Written by fugi88, commissions open

If you like stories like this, feel free to donate what little you can to paypal.me/fugi88 - It helps a lot!

Part 6 of Alexander's Accounts, continuing from a time skip

“You're here", said a gruff werewolf, unlocking the car. “You know what to do."

A hospital on the outskirts of London sat in front of me. I was back in the human world. Not for long.

The yellow was almost sickeningly present, a cheap government source of lighting, bouncing into the little wards of the side. It wore into us as we drove through the country, passing hundreds of these ugly, barely-interesting lights.

Into the hospital, to see what they had. A tired receptionist scrolling through her phone. I simply showed her the card. Plastic, emblems of the UK and southern government along the top, ID, names, and the “let us pass or else" message.

And i walked past, towards the supply rooms. I'd been here before, so i was allowed alone.

And i looked to my list. Fairly standard medical equipment, several boxes.

I rummaged through it, looking for the niche things that we couldn't get from conventional suppliers, things that were technically illegal to carry in a van. There weren't many, but there were enough to meet my quota, to avoid being dropped into the street and left to fend for myself. 20 trips to carry all this. FML sometimes.

I'd assembled a few boxes, though, filled with items. I'd have gotten my driver to help, but that'd get us both killed.

A long, monotone beep some distance behind me. “I'm dying, help", croaked someone. Tired, almost terminally ill.

“Just plug it in", the thing croaked. “Or i'll fall asleep forever."

A plug hung from the edge of the bed, gently swinging. A monitor was running out of battery. Likely industrial-grade, designed to survive at least hours of blackout. But no, the battery was tired. It had but a few minutes.

“What are you even doing here?" the thing asked. 

Follow the normal explanation. “Gathering supplies for another hospital."

Not quite false. I turned to plug it in.

The thing turned to look at me. “I don't think so."

I saw the machine come back to life. It seemed to be but a heart monitor. “And i don't think you're actually dying."

The person chuckled. “Touchè. Mendacia non est celare"

Fuck, they knew. Why were they even in the human world? How did they learn Northern Spanish to this level? Not very high, probably from the south. “You have an accent. Isn't it 'Mendacios no son kelarables'?"

“Maybe"

Non-commital. That's annoying. But they knew, likely. “Do you want to go back to the werewolf world?"

“The what now?", the person said. “The concussion's still in my brain, ugh."

Shit. They didn't know. I better keep trying. “You seem like someone who would've known it, y'know, werewolves everywhere, humans helping."

“hmm."

I looked into his face. It looked like it was recently cleaned of blood, small scabs all over it. Glass wounds? “If you want to go there, i'll be happy to take you."

He shut his mouth for a few seconds. He pushed through the brain-fog, no doubt, to try to find the answer. “Yeah."

“You've been there before, right?"

He stared at me. He'd have said “no", i think.

Official rules; don't let anyone know of the werewolf world.

I was too unimportant to have the device implanted into my brainstem, so a bug was glued to my arm, recording me.

If they come to know, kill, kidnap or be killed.

The guy's listening, in the car. He's hearing our conversation. And he'd be perfectly happy to destroy me.

Well, the patient was already close to death, it seems. I didn't want to force them into the world, either. It's a shitty world. “I can give you two choices. Either you stay here or you come with me."

Not exactly false. His body'd stay here. Maybe not his consciousness.

“And what's there?"

“Oh, just some casual human-hatred leading to death and shitty jobs." I shrugged.

“But there are werewolves?"

“Yes."

“I'm in."

That quick? That easy? Ok then.

But what'd be better? Him dying in my hands or the hands of some rando on the street? Should i tell him more? “The government hates humans. Seriously, do you want to go?"

“I'm used to being hated."

…? Well, fine then. "You're going to have to go now, then, or we'll have to kill you.

He sat up. I cringed as i thought about the pain he was likely causing himself. Except maybe he wasn't. He moved fluidly, healthily.

You'll need that where you're going.

He ripped out the various stuff. Electronic contacts. A little alert tone rang out.

The IV line, from the plaster to the needle. A little blood came out. I felt lightheadedness hit. I looked away.

“Sorry", said the person. They got up, still. In a hospital gown, covering their blood.

“Have you any clothes? It's cold outside."

“Yeah. Just leave the room to let me change"

I couldn't trust him. He'd likely call to tell people. I'd be the one left in this world when we're done in that case, a pool of blood. “I can look away. I won't leave."

He groaned. But we broke sightlines to each other.

Hospital walls aren't very fun to look at. Sure, there are some interesting ports like “O2" and “Air", but they don't really say much. There's nothing about them worth really looking at

At my hub, the place we return items, there were all sorts of interesting posters. “What to do if they know", “How to take items", “How to prevent information leakage". Casual reminders, stuff saying where best to use the pocket-knife, where best to go, how to carry things. It was almost unnecessary to train people. Just lock them in the room for a day or two.

The walls here, though, had some darker undertones. Not a layer-cake of new information but a tapestry, covered in barely-there bodily fluids. Sterilised beyond the point of comprehension, no doubt, but if you looked closely, there was the occasional splatter of blood, of pus. Was this guy really living here?

Walls can be so interesting. What's holding them up? Is it drywall? Brick? Cinderblock? I'd knock it to tell, if it didn't make noise.

“Done", said the person.

And i took him to the supply closet. Told him to bring things, to carry, to do his part. His first bit of work for the werewolves. He's damn good, actually.

So, we carried the boxes, the stuff.

Out to the van. Slightly beat-up, designed for right-side driving, not quite safe for English motorways. We'd driven on the wrong side once. A close call.

Our driver looked at us. He was youngish, yet a werewolf who'd been aged by the government's stress. Grey hairs, the aging type, not the normal type, speckled across his body.

“Oh yeah", said the patient, slightly lecherous. “I like the look of this."

The driver wore a scowl, seeing the new guy in the flesh. "Why did you have to tell them?"

“Imagine that, a werewolf in the actual flesh. Never thought i'd see one", continued the Patient. “Well, can't wait to meet more of them."

The driver scowled. Sushed the obsessive patient.

I stepped back a little. "he spoke Northern Spanish… i thought he'd left and wanted to come back…!"

“He didn't. Eh. He goes into the cargo area. I'll have to report this. Name?"

“Alexander", the person said. “From the conqueror of foreign lands"

“Ok then", he said. 

He turned to scribble something onto a clipboard. Prepared for all the situations. Should his face be seen by strangers, forget-me-yes neurotoxins would spread out upon detection. Once, i forgot to turn off the AC and we ended up forgetting which country we were in. We had to call a representative to help us figure out and get us back on our journey.

And i showed Alexander the back, where he'd stay. “Look, the space is mostly ok."

We turned back. To go into the hospital, to steal more stuff, to put stuff in. Several trips, easier now.

To go back into the van, to go back to the werewolf realm. To earn my salary, to build myself a nice life up north.

Down the motorways, the depressing M25, the almost-sci-fi chunnel, into the mainland Europe.

Sleeping in the van, Alexander let out every now and then. Under supervision. He was glued with a bug. It'd fall off in a week. I lied to him, said it'd have let toxin into him and kill him if he even said the word “werewolf" or made conversation about the werewolf world.

Too good he was rubbish at French.. Too bad he butchered our order. 

He handed it to us, anyways. “Why don't i get to sit in the middle?"

I took the stuff. “We're only allowed vetted people"

“Meaning?"

“The… other government's scared you'll use sign language"

He rolled his eyes. “Fine."

He locked himself into the back, into the dark. “Just this once?", i asked the driver.

A gruff voice. “No."

And we left the car park, to go back onto the road.

Another day in our journey, halfway through France. And it took a while.

To the portal lost in Spain, somewhere between Zaragoza and Lleida, yet still in the middle of nowhere.

Three languages sat on the entry; Spanish, English, and Northern Spanish. Each was of its own character.

This place is run by the military, UN, the EU, and werewolf guards. How do the big guys not even know? Why is it only the little ones who know the answer?

And we drove through the portal. My stomach lurched a little as we moved through the thing. We reached the processing area on the other side.

I'm no longer in the company of humans anymore. The only reason we moved through is to let the werewolves use their laws. Violent laws.

My bug was removed and scanned. Tamperment would lead to death. My human was removed and interviewed. I didn't hear a gunshot. Do they stock silver bullets? I read about it once in a half-fiction book, written in 1836, about the events in Wyoming.

Not that silver bullets work any better then regular bullets. Probably worse. 

He left, a little shook.

“Life gets easier here, sometimes", i said. “Look, you're done now. Past those gates is a whole new life".

I pointed at the gate. The other fences were almost impossible to make out for the distance. “Do you want to work in the south or north? The south's warmer, but the north won't kill you for being human."

He shakes his head. “I hate the cold. I'm going south."

I crossed my arms. “Really? You could die."

“Yeah. I like risk, too."

“Fine", i said, rolling my eyes. “I guess i can find a human-safe district and get you to work cooking."

He let a little smile out. “As long as i get werewolves."

I looked back at the van. The engine had turned on now. “Into the middle seat, with us."

We boarded the van and made our long journey south. The werewolf country's the size of Spain and way more emptier outside the cities, too. Alexander had wide eyes seeing not fields but raw environment outside.

And we found the restaurant in southern city.

“I found the cook you wanted", i said to the head cook.

It glared into the middle seat. “Good. I'll train it, i guess. Always been looking for one for precision." 

And Alexander left the van, shook hands, and got taken in. Slightly confused, too.

Bye, Alexander. Enjoy your new life.

Stay tuned for part 7, in which

Some notes:

• No, this was not the POV of Alexander but of a different guy.
• Ok, i really like writing alternative POVs, it turns out
• And i also really like exposing just how secretive the werewolf country wants to be.
• I like the idea of passing time looking away by ranting about walls. It's quite creative, i think.
• I learnt a new meaning today. That's where my use of “derilict", noun form, comes in. https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Special:FeedItem/wotd/20240509000000/en
• Given that AA happens in a pre-brexit world, Alexander has had at least 4 years to prepare.
• Alexander's accounts starts at least a few weeks before Indebted begins. Indebted tells the story from 2024-03-01 onwards, so yeah, it works out in time. And anyways, 4 years is quite enough to learn enough about the werewolf world.
• Yes, politics is forming an increasingly large part of the werewolf world. I like imagining how the EU and the UN'd get involved in such things. Remember, only a few earth-people know the werewolf world even exists.
• “half-fiction" is a fancy word for “inspired by real life events but embellished with fiction". Think Titanic, which, whilst based of a real ship-sinking, follows a mostly-fictional couple as they fight classism… i think…? Eh, i never watched the film.
• Hahaha i'm remembering how i myself was in a van as we drove from the UK to Spain (by ferry this time, but i don't think werewolves can really use a human one without keeping secrecy) carrying all our stuff. It's kind of an interesting feeling, the higher viewpoint and the space. I'd feel guilty of emmisions if it was my daily driver, so i'm glad we drive a smaller “We can go through the old town of banyoles-sur-mer" kind of car.
• SUVs creep me out. They're big for the sake of being big and i don't know why rich people feel like they're a good spend of money, especially with modern fuel costs. Maybe it's the fake-rich kind of stuff where one spends for social posturing and not for a comfortable life.