikely to result in tetanus. Too shallow, and he had all of his vaccinations accounted for. A luxury of the old-world.

Calen made an extra careful descent, balancing without the handrail. All he needed was to trip and shatter a kneecap in the middle of this jungle. Knees never repaired well - even when they’d had the advantages of the old-world.

By the time he’d made it down, Joaquim was already waiting at the bottom.

Joaquim was a tall, dark skinned man with a pair of extraordinarily expressive silver eyes. His hair was close-cropped, as was common for investigative staff - Calen being the odd one out in this regard. A cloth mask covered his lower face, and he was never seen without it. But the mask didn’t dampen the sunny timbre of his voice. “Enjoying the escalator, eh?”

“Not very safe going down it.”

Joaquim shrugged. “Nowhere’s safe here.”

He was right, of course. Most of the structures in the city were unsafe to some degree. The city shouldn’t have been falling apart as quickly as it was. Some form of… Influence from their otherworldly neighbours, it was presumed. The animals grew larger, the plant life became stranger, and anything man made on the precipice just outright decayed.

Calen squinted at his colleague. “... Why are you covered in powder?”

Joaquim’s eyes gleamed behind his mask. “Digging. Come!”

Calen followed him across a dilapidated space that might have been a business complex. The pavement was cracked and crumbling, surrendering to the hungry plant life that dominated cities such as these. In the quiet absence of humanity, the untamed grasses grew wild and tall - silvery blue prairie bluestem, bristle-seeded bottlebrush grass, and tufted blooms of purple lovegrass swaying in the summer breeze. Iridescent blue-green dragonflies the length of his forearm took off from their sunbathing along the cracked remains of asphalt.

Joaquim vaulted over the ruined remains of drywall and concrete, startling a flock of tiny birds into flight. 

Calen followed, slightly less energetic in his ascent. 

Calen was well built and capably strong, but Joaquim had the kind of lithe musculature one earned from a long lifetime of outdoor work and urban parkour. He was, no doubt, used to scaling crumbling buildings with minimal equipment - relying on the strength of his hands and feet, and the flexibility of his experience. The fluid grace with which he scaled toppled rubble certainly impressed Calen.

Joaquim led him to the hollowed out remains of what had once been an office compound of some sort. At some point in time something large had hit the building, cleaving the entire south-sided face away. The office was exposed and open, revealing the hollow insides like a gutted pumpkin. As abnormal as the lush growth outside was the abundance inside. The grass was knee high, rising from a soft coating of earth above the surface of the office floor. 

Calen toed the dirt beneath his feet. He wasn’t a botanist, but he was fairly certain that plant life didn’t typically grow on top of concrete.

A broken desk had been pushed to the left corner of the office. An overturned swivel chair perched precariously between discarded shelving units, absolutely consumed by what he could only hope was just weird looking moss. 

He made an effort not to look too closely. 

There was a shattered painting hanging at an off-angle above it. It was hard to tell what it was supposed to depict behind the spiderweb fractures on the frame. Calen could just make out swirling oranges and grays that had long since faded. Abstract art maybe? The office was large enough to have belonged to one of those pompous-old world collectors.

Joaquim jogged through the tall grasses with an unwarranted sense of cheerfulness, a tuneless whistle on his lips. The door to the larger building had been wrenched off the hinges, leaving a gaping hole. Deep claw marks tore across the rotting wood and the space around the door-frame. The door itself had been snapped in two and tossed aside. Joaquim didn’t even give it a second glance as he disappeared into the hall.

Calen stayed at the edge of the office. It occurred to him that he was now very much disliking the idea of entering a smaller, more confined space. Particularly one which showed signs of the monster passing through. Or maybe it was just the unsettling patches of dark, hopefully moss that absolutely covered the walls inside the hallway.

“Joaquim! Hey!” Calen hissed after him. “This is legitimately unsafe.”

There was a pause before Joaquim’s head popped back into view, tilted like it was floating sideways behind the doorway. “Ah?”

“This isn’t protocol, either. We aren’t supposed to be touring buildings like this.”

“Ah,” Joaquim gave him a sagely nod. “You’re right! In a sense.”

Calen grimaced. He knew where this was going.

“You are not supposed to tour buildings, yes? You are supposed to wait for the investigation team to collect evidence-”

“Joaquim-”

“-Not finished, Doctor. You are supposed to sit in a nice office and eat nice food. I am supposed to tour buildings, collect evidence, and wrestle the monsters that come out and fight me for that evidence.”

Calen sighed. 

Joaquim wasn’t… Wrong, per-say. 

Calen was technically a doctor. 

Sort of. 

At least insofar as the average person was concerned. And as someone with an old world medical degree, it was generally frowned upon for him to do any tasks outside of the city walls. Medical knowledge of any kind was extraordinarily coveted in the crumbling ruins of society - let alone someone with classical training. It wasn’t unheard of for medical practitioners to be outright kidnapped by desperate individuals or groups.

Back at Central, Calen had been assigned to in-house research and medicine alone. Technically he was forbidden from just wandering out here on his own. Central was very strict about their medical staff. His contract was as binding as it was clear about the need to stay under their watchful eye. It had taken a lot of time, effort, and compelling work results to get his supervisor to look the other way. Even then, McCallum was under the impression that Calen was just taking a much needed leave. And here Calen was, using every moment of his “leave” to shuffle himself into Central investigation teams.

The investigation teams took volunteers without question. The job was hardly a desirable one. Central sent them outside the safety of headquarters to report on monster-related phenomena. Like Joaquim said, this often meant tangling with the monsters themselves. Such events rarely ended well for the worker; the investigation team was there for collection purposes only. They didn’t have the training or the equipment to kill anything larger than a fungus gnat.

Calen had known this well before the fact. It wasn’t just some rebellious wanderlust that had him violating his contract to join. It was the unregulated access to monster specimens. Once specimen parts were processed at Central, they were the property of the company and subject to top-level clearance. Everything the researchers did in the labs was closely scrutinized. Even on projects Calen had personally been assigned to, he was only ever privy to one small piece of the puzzle. He played out his role in the assembly line, made to be blind to all of the other linking segments.

But here? Here there was no one to supervise or restrict his movements. They didn’t even bother checking coats or bags for stolen parts. Why would they? Without the medical and technical know-how, it wasn’t as if monstrous bio-matter would be useful. It was simple flesh, and often unpleasant flesh at that.

Calen had been quietly collecting samples during his investigative outing. He had been careful, and he had been precise. Sometimes painstakingly so, taking tiny specimens in what lab equipment he could discreetly smuggle. Each time, with each sample, he got just a little bit closer to his goal.

He wasn’t about to allow Joaquim’s uncanny instincts to ruin this.

Calen still hadn’t determined how Joaquim had pegged him as a doctor. It wasn’t as if he waltzed around wearing scrubs and a nametag. But from their very first meeting, Joaquim had taken to referring to him as ‘Doctor’. He didn’t explain it, just casually tossed it Calen’s way. Calen refuted it every step of the way, but the damned guy was determined. And every time he said it, Calen was tempted to check all of his samples to make sure they were still there. It had occurred to him many times that Joaquim might have been hired by Central, or even working for a competitor. Nothing so far had indicated malicious intentions, but it was too damned convenient to simply be a nickname.

Joaquim leaned against the doorframe. It creaked menacingly. “Why join the investigation team if you don’t want to investigate? Enjoy poking monsters?” It was a mild inquiry, still teasing, but ever so slightly tinged with genuine curiosity.

Calen considered the question, whirring away at the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Everything was suspicious. Had Joaquim seen him taking specimens? Was he working with Central executives? A medical practitioner acting out of line was hardly a reason to call in the big guns. It would mean strict travel and work restrictions in the following months, yes. But it wasn’t a serious crime.

There wasn’t any way that Joaquim could have known the reason for the samples, either. Calen hadn’t told anyone - he hadn’t even written out his intentions. There were too many ways for that kind of information to get out. Everything was stored between his brow.

The urge to rub his temples was strong. He resisted; probably had monster oils on his hands or something.

A low mutter emerged from Calen. “... To watch you wrestle monsters, naturally.”

Joaquim tilted his head. “That’s good. Then you can come see me wrestle for the wing.” The man held his hands over his heart. “Joaquim will protect you.”

With that, the moment was over and the tension broke. Joaquim disappeared again with a reluctant Calen trailing behind. Joaquim would have noted his evasion, no doubt. But it didn’t matter - not so long as he could get what he came for.

Joaquim led him to the furthest room in the hall. This one didn’t have a door at all. The ceiling had collapsed inside, filling it with a fairly spectacular heap of concrete and exposed metal. A blanket of black covered much of the rubble, pooling from corner to corner.

Joaquim bowed before the blanket with a theatrical flourish. “There we are!”

It really was a wing.

A massive wing. It was hard to tell exactly how big it was, as parts of it had curled inward at some point, where other portions were still obscured by rubble. Calen stepped closer, intense curiosity overcoming any lingering reluctance.

The wing was beautiful. Just laying there - the shed relic of a fallen angel. Sunlight filtered through the cracked ceiling, illuminating iridescent glossiness like so many scintillating black Tahitian pearls. He could see midnight blue and emerald swirling across the surface, tapering into delicate points with each feather-tip. The feathers themselves were sleek and elongated, far more pronounced than those found on the many heads.

Joaquim perked up behind him. “You see? Winged fuckers!”

“Yes, winged-” Calen gave him a pointed look, “Creatures.”

Joaquim snickered, but Calen ignored it. “The color fits, but have you confirmed that it’s a match for our subject?”

“I, Joaquim, have survived three years on this team. And Doctor Smith, here, thinks that I don’t know how to investigate, ah? I’ve already bagged a head here.”

“Got it. Catalogued the wing, then?”

“Nooo, I was busy bringing you here.”

“I’ll catalogue it, then.”

Calen patted himself down, looking for equipment to start with. Investigative equipment was rudimentary on the best of days; seal up what you can, try not to make a mess, don’t die on company time, and write about your findings on a piece of paper. 

Calen had initially been appalled at the lack of oversight when it came to processing. He had always been told by the higher ups that they had a fully staffed team of “Outdoors Professionals” that handled monster specimens with “time, care, and energy”! Couldn’t be further from the truth. It was just a group of string-bean laymen without the faintest clue of how to properly handle potentially hazardous material. Given what he had seen of their processing, it was a miracle that any monstrous pieces made it to the lab in one piece.

Calen’s pockets were filled with small professional grade specimen vials. His personal vials, some filled, but most of them still empty. Wouldn’t do him any good pulling those out here. He could hear his colleague shuffling behind him, dislodging bits of gravel under his shoes.

“What are you doing, Joaquim?”

“Observing. What does a doctor get up to during his investigations?”

“Your work for you, apparently. Is your equipment down here?”

“On your left. Forgot yours?” Joaquim’s eyes danced with amusement. “Oh, that’s not good for you, Dr. Smith. Those are expensive pieces. David’ll-”

“Yes, yes. I’m well aware. I didn’t lose anything. Just didn’t bring any with me down here.” Calen muttered. 

The investigative supervisor, David, was a miserable sort of dictator. The kind of small-minded man who believed that the flimsy modicum of power he wielded over the investigative team made him something of a small king. The investigative “tool-kit” was made of cheap material that was easily replaced - even with the resource scarcity they grappled with. The kits could easily be replaced. David was just a prick. “Do you have extra gloves?”

“Yep.”

Calen grunted in response, pulling open the team kit. He peeled his dirty, damaged gloves off and deposited them on the floor. His hands were slightly clammy and wrinkly from the prolonged use, right palm tinged pale red with his thorn scratches.

Joaquim, overlooking nothing, continued his narration. “Looks like you’ve already got a few battle-scars, eh? Judging by the size of those, he must’ve been a pretty big bastard.”

“Escalator.”

“Picking fights with the buildings now, Dr. Smith? You’re more brave than me.”

Calen didn’t acknowledge the comment. 

Pulling out a fresh pair of gloves, he reached for a notepad from Joaquim’s equipment. This one was unmarked, but Joaquim had clearly spent a bit of time drawing doodles all across the margins. He noted with faint surprise that some of them were quite well done. Joaquim had a good eye for linework. Clean, creative designs dominated the pages. His choice of subjects were characteristically odd, though. Strange cats chasing spaceships, eccentric looking aliens giving peace signs.

And one particularly sour looking frog with glasses.

“That one’s you,” Joaquim offered.

Calen gave him a long look. 

Grabbing a pen and ignoring the sting in his hand, he started scribbling furiously. He moved away from Joaquim, who was trying to lean over him to get a better look. The masterpiece was finished in a matter of moments: a cartoonish sketch of a dumb, bug-eyed golden retriever. He even added the little cloth face mask Joaquim was always wearing. Next to it he wrote a capital “U”, and circled it twice. He passed it over his shoulder to Joaquim without a word.

Joaquim burst into laughter. 

It was so loud and sudden that Calen jumped. Joaquim seemed to genuinely enjoy the jab, reaching to embrace it immediately. Calen passed it to him, lips twitching. But he kept to his work. Teasing was… Fine. But it threatened to make things just a little more familiar, and just a little less cold. He had no intentions of getting close to Joaquim, or anyone on the investigation team. There was a job to be done, and he needed this colleague of his out of the room to do it.

“Joaquim.”

“Ah?” Joaquim came into view at his side, wiping away mirthful tears with his elbow. It struck Calen as mindful - he was also careful not to touch his eyes or face.

“I need you to let David know about this. Winged monsters… Complicate things.”

Joaquim tailed another chuckle with a satisfied sigh. “Could be anywhere, yes? Hiding on rooftops, high up in trees, maybe even in the clouds.” He looked at the ugly dog drawing and started snickering again. “Not the best idea to be alone, though, Dr. Smith.”

“Not a doctor. You’ll have to forgive my skepticism, but I don’t believe that two of us will make a significant difference if it’s nearby.”

“Nonsense. Joaquim the Great took a vow to protect you. As your faithful and loyal hound-” At this, Joaquim pulled the sketch up to his face for a side by side comparison, “-it would surely kill me to leave your side.”

Calen folded his arms. “I’ll be complicit in manslaughter, then. Listen - Joaquim - we need a full sweep of the area. I’m serious. Not a partial sweep, not a halfhearted ‘I looked around the corner and it seemed clear’ kind of sweep. Maybe the monsters are nearby. Maybe they aren’t. At this point we’re looking at all angles with a potential horde of flying monsters.”

“And whatever killed them.”

“That too. Look - you’ve already been through this part of the building. Gods Below only know how loud you can be. They probably aren’t here, or they’d have already found us.”

Joaquim looked undecided. Were this a regular investigation, Calen would be the last person to suggest splitting up and the first to reprimand rule breakers. This was how you got teammates killed.

“Besides,” Calen continued, ignoring his own good sense, “If you let David know, you get to take all the credit you deserve for finding this one.” He gestured at the wing. “You’d be sending out a forewarning for the team, you’d force David’s hand on a proper sweep - how often does that happen? And you’ll get extra ration packs for a meal or two.”

“Ooh - two ration packs? My heart wouldn’t be able to take it!”

Calen sighed. “So maybe the ration packs aren’t great. But does it really matter? It’s important to get that perimetre sweep.”

“Why not go back together?”

A sensible suggestion. “And - what? Set us back another hour of investigation? You know David wants material from these things. We could be here until sundown. That’s even more dangerous for the team.” 

The argument didn’t sound terribly convincing even to himself. But he carried on. “And David will ask why one of us didn’t stay behind. He doesn’t care about our safety.”

“No. He doesn’t.” Joaquim pinched the end of his mask, pulling it up. “Allllright. I’ll go let him know and come back.”

“Good. And make sure that David knows that we’ll need a full sweep. Look at me, Joaquim. Full. Sweep.”

“Yes, sir! Full sweep, Dr. Sir!” Joaquim gave a teasing salute. “I’ll be back soon. Try not to miss me too much.”

“I won’t,” Calen muttered.

Joaquim paused at the edge of the room. He turned back and gave Calen a nod. “Be safe, John.”

He said the name softly, and Calen felt a slight twinge of guilt. He wasn’t stupid enough to give away his real name, of course. But it felt uncomfortable when the false one was used - particularly if it was done so with any level of sincerity.

Joaquim left most of his equipment with Calen. Calen waited until Joaquim’s whistling faded away.

He returned to the task at hand. Time to open up this creature, and see what it was made of.