About 9300 words

Photographs

By Televassi

I remember the heat; flames curling up into the night sky, the sirens from the Spires above. I remember the feeling in the air.

I snorted when they forced me to the ground. I kicked wildly when they cuffed me. You don’t forget how the crunch of bone gets the heart pumping, how you have no room for guilt.

‘Keeping the peace’ kept things the same.

It’s odd; I didn’t remember kissing Kira as they dragged us away, but that’s the photo everyone recognizes. Two people, paused, before their world was pulled apart.

A little romance helps colour the failure of that night, after all.

***

I am not the revolutionary I once was. I have grey streaks in my mane and brown spots on my thighs that have turned black. I used to have a rowan tinge to my coat that helped my firebrand tongue; now it’s a dull brown. The firm muscles in my flanks have gone flabby. My gut sticks out. I wear glasses. Each morning in the mirror it gets harder to see the resemblance to the photograph; you have to know I was there.

I am tired, worn out, waiting for change that I could not grasp. Perhaps if I had claws I could have dug in, but maybe that’s the thing, us horses already had domesticity bred into our DNA. Thankfully we are good at carrying weights around.

The Chimera District Council doesn’t see it that way; a token collection of fools and dreamers tossed a scrap of power so the Spires above could continue to make all the important decisions. They seem to think I make a good History teacher considering how much of it I saw firsthand. I suspect that actually, having the old agitators on payroll helps bring the younger ones into the fold.

I don’t notice the time pass as I make my way to work. The Haven; its gleaming white spires and squat concrete foundations have this effect. It’s the artificial light and sky above. I’ve never seen the sun move, and though I don’t notice it as much, the fact that the shadows never move still disturbs in that ‘tingle on the back of the mane’ way. There’s a lot I forget to notice now, like how I don’t pause to look up from the grey maze at the elegant Spires above. There are classes to run.

It’s September. Every year, the students turn Campus Central Reservation into a crucible of scent. Societies clamour for membership fees in exchange for freebies or Council subsidised perks. The campus itself is a CDC initiative (authorised from above); the first step to liberation is in the mind, not the body. In reality it serves as the one meaningful place among the Districts where divide and conquer doesn’t apply; where the three Chimera breeds can mix. 

My back’s aching already and my hooves throb from standing here for so long. It’s only been an hour. The sports clubs, as usual, have the crowds, but I can’t blame them If you’re good enough you’ve got a shot at playing at the very top, both senses. Turns out our animal physicality makes quite the engaging display. 

Second to the clubs is the Post-Apoc Soc, as ever, already assembling a decent band of colonisers, mostly scrawny wolves with eyes lit up with the ‘lone wanderer’ mystique. They’re a society of fantasists allergic to multiple syllables and the realities lying outside the Haven; nothing but greasy clouds, ash, and dust. Yet compared to them we’re fighting over the scraps of crowd that hurry past our way. 

Maybe the dream is still that powerful?

“When Jesus Christ died, he sacrificed himself to save all souls,” Edna proclaims by my side, smiling earnestly at a fallow deer who’d accidentally caught her gaze. The doe returns a polite smile, biting her lip as she skips away. I guess she knew the mantra of the centuries that proceeded; that the scripture spoke of mankind’s redemption—not our own.

I always find standing here difficult, but every year I come. I was never a true believer, but I’m here to give my wife the support she believes she needs.

The next one to fall our way is a wolf. Ears pricked up, he steps out from a group of his peers. He’s got a smirk stretched across his grey muzzle, sharp teeth to compliment the rough, angular patterns on his clothes; his tail is full of bristles. There’s always a couple of troublemakers every year. 

“How can you stand there?” he snaps. Not at her—at me. His eyes go sharp, but then blurry at the edges. “You died in detention.”

Edna steps in front of me, in that way people of faith have limitless capacity for self-sacrifice.

“You should be ashamed—if the others could see you now.” He grapples with Edna’s attempts at a comforting embrace. “I bet you think of your old doe when you fuck her!”

In days gone by, I would—I should—have shouted back. Instead I just stand there, silent. I can feel the weight of my wife’s eyes upon me, heavier than the scrutiny of God. A single movement would betray me, but in doing so, I knew I only betrayed her. The truth has a way of sapping away your rage. So like everything else here, I stood there and took it. 

“Sell-out,” he snarls. Then he disappears into the crowd. After a minute everyone is back to milling around; the new faces totally unaware of what just happened, wrapped up in their own little lives.

“You okay?” Edna asks, squeezing my hand. Bless her, she doesn’t even question the mention of Kira.

“Yeah,” I reply. It’s a lie but she doesn’t question it. I’m already trying to figure out who he could be. He can’t have been old enough to have been there that night, but he could remember a room in the family house where the door was always shut. Maybe a sibling, a mother, a father? Plenty of wolves wound up dead that night—just because they have a muzzle full of pointy teeth that looks so threatening when shouting.

Unlike the unmoving shadows or spires about, I think about him for the rest of the day. I notice every wolf that crosses my way. Maybe he knew Rey, or Freja? I can’t even picture them. What about the others I knew in passing, who looked up at me for a word of encouragement? I wish I had a wolf’s nose, then I’d be able to know. Trawling through my faded memories, trying to match up pelt colours doesn’t get me anywhere.

When we pack everything away for the evening, Edna, thankfully, doesn’t ask me to come say prayers. I don’t know if she read the name of the goddess on my lips.

***

I sometimes wonder what cosmological joke it must be that I still know Kira. In the years since Settlement and the creation of the CDC, we’d both found our way onto Reservation staffing. We’re both surgeons in our own way; I try to stitch together the fragmented records of history, she operates on our unhealthy understanding of our own biology. She’s good at it too; the Haven purpose bred her batch to pull out ball bearings, nails, and bone fragments. 

I remember those nimble fingers.

I’m thankful for the small blessings, like how the dim light of the bar makes it harder to distinguish the dimples in my coat and hides the grey streaks. I want to know how she still looks so beautiful. Her dainty legs, muddy brown eyes, cream patches of fur on her forehead that show just from underneath her long, hazel hair; just like when revolution was on our lips. 

“Right now my research focuses on Chimera’s physical imperfections. We all know wolves lack the hand structure for delicate work thanks to the dewclaws, but it’s not actually a purpose bred trait from their design. We need to stop believing our genetic engineering is so perfect. It’s a neglected interaction between the human and lupine alleles, that causes roughly two-thirds to get them instead of thumbs—in short, they were made to be the unfinished product.” 

Instead of sharing her indignation I’m just staring at her like a dumb puppy.

“I’m glad to hear one of us is still making a difference,” I joke. “Nobody, not even the bureaucrats up in the Spires know what happened after the 21st century.” As a result, anyone and everybody had their own agenda. Purists on both sides claimed it was the other race that started it, realists and moderates shifted the blame to someone and somewhere else, while the few remaining just saw it as confirmation that life is inherently destructive.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath. My findings effectively confirm that the wolves were bred to die; that it was cheaper to make a gun to fit rather than give them actual hands.” Kira sighs, brushing my hand. “That’s some legacy.”

We pause for a moment, recoiling from each other.

“You always were the optimist though,” I add.

She leans back, taking a sip from her glass—the vodka brewed behind the black doors in the cellar downstairs. Officially, Chimera weren’t meant to have access to anything over 5% due to ‘beastly’ natures. It’s amusing how the Haven lets me teach Prohibition though—they tried that before the Havens and they just drove it underground, which is exactly what’s happened. 

“If I can just understand the allele’s interaction, then someone can fix it. Then that’s something mended.” She shrugs, rolling her eyes. “Never mind. I heard Reika caused a bit of a scene for you,” Kira stiffened, taking another sip. “That wolf’s a good student—a good person.” 

I shrug, but the doe isn’t convinced. 

“Look, the thing is, he’s already on his final warning for behaviour,” she says quietly. “And you know as well as I that the faithful can be a bit touchy—”

“Edna’s not like that” I counter. “I mean, she knows I don’t even believe anymore.”

“I know,” Kira pressed, “but if anything were to happen it’d tear up the progress he’s been making for one weak moment. He’s got a sharp mind, and a set of hands too.”

“If you’re so worried that something will happen then why not drop the proxy and speak to Edna yourself?” I challenge. 

She ignores me and continues her argument. “That pup—and I say pup because he’s still not mature enough—can actually make something of himself. But if he gets registered he can kiss that hope goodbye.” She pauses. “Besides, you know he’s nothing like what we were. We had our own fair share of reckless behavior, and it was arcing bottles at faceless police.”

I bow my head, conceding to her like I always did. “I’ll keep an eye on things. For you.”

“Sorry Val,” she huffs, leaning closer. “I know he wasn’t what you wanted to talk about.”

“He kind of was. It got me thinking.” I chuckle, taking another drink. “I mean, did agreeing to Settlement make us cowards?”

“Hindsight is wonderful,” she muses. “So too is the luxury of being able to ponder ‘what if?’“

“Come on, you’re not being honest with me. You’d love to not just be flirting with me.” She shoots me a sharp look—yes, someone may hear, but I don’t really care. I press further. “I mean, look. We went from showing off bruises to standing in theatres lecturing in monotone, looking at monthly paychecks. We’re still stuck down here, and we still can’t be together.”

“Settlement is better than nothing. We’ve got a process going. You do know the other Havens don’t even allow chimera inside them, right? They still see us as volatile weapons in need of decommissioning, not housing!” she snaps. She only looks more beautiful when angry. “I wouldn’t want to be out there. I’ve seen the figures—six minutes of sunlight in months! You couldn’t grow anything out there.”

I couldn’t argue against fact. If you didn’t believe it, then you could just go to places at the edge of the Haven’s reach. There you can glimpse the outside, through the gaps in the dome’s dead pixels, and see what lay beyond. I think they never fixed the display on purpose, just to prove that our collective captivity was no choice of theirs. 

“I know, I know,” I surrender, partially. “But we fought to get this far, and then what? We stopped. What have we seen change since then? The Spires drag their heels about anything meaningful, the CDC does nothing, and each year we send off students back to their Districts, busy doing grunt work that’ll break their backs so they won’t be able to look up anymore.” I pause. “Maybe it’s just me, but that wolf did get to me.”

“You sure it’s that?” she says, narrowing her eyes at me. Her hand is creeping across the table again, teasing my fingertips. So many times I’ve dreamt of slipping a silver ring over one.

I sigh. God, she just knows my outrage was never so selfless and noble.

“Freedom is a fine dream,” she says, “but reality is full of compromises. I’m sure things would be a lot worse if we didn’t live in here.” She looks away as she says that, checking her watch. “I’ve got to head off—my time allocation off-District is almost up. Wouldn’t be good for my research if I can no longer swipe through because my ID has been flagged on the system for running over.”

“I wish I could come home with you,” I blurt out.

“See you at work.”

Woefully, I watch her little white tail bob away.

***

My reflection in the tram’s windows stares back at me as gaze out into the night. I don’t appreciate his sullen look, so I lean back and look up. In spite of the darkness, I can see the white Spires of the Haven’s upper reaches glittering above, divorced from their stocky foundations. I wonder if the people up there ever look down. Then again, I don’t look at the earth unless something’s caught my hoof.

The Districts were only meant to be a temporary fix. Unlike most of the Havens built to preserve humanity after the war, this one was built with that conflict still in mind. While the Spires had become beautified achievements in the time since then, the lower levels remained a maze of reinforced concrete, a convenient dumping-ground for all the Chimera they bred for a purpose that never came. The result; a sprawling, bestial underbelly that those in the white Spires above are determined to keep under heel, because beasts can complete menial tasks cheaper than fancy computers. 

I got off at the stop before my own, thinking it best to walk some of the booze off before Edna opened the door. While I hadn’t told her that I’d be out past recreational hours, she has grown used to me being out at the same time as the nocturnals. 

She just prays about it, like every other problem.

I pause mid-step, shaking my head. I apologise to her, refusing to excuse myself by blaming the alcohol. Really, I am jealous of her. Her coping strategy for all of this doesn’t come in a bottle. In spite of all the world’s darkness, she has found a way to be happy.

I find her lying asleep in front of the television, its static screen repeatedly showing a message that programming would resume at 6am. I’m disappointed really; I want someone to talk to. That’s what she offered, the faith included. You could talk and they, she, would listen. It was listening, it was being heard that I needed, not the feeling that I needed to be saved.

Gathering Edna in my arms, I carry her to bed. She doesn’t even stir as I let her down on the sheets. As usual I have the option of joining her, but instead I lie down on the floor and stare up at the ceiling.

***

Edna was out before I woke up—early morning prayers, then charitable work in the District. She’d left breakfast on the table, but I wasn’t hungry. I gulp down the juice and scrape the rest into a plastic bag which I throw in the bin before I reach campus. No need to make her worry.

Campus is like most of the buildings down here, a squat concrete block that serves as a solid foundation for the elegant skyscrapers above. The ribbed walls are stained with black lines of runoff, while here and there are patches of brightly coloured graffiti; abstract forms and birds in flight.

The entrance has plenty of security; tall walls, big gates. My ID runs through the waylocks fairly easy—faculty members at least get a decent privilege level to mixed species grounds, so the two uninterested humans wave me through. They’re typical Napoleons; short and fat compared to the Chimera, and to other humans they’re probably the dregs of their generation. Why else would they be down here? We knew it and they did too—explaining why one of them keeps spraying some sort of cheap perfume about themselves for every Chimera that passes his way. If you take a sniff, the bad odour comes from her companion, specifically the oily sheen on his skin. I don’t know how they find all that bare skin attractive.

Just as I clear the gates they pull a wolf behind me inside their booth, yanking him by the long tufts in his fur. It’s guilt that forces me to stay and watch, because I was party to this system, because my compliance allowed this to happen, day in, day out. Five minutes later they kick him out; his thick pelt shorn, and his claws clipped aggressively against the skin. They did it simply because they could, because they wanted to put him in his place. Instead, he strides off, aloof, bearing the indignity like a badge of honour.

I dip my head in shame and bite my tongue.

***

The rest of the morning is dull. The faculty insists on holding one-on-one meetings with all students, regardless of year group. The first years are especially useless; one asks whether they need to read everything for the course. Another admits she doesn’t like history. After them, I’m certain I appear like a grumpy, haggard old horse—which at least ensures the meetings run short.

And then Reika strolls in. 

He wears scabby leather boots that come up below the knee, patched jeans that have pockets of brown fur pushing out from the holes, a black shirt, and a dirty, ripped leather jacket—black also—with brown patches of fabric sewn over the elbows.

“Remember me?” He smiles with a faux-friendly manner; sitting down on the empty chair; putting his feet up on my desk. “I remember a lot about you.”

I say nothing.

“Question is, do you? Do they let you say how we got humiliated by Settlement?” he says, knocking one of the books onto the floor with his feet. And then a stack of papers.

“What do you want, Reika?” He smirks at the mention of his name.

“I want to talk to you about last night,” he says, producing a folded up photograph and throwing it onto the desk. There I am, reaching across at Kira, dreamy eyes betraying me. 

“You followed me?”

“You’d have noticed me if I was there. Let’s just say old friends haven’t forgotten about you, even if you’ve forgotten about them.” I turn over the photograph. There’s a black three-pointed star on the corner.

Fuck off. Does he really expect me to believe he’s part of the Underground? They’ve been silent for years. Most, if not all of them are locked up for various crimes—arson, assault, theft. They certainly were never the railroad out of the Haven that they claimed to be. Besides, their mark is easy enough to make; any kid who plays on the streets knows about it. As if reading my expression, the wolf tuts, flicking his lighter against a cigarette. 

“Don’t smoke in here!” I snap.

“What makes me think I’ll listen to you?” He grins. I’m already sick of it, the way those black lips peel back to reveal those sharp, glistening points. “If you shout, they’ll come running in and I’ll show them what you’ve been up to.”

“Stop wasting my time!” 

“You’ve wasted enough of it by yourself.”

I yell, slamming my hoof against the floor. I don’t care about the threat; I’m not here to be humiliated. “You’d better give me a bloody good reason not to turf you back to whatever slum you came from.”

“That’s more like you.” He stabs his cigarette against his paw. He doesn’t even flinch as the embers touch his skin. He sighs, running his yellow eyes up and down me. “It’s quite a relief to see you’re not happy, even with such a… cushy lot.”

“Is that why you’re making a scene? You jealous of someone who’s made something of themselves?”

He doesn’t smirk. His eyes soften and his breathing slows. “No, I’m not jealous,” he admits, his ears drooping slightly. “I feel pity for you,” he says wistfully, tapping his paw against the photograph. With a shrug, he pushes it over to me. “Pity, that it comes to things like this.”

“What do you want?” I press again.

“You’ve got old friends. They still keep an eye on you. They’d also like to see you again.”

I snort with full thronged contempt, in that way horses only can. “Last time I checked, friends didn’t go about threatening to have me dragged up in front of the authorities.”

“You think we’d go to them about this?” The wolf frowns; enough in the ensuing silence that I believe I can hear the fur on his forehead bristle. “You think you should be trusted still, after all the years?” He leans closer. “Maybe for the right tip, they’d turn a blind eye to you seeing her at odd hours of the night.”

“Fuck off!” I snort, kicking at his chair. I send it spinning against the wall with a dull thud, but he’s nimble enough to leap out before I ever make contact.

“That’s the spirit,” the wolf growls, standing tall. A wildness flickers about his mane, and for a moment, he seems free. “Keep hold of that photograph for now. Think on the past—ours, not their version of it,” he says, flicking his black, braided tail about. The metal beads within catch the light, shining like silver. “Then think of the future.”

***

I stay late that night. It has been years since I’ve heard from anyone else who’d been part of the protests, longer still since I’d even heard of the Underground. They’ve existed as long as Chimera have, but none of us was really sure what they did. It was always a loose coalition of disparate political ideals. Occasionally various thugs and arsonists would invoke the name to justify their desire for disorder. Perhaps they existed simply as a phantom to make District patrols look over their shoulders at night.

For a moment, I wonder whether Reika is pulling my tail. Maybe he needs to see a psychologist. That would be convenient, if it were not for the photograph. I cradle my head in my hands, running my fingers around my muzzle, tracing the patterns her light fingers used to take. I sigh, accepting that I’d noticed nothing that night.

It is dark outside when I leave the office; the shadows long as the lights above struggle to reach down here. The Spires twinkle like stars but feel like eyes. I probably can catch Kira before she leaves her office; that way I can at least warn her without it looking like anything beyond work. Of course, the Underground—if it were true—would know, but for anyone else it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

I catch her in her lab—her white apron speckled with a fine mist of blood. Instinctively my nostrils flare, my breathing becoming quick and my movements skittish.

“It’s only a dissection,” she says dryly. “Not like there were any fragments needing to be removed.”

“Doesn’t it make you feel sick?”

“They removed the gene for that,” she sighs.

“Can I have a word?”

“Now? Or do you want me to scrub down first?” she queries. I wait in her office until she finally comes through, smelling of citrus and pine needles.

“What can I help you with?” Professional as ever, she places her hands neatly in her lap. I place the photograph on her table. She sniffs, tracing the scents lingering upon the paper. “So Reika gave you this?” she asks. 

“But he wasn’t there last night.”

She stiffens in her chair. “This is blackmail.”

“Yep.”

“And after I gave him a chance—”

“He says it’s from the Underground.”

She swears, laughing forcefully as she spins around on her chair. “What could they want?”

“He didn’t say, but he says they’ll be in touch.”

“It’s because of that night, isn’t it? That night where we thought we could change the world by burning some tyres and waving some signs. I bet they’re wanting to stir things up again—get us to plant some ideas in impressionable minds, nudge some kids who don’t know better their way so they can get incarcerated so the Underground can make some point.” She runs her hands through her auburn hair, scratching her scalp.

“You know as well as I we burnt police cars and threw rocks,” I added. 

She shot me a sour look.

“First we were bred to fight their wars, which thankfully ended before we started bleeding for them. They didn’t plan on having to house us, but why should we be grateful that they didn’t kick us outside of the Haven’s walls? We didn’t ask to be made!” Kira snaps.

“You almost sound like one of the Underground,” I retort. 

“The difference between us and them is that we don’t want to be out there. The Underground is deluded. They’re all fire and revolution but they have no plan for afterwards. There’s nothing outside the Havens but brown skies, black water, red earth. I like having a decent life expectancy. I like not having to take iodine pills. You do too.” She replies, her shoulders sagging. “Chimera and Humans, neither of us had a choice about this mess.”

“What shall we do?” I nudge her shin with a hoof, urging her back from the past, to the present.

“We don’t really have a choice, Val. We don’t know what they have, but well, I bet they wouldn’t bluff.” She sighs, then catches my look. “We’ll wait and see. He said they were old friends, yes? Hopefully they remember that, at any rate,” she finishes, standing up and striding down the hall past me. Her hooves clack against the white linoleum with such authority. Each tap beckons me to join her. I hesitate for a moment, standing alone among the white halls, the smell of disinfectant strong. I know I can’t though.

“I hope they remember too,” I say, to no one in particular.

It’s odd. For that entire time, I just wanted her to kiss me and say she’d figure things out. Just like before.

***

That evening I go to confession. Even though the conclaves in the Spires above haven’t come to a ruling about Chimera, there were still those devout enough to believe they could forgive our sins. As a result, it’s just a nondescript building with some sealed booths, complete with voice distorters and sealed vents between sides so no one can identify by scent; a weird cross between a phone booth and an ATM. 

I’ve never wholeheartedly gone for these things. A lot of people don’t, but there’s a strange comfort in knowing that you can empty your guts to someone, have them listen and not judge. There’s a fine line between ranting to yourself or to someone, and that same line makes the difference between going crazy or not.

I look for a booth with an amber light on the switchboard, indicating that someone was present and ready. Sealing the booth, the light flicks green as I turn the audio on.

It’s weird hearing the distorted voice as you speak—loud enough to overpower your own.

“It’s been a while since I’ve used one of these,” I begin, aiming to cut off a lecture on how things worked.

“How long since your last?”

“I lost track after a year.”

“Well, it’s good that you’re here now,” the voicebox replies. “What do you wish to talk about?”

“I need advice,” I hold my head in my hands, massaging my temples.

“We tend to find the two go hand in hand. How can you hope to have good advice if you don’t give the whole picture?”

“Because I don’t believe anything can be done.”

Silence. The light flicks back to amber momentarily. The only sound that made me sure my companion was there being the sound of their breathing.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to judge.”

“Where could I start? I’m married to someone I don’t love because the breeds can’t marry outside of their species. I’ve all but lost my faith. I’ve got a bunch of criminals blackmailing me about the one I do love. And I’m stuck in this God-forsaken prison we call a District, reminded more every day I look in the mirror at how I failed to make a change. What’s your advice on that?” I snap, flicking the audio off. Sometimes it feels good to shout. 

Deep breaths, get yourself together.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just… I don’t see a way out from all of this.” I add. I wasn’t sure if my sincerity conveyed across the distorter—there was a long pause.

“Why are you here?” comes the terse reply.

“Because I’ve not quite yet given up hope on changing things for the better.”

“For yourself, or for others?” The audio is quicker than usual.

“I don’t trust myself to know that answer.”

“Then how can anyone help you, if you don’t know how to help yourself?” The audio finishes, the light turning red and the door opening. I sigh and grind my teeth before leaving, stepping out of the building into the street and waiting downpour.

Rain is a strange simulation in the Haven. When there was more space, the vast network of irrigation pipes tended to the once green fields. Swallowed up as the city grew and written off once the labs could meet their agricultural targets, they found a new lease of life in maintaining ideal atmospheric conditions. Perhaps more importantly, the simple trickle of raindrops helped to diffuse the tension of living in a giant bell jar. 

I trot along, trying to keep out of the worst of the deluge, only to recognise the wolf on the pavement. Reika laughs as he stands in the rain, waterdrops curling about neatly as they run off his mane. He does a little spin for me, waving a radio between his paws.

“That was a fun little chat wasn’t it?” he calls, flashing that grin of his.

“You were eavesdropping?”

“The other option, Hoofer. It’s not in my nature to be so passive.” He skips over towards me, his tail flapping about behind him. “I didn’t think the past bothered you.”

“Just one more thing you’ve got wrong about me,” I huff.

“Come with me then.” The wolf grins and took the lead, eyes goading me to follow. 

***

Against better judgement, I follow Reika down to the promenade. Unlike the rest of the Haven, it was an attempt at terraforming, sometime between after the war and before the Spires rose. A seafront built in mock Victorian style, it was promptly abandoned due to its proximity to the Districts, but officially due to its inability to circulate a current in the lagoon, leaving a mess of stagnant water and boarded up buildings. 

We duck under crooked railings and wander across the beach, following the sea wall. I guess at one time they’d planned it to hold back the waves; instead it stood a silent reminder over our futility to shape the earth. Every so often I catch the scent of urine and stale beer. Reika comes to a halt underneath the stilts of a pier, where a single black door stands sternly bolted into the sea wall. Producing a key, he quickly unlocks it and pulls me through, slamming it shut. I wince as I hear the faint clack of a lock falling into place somewhere behind me.

Red light glows from neon tubes attached to the ceiling, following a tunnel that curves downwards. I blink and rub my eyes, listening as I hear noises from deeper below. Beside me, Reika grins, his teeth a deep red in the light. He pushes me forward, chuckling to himself.

“Go on,” he whispers, nudging me again. Placing my hooves gingerly on the uneven steps, I go, listening to the wolf’s quick breathing behind me. After a couple of minutes, the floor levels out, the concrete changing to tiles covered in some obscure floral pattern. Mattresses and soft furnishings lie thrown down in a haphazard fashion, with various mixed breed couples lounging together, the scent of their taboo accented by the acrid wisps of incense drifting in from some shadowed corner. I hadn’t been to a den in at least fifteen years, not since I met Kira, and certainly not since my stint in containment. That certainly closed a lot of doors in disreputable circles, but neither was cowering underground for a quick stay of reality truly satisfying.

“Keep going,” Reika breathes, sounding distant. He skips in front of me, beckoning as he disappears behind another door, down another flight of dimly lit steps, until the air becomes cold, and the ambience behind us gives way to the sound of dripping water. He pops the latch of a derelict fire door, and walks into a small, cosy room littered with scattered pages from ripped books and waxy marks from spilt candles.

“I wonder how long it will take for them to close this down.”

He shrugs my words off, eyes flashing up to meet my own, reflecting the dim light. “They? Do you honestly believe those above us care what we do?” He shook his head. “They’ll never come down here—Humans forfeited the earth, reaching instead for the sky.” He snatched a dark bottle from a shelf, lapping his tongue across the top before gulping it down. “The purists won’t find us all, and when we move on, another one will pop up to replace this one.” He sounds nothing like he does on the surface; much calmer, less confrontational. Vulnerable even.

“They’d lock you in containment though. I was in containment, and believe me you don’t—”

“Chimera can’t lock each other in containment.” He glares at me. “Even then, you were soft. You gave in. You believed they couldn’t be beaten.” I say nothing as he brushes his hands over my faded scars. Fur can cover a lot, just like time and words of change.

“No,” I huff, flicking my tail about behind me with an audible swish. “I believe we can beat them another way.”

“But who is ‘they’ now?” He shifts about, pulling at the silver beads in his tail. “Who enforces their law? Who keeps the breeds in their districts? Who decides to allocate our time off district? The day we agreed to settlement was the day we agreed to police ourselves.”

For once I don’t ignore the pull in my stomach; I don’t ignore my instinct. I knew it was true. The CDC drew up the districts, plotted the boundaries, made the policies. We put together the plan; the Spires simply signed it off.

“Why though?”

Reika simply handed me a scrap of paper. From the blackened and blotched verse, a simple phrase caught my eye.

‘Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.’

 The wolf sighs, looking at me with forlorn eyes, pulling out a photograph from behind a cushion. It’s dog-eared and crinkled, but the image itself is still recognisable—that one of Kira and me from that night. He crooks his head to the side, nodding.

“It’s still a powerful image,” he sighs. “Your generation may remember it, mine doesn’t. We both know it’s not printed in the new history books.” He looks up at me, no longer fierce—ears drooping, eyes wide. That sharp, amber tone is gone. “What were you thinking then?” His gaze goes back to the photograph. “I’d like to know.”

“What do you think?” I reply softly.

“Nothing else but her.”

We stay silent for a moment, listening to the murmur of air somewhere above us; the distant drop of water echoing from somewhere below. I feel half-tempted to have sympathy for him. Then he pulls his head back and laughs, long and loud.

“God, I haven’t even had much to drink and here I am being all sentimental.” He paces about, his tail brushing against my thigh as he stalks past. “Wait here,” he commands, before disappearing somewhere behind me. There is a rapid knock, and the door swings open. Reika motions someone to enter but remains outside on his own.

It’s hard to make him out in the red light because his fur is black, so too are his eyes—no colour in the iris. Kira told me it was a rare flaw that shows up in wolves only; another tidbit I remember from her talking about her research. His footsteps are quiet and deliberate and he sits down before me in one twisting, fluid motion without as much as a sign of effort.

“Old friend,” the wolf rumbles, inclining his muzzle.

Toro has kept the quiet intonation that made everyone lean in to hear his words. He still has that mystique about him that the girls found so enthralling, and that I confess had gotten the better of me some nights too.

“I thought you were dead,” I whispered, struggling to keep control over my tongue. I hadn’t seen him since he fell from the bridge.

“You could say that for a long time, I have been,” he counters. Though I can’t see it, I know he is giving me one of those thin, fangless grins that were his signature; something he developed to keep the other breeds at ease. “Surprised?”

I sit down next to him on the couch. “You can smell that. You do know they were pretty keen to know where you were while I was rotting in containment.” I chew my lip. “You could have said something, sent some message.” 

“What would that’ve achieved?” He smiles.

“I mean when I got out.”

“You had changed. You thought in spite of the sacrifice, we had won. You seemed happy with the settlement process, saying your prayers, setting up a home. You wanted to stop fighting and start living, and I get that.” I feel his breath rush past me as he exhales, punctuated with some spicy tones from his last meal. “Everyone has to suffer for their cause.” He leans back, scratching the ruff of his neck with a paw. “You thought you had paid your dues.”

“I believed the other leaders were either dead or locked up. Besides, if you really believed I was done then, why drag me into your mess now?”

“You and Kira were never the leaders of our little revolution,” he retorts, flicking a tuft of loose fur from his claws. “But you knew better than them how to capture hearts, and I’ll admit I have missed talking with you,” he laughs. “Please, don’t waste anymore of my time. You could have done more, I could have involved you sooner—but neither of us are here to argue about the past.” He runs his tongue over his lips, wetting them again, still careful not to show his fangs—quite the courtesy. “Remember, I could ruin things for you if I wanted,” he says coldly.

“Toro—”

“Enough. We both did—do—what we need to,” he growls. “And I need you to do something.” The old wolf leans against me, angling his back so he rests against mine. I feel him shift as he tilts his head up, his muzzle coming within inches of my ears, which swivel round to meet the sound of his breathing. The rise and fall of his chest matches mine, and I can feel the thud of his beating heart against me. I remember how he used to do this just before he fucked you.

“I know you love Kira. I know she loves you. I need you to speak to her.” I hold back my question—why not yourself? But then again, she never liked Toro; ‘full of tricks and creepy movements,’ she said. 

“You know the Underground. You know we’ve been smuggling people out of the Haven for decades now. The world’s changed like you wouldn’t believe out there. The other Havens have opened up and trade with each other; there’s tracts of land now that’ve been scrubbed clean. Not by man, by nature itself. We have clean water. Fertile soil. Low counts. In short, there’s a place where we can be free. We just need more doctors.”

“Oh no—you do not seriously think I can convince her to drop everything—”

“It’s not dropping everything when it would let the two of you finally be free,” he says smoothly.

“What about this Haven then? Have you given up on them?”

“Why would you think I want that?” he replies. His wolf-accent is really quite thick; if I close my eyes it almost sounds like a cat purring throatily. Almost. “We were so close, but we never got past the bridges. Sure, there’s some change, but I won’t risk my neck for those who are satisfied to live with a trickle of it. We can smuggle one or two people out, sure. Not three Districts.”

I stand up, but the wolf was already on his feet and in front of me. God I’m out of shape.

“What about the humans? Are they really going to turn a blind eye to Chimera settlements?” I counter. I couldn’t believe such activity went unnoticed.

“Their answer to their past is to forget about the earth. They look to the stars,” he chuckled, shaking his mane. He grips my hands, squeezing them gently, as if trying to transfer his strength into mine. “You can stand here and lie to me how you’re both happy with your classes and your waylock privileges, but I’ll cut you short,” he snaps, darting closer, resting his fangs against his lips. “I’ll remind you, all I have to do is hand things to the right people and your little house of cards will tumble down.” He growls, snapping his jaws loudly in the space next to me. 

“My son will show you out,” he grumbles, and at that call Reika came swiftly in.

***

At first Kira refuses to open the door, but once I remind her that her refusal to let me in will only arouse further suspicion, she lets the waylocks draw. I brush my hooves on the cute owl doormat, but she still snaps at me.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” She shoots at me the old, familiar glare. This is against our rules—we do not, ever, meet at home.

I shrug. “We have to talk,” I reply, cutting her off. “It can’t wait.”

“Oh, I’m sure!” she huffs, throwing her arms up—as if to say, come put me into containment now. 

“Don’t be angry with me—please, just listen.” I snap back, trying at least to steer the conversation in the direction I want, that really, I believe we both want.

“Angry? You just barge in here in the early hours of the morning—I can’t even imagine how many violations you’ve just clocked,” she retorts, sitting down at her desk. My eyes wander around the single room; the messy bed in one corner, a sink and microwave on a counter in another. A gnarled wardrobe stands ajar, showing her few clothes; plain, without colour. Only her desk gave the room any sense of personality; bits of paper, annotated print outs, and photographs of various birth defects in the breeds lay strewn across it. She stacks them to the side, massaging her temples.

“I saw Reika tonight—”

“Of course this is about Reika,” she mutters, folding her arms. “I wish those idiots would realise I’ve got better things to do with my time—my research, my teaching; it all helps.” 

“Actually, it’s kind of about us.” I whisper. I am not entirely wrong.

“No, I’m not even going to entertain—” she begins, grabbing hold of my arm to try and shove me away, but instead she kind of just collapses inside them, her attempt morphs into a hug. I feel her shudder as she holds me close to her chest. It’s hard to keep the act up forever.

“You know I don’t love Edna,” I admit. “Look,” I shrug, holding her tightly. “I can’t lie, I have been speaking to Reika. Yes, he is with the Underground. The thing is, they—Toro—has an offer—”

“Of course,” she grumbles, “he’s too stubborn to just die.”

“If you believed there was a way out, somewhere other than here, would you take it?”

She stirs in my arms, taking a deep breath.

“We all have dreams.”

“Kira. They’ve found a place. Turns out the reason things have been so quiet is that they’ve spent most of their energy building out there.”

She giggles. “Do you really believe the Havens wouldn’t notice, let alone allow Chimera to settle outside the domes?”

“Apparently, as long as we’re not penned in on the same side of the wall as them. We both know they don’t care for the earth anymore.” I chuckle. “Kira, they need someone who can do more than just bandage cuts and set bones. You’d be helping people, doing what you do best.”

“What I was bred to do,” she counters. “I’m doing good here. I’m teaching the next generation, passing down what I know, doing research.”

“You could still do it out there. You wouldn’t have to worry about CDC approval.”

“It’s not just that!” She grinds her teeth. “In here, as much as I hate to say it, we have security. Stability. You ever wonder why Toro needs another doctor—did you even ask? Because call me a cynic, a coward or whatever, but I bet it’s no paradise out there.”

She has me there. Maybe I’m forgetting that this is blackmail, that Toro has made threats otherwise, but standing there in her study, seeing her in her pale nightdress, I’m only thinking about the two of us. At the end of the day, love and self-preservation are hardwired as two selfish instincts.

“What about the list of things we’ve never done?” I murmur, running my hand lower down her back.

She shivers. “You’re such a manipulator.”

“Not when the feeling’s mutual,” I tease, my hands trailing softly across her thighs. Hers still linger upon my shoulders, but I could feel them twitching as she tries to resist. Surely, they begin to wander, reaffirming themselves with where they used to roam. “I’m tired of keeping up appearances. I’m tired of lying. I’m tired of looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger staring back at me, of having to pretend that I don’t love you, and then when I’m with you, being unable to surrender to how I feel.”

She laughs softly, kissing me breathlessly. “I was waiting for you to put it that way. You never really needed to convince me,” she murmurs. “That’s the sad thing. In spite of everything; the progress, the research… I just want to have something for me.” Her pupils dilate. “Don’t you hate yourself for being afraid—for not having the spirit to stand up. I know mine gave out long ago, and I just covered it up, saying bravery was going on as normal.”

“All those people thought that picture of us meant something. I’ve spent a good portion of the quiet hours of the night not knowing whether to laugh or cry about how pathetic it all is.”

“We did what we had to. Not everyone can make big changes.”

“Well, we don’t have to,” I whisper. “Tonight we can start where we left off,” I grin.

“After all these years?” She smirks, pulling my hand as she takes me to bed.

***

Toro skulks in the shadows. He squints, shielding his eyes, unaccustomed as they were to the daylight from below the Spires as he stands by the service door.

“What a welcome party,” I scoff, surprised that he’d deign to show his face above ground.

“I wanted to see it for myself,” he replies, the faintest sliver of a smile appearing at the corners of his muzzle. “I see you packed light,” he sniffs, raising an eyebrow.

“We took what we needed,” Kira says, ignoring how the wolf’s snout glistens as it quivers in the air.

“You’re here now,” he shrugs, disappearing behind the door.

“Only you today then?” I ask, wondering where Reika lurked.

“For where we’re going, two’s usually a risk,” he sighs, the black ruff about his neck shifting slightly. “It stands to reason that the more you try it with, the more likely someone will get caught,” he growls, his mane pricking at the nape as he slinks back into the darkness.

“Well…” Kira exhales, holding her hands up. It’s not like we have much of a choice, but at least this time it is, in part, our fault. “You coming then?” She grins at me, reminding me of that youthful smirk she’d shown thirty years ago.

At first the tunnels are familiar—we go down, following the black wolf who pads on ahead silently. I recognise the den—the remains of it. The red bulbs are shattered, leaving an array of glass that crunches under my hooves as we walk on ahead. Even though his pads are soft, Toro doesn’t ever flinch; he treads on ahead all the same. The mattresses are empty, the walls peeled bare. Here and there, a needle or two gleams as it catches the light, but there’s nothing to make sense of. All their scents are garbled up into one; impossible to pick one out.

“We move on every so often,” Toro says, breaking the silence. “Reika will burn it out, and when they come sniffing around here, there’ll be nothing.”

We continue down, deeper into tunnels that become less and less accommodating. They are no longer shelters but cramped maintenance tunnels, filled with hissing pipes and dripping water that snake and twist like mad roots. In some sections we squeeze past burning metal, crawling, scraping, shimmying, following some path deeper into the bowels of the Haven—a route that only Toro can make sense of.

All the while my mind begins to wander about what lies outside. I was born inside the Haven, raised in it, fought for the right to live in it. I’ve never seen the world outside; my dreams of it were full of ruddy haze and oily colours. Now I will get to see it, and I don’t know what to expect.

“Look,” Toro whispers, pressing a button and pointing up. A single shaft of pale light trickles down from a speck up above, illuminating the cramped shaft—and a ladder—leading all the way up. “The surface,” he breathes, the sound catching in his throat. “You go first,” he says, stepping aside. “It’s important for you to be the first to see it.”

Without as much as a protest, I push Kira forward. She grips me by the arm, trying to shove me back, but instead she just pushes me back against the pipes. Her breathing flutters erratically against my neck; matching mine. 

“Please.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not getting hung up over it.” She relaxes for a moment, running her eyes over me. “It’s not like it won’t be there for me to see either.”

“More to the point, it’s not wise to hang around here while the vent is open,” Toro mutters, his tail flicking about impatiently behind him. Kira gives the wolf a sour look, then starts her climb. I follow behind, with Toro moving softly below me. It is slow—hand over hand, hooves clipping the metal bars loudly, the sound reverberating all through the shaft. Slowly the light grows stronger. Then white sphere swallows Kira as she scrambles up the final rungs.

For a moment, I hesitate.

“Don’t bail on me now,” Toro growls. “I don’t want to die because of you,” he finishes. He nips my legs, forcing me upward—they of course bred out the urge to kick. 

When I get to the top, Kira’s arms reach down to grab my own. It’s hard to see. I try to peel my eyes open, but I keep on squinting, trying to adjust from the dark. God, it’s bright. I feel the wind on my shoulder, it’s a cool, pleasant breeze. I can smell Kira next to me. 

Then I realise. The brightness—this is a white spire. I see the blue sky ahead, sealed in by glass that glints in the light above. And as I turn to run back to the shaft, Toro slams the cover shut.

Bastard.

I don’t recall swearing, but I could feel my rage ripple through my voice, through the air. 

“I’m sorry.” I could hear it rising up from beneath the cover, a low, pitiful whine. “This is the only way.”

“For what?” Kira shouts, sinking to her knees as the sirens wailed away in the distance. I stand up, looking all around. The bridge. It has barely changed from that night. On one side the sealed gate of the upper District, the other the smooth white bases of the Spires, circling up towards the sky, caught in a moment of dance.

“When people saw that photograph, you were their heroes. We had a sign; a clear vision, a just cause—something neither I, nor the Underground, could ever be. And for a time, the people held to that through your detention. But when you came out…” he trails off, as if—I think—he sobs, “when the icons of the revolution supported settlement, they stopped fighting too. They settled down. They gave their way a try, and look where it’s gotten us. Still looked down upon. Still sub-human. Because of you, the struggle died out.”

“So you what, you sacrifice us so you don’t have to bleed yourself?” Kira screams, pounding at the metal cover with her fists.

“I died when I fell from this bridge. You became the lifeblood of the movement, and you squandered it. The people allowed themselves to be cowed because their idols were cowed too.”

“You’re sick,” Kira spits. 

“This world’s sick,” Toro roars. “It’s always taken the sacrifice of good people to make it better.”

“Pity it couldn’t be yourself.”

“I wish. Sacrificing yourself is easy. Sacrificing others is hard. Only this way they’ll see. They’ll feel anger. Outrage. A tragedy to remind them what needs to be done.”

I remember holding her in my arms.

I remember wishing for another second, grabbing her, pulling her behind me as I kiss her.

And finally, I remembered that kiss from the photograph, all those years ago. In response, something seemed to click.