The Walls of Orion

by T. D. Fox

  “I’m Dr. Jeanine Campbell. How are you feeling this morning?”

  She pretended to familiarize herself with his files for a moment, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of her presence. He remained still.

  “I hear you aren’t taking your meals anymore,” she said.

  A clicking sound, like a cockroach scuttling over dry paper, made her look up. His eyes were open. She stiffened.

  The whites of his eyes were gone. His entire gaze was liquid yellow, pupils narrowed into slits—snakelike. His eyelashes were gone as well, replaced by a lidless rim of black scales. He smiled. Narrow lips revealed a row of pointed teeth.

  “Doctor,” he drawled. His voice was little more than a croak. “Mind if I call ya Jeanine?”

  “I would prefer Dr. Campbell.”

  He leaned back, gaze fixed on her, but his eyes changed. The outer corners shifted. A second lid appeared, sliding over the yellow corneas, clicking as it went. He blinked like a lizard.

  “Well, Jeanine,” he said. “I’d prefer my meals a little more rare. Meatloaf last week, wasn’t it? It was cooked clean through. No pink left.”

  Jeanine took a brief note on her clipboard. “So, you are skipping your meals to make a statement about our cooking?”

  “No.”

  “Well, what is your angle?”

  “I ain’t got no angle. Just prefer my meat with a little blood in it these days.” His tongue darted out over his lower lip. There was something off about the movement. “Why’re you here, Doc?”

  “I’m here to check up on the wellbeing of my patients.”

  “No. I mean here. You’re a shrink. Ain’t this a facility for freaks of nature? You got scientists and zoologists and every white coat in between pokin’ at us. Suckin’ out our blood. Makin’ us pee in cups. Why’d they add a shrink to the mix?”

  That tongue shot out again, and Jeanine finally caught a better glimpse of it. It was forked. Tearing her gaze away, she stole a couple of seconds leafing through his file.

  “Your creatural shift has the appearance of a Komodo dragon,” she said. “The creature seems to affect your human form. The cold makes you sluggish. Have you been experiencing any other side effects?”

  “What, like thoughts? A newfound taste for bloody meat? The sudden urge to bite... ah, particularly large people? Y’know, the ones that remind me of water buffalo.”

  Jeanine stared at him.

  “You never answered my question,” Reginald said.

  “The higher-ups thought it would be a good idea to appoint a psychologist,” she replied.

  “Uh-huh. ’Cause they’re scared of how many of us are going...” He leaned forward, and stage-whispered: “Cuh-ray-zee.”

  Jeanine hesitated. “Instability does tend to be a delayed side effect of the transformations. All of the neurons being rearranged like that, let alone the rest of the body’s cells—it’s a miracle the brain still looks anything like a brain when the reassembly is finished.”

  “Wow.” Reginald smirked. “I thought doctor-speak was supposed to make the patient feel better. Should I be worried about turning into bone soup next time I shift?”

  “Not that I know of.” Jeanine pushed her glasses farther up her nose. “We have yet to determine what permanent physical effects the shifts have on the human body. Every patient in this facility has retained the ability to return to their human form. Our main concern is theriomutation’s effect on the mind.”

  “Mmm.” Reginald blinked again. The reptilian click of his eyelids raised the hair on Jeanine’s arms. “So y’all are less concerned about the idea of shapeshifters popping up all over Orion City, and more nervous about the idea of Changers going, ah—what’s the scientific term? Loony?”

  “There does seem to be a link between the number of times someone shifts and their degree of stability.” The pattern suggested the more times a theriomutant shifted, the more the mind unraveled. The more rabid, animalistic... unhinged they became.

  “Uh-huh. Well then, I’ve shifted so many times, my brain’s more scrambled than an egg salad. What scares you more? The fact that I might turn into a giant lizard and take a bite out of the general public? Or that I might take a bite out of the general public all by my little human self?”

  “You’re here at AITO for a reason.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re here to fix me. Well, what if I like the way I am now? What if nobody here wants to be fixed?”

  Jeanine shuffled through her notes once again, looking to regain control of the conversation.

  “According to your file, you experienced your first shift two years ago, October 17th. Would you describe that night for me?”

  For the first time, Reginald’s carefree grin wavered. He leaned back farther in his chair, as far as the handcuffs allowed him to stretch. Jeanine watched the muscles flex in his forearms, and right in front of her eyes, a ripple of scales replaced the skin there.

  “Don’t wanna,” he growled. All playfulness was gone from his voice.

  Jeanine refused to be cowed. “Our records say a certain Joanna Tang lost her life that night. An auto accident in the rain.”

  “It wasn’t an accident!”

  The explosive bark made both guards jerk forward. Jeanine held up a hand, stilling them. Her heart thumped, but training kept her muscles and voice relaxed.

  “Would you describe for me what happened?”

  “A coldblooded murder is what happened,” Reginald snarled. “The coward left us in the middle of the road, hanging feet over ears in an upside-down sedan.”

  “The file says you were uninjured in the hit-and-run. But Joanna died upon impact?”

  “No. I had to get her out, the roof was crushing her. By the time the paramedics arrived more of her blood was on my pants than inside of her.”

  Jeanine studied the pain on his face with a clinical eye. Between each of her patients, she’d pieced together a pattern. Every single first shift had been triggered by trauma. Interestingly, the trauma was rarely physical. Each recounted an intense, concentrated emotion just before the shift. Rage. Grief. Horror. In one instance, it had been pure elation: the birth of a patient’s firstborn.

  Jeanine jotted down another note. “She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

  Reginald’s fists clenched on the table. Scales rippled across his knuckles. Jeanine watched, mesmerized by the seamless partial transformation.

  “You rode with her,” she continued. “Did you transform in the ambulance?”

  “No. It didn’t happen until we got to the hospital. Thirty minutes later, they’d already wheeled her off in a body bag, and I was numb. I just remember staring at the pen they handed me, to sign some papers. I was in the waiting room, next to one of those glass terrariums, y’know, the fish tanks they usually put in to make the waiting room a little cheerier? Only those freaks didn’t even have fish. They had an iguana. I remember staring at this giant lizard thing, standing by the tank, not moving. Not even thinking. Just lookin’ at it, while it looked back. And then it happened.”

  Jeanine leaned forward. “What?”

  “This creepy crawly feeling, pins and needles, like when your arm falls asleep and a hundred bees start stinging you when you move. Only this was everywhere. My whole body, a thousand bee stings. I couldn’t even breathe, it hurt so bad. And then... nothin’.”

  “You blacked out?” Most of the theriomutants she interviewed had no recollection of their first shift. They only remembered the pain at the start—emotional, physical—and the pain waking up.

  “Yeah. I woke up in an alleyway, buck naked and covered in mud. It was still raining. I remember the only thought in my head was that I was gonna freeze to death. I’d just survived a T-bone, watched my girlfriend break in half, and now I was gonna die behind a dumpster in my birthday suit. I still had no clue what happened. I was half-hoping I dreamed the whole thing: she’d be waiting for me back home, I’d had a super bad trip and she’d haul me over the co
als when I got back.”

  Reginald leaned over his handcuffs and took a grating breath. The scales on his arms shifted, living dominoes folding over one another.

  “And then he showed up.”

  Jeanine’s pen froze over her notepad. She looked up, careful not to betray her interest. Even Frank and Mitch shifted behind the patient’s chair.

  “The Whistler?” Frank blurted out. Jeanine shot him a look.

  “Yeah.” Reginald’s forked tongue swept over his teeth. “The big man himself. The King of the Freaks. The heart of Orion’s rotten underworld.”

  “He approached you? Directly after the change?”

  “Think he was watching me the whole time. Told me, later. Said I had potential.”

  “Potential for what, exactly?”

  Reginald smiled this time, baring those pointed yellow teeth. “Great things.”

  “Your record says you eventually found the driver.”

  “I hunted him down like the dog he was. The Whistler’s got connections in high places, low places, all the places in between. There was nowhere to hide. The bastard got what he deserved.”

  “You burned down his house with him and his wife inside.”

  “Oi, I’m a nice guy. I spared the kids. They’re in therapy somewhere. He made me watch my family die; I could’ve made him watch his burn. But I’m too softhearted I guess.”

  “Hm.” Jeanine made a note on her clipboard. “You said the Whistler helped you find him. Did he also help you acquire your second form?”

  “Yeah. He told me about the blood process. You’ve probably heard it from all the other guys in here. Don’t know who first figured it out, but it’s damn cool. Quite a rush, those next few times. You can almost feel every cell absorbing the new you.”

  Jeanine shuddered without meaning to. It was true. Nearly every patient in the Z-Ward had discovered the secret of transforming into more than one creature. Absorbing the blood of another vertebrate. Though she hadn’t yet learned how this “virus” worked, she knew somehow the cells were able to acquire new codes of DNA. It was inexplicable, scientifically backward, superhuman even. But it was happening all over the city. Naturally, theriomutants who figured it out gravitated straight for the most dangerous predators. Orion’s zoo was shut down in the mayhem of that first period under Quarantine, to protect fearsome creatures like lions and gorillas from rabid “Changers” hopping the walls. The biggest predators in the animal kingdom ran in terror from humans who’d warped beyond all recognition, greedy bloodlust shining in their eyes. Only a small blood transfusion was needed to start the process. But it wasn’t uncommon to find animals hacked apart, blood and body parts strewn asunder. Twelve months passed before the zoo had reopened with extra security, and only then with pressure from AITO, to reassure the city they had things under control.

  It was a lie. They had as much control as the police force did over the city’s organized crime. Enough to trick people into sleeping soundly at night. When, in reality, the house of cards could topple at any moment.

  A.I.T.O. Agency for the Investigation of Theriomutational Occurrences. Thrown together by the state after the feds imposed Quarantine, it consisted of the best scientific minds in the country. The PhDs were the only ones allowed into Orion after they’d sealed it off. But once in, they weren’t allowed out. It was the highest profile case in the country, but the job assignment was grim. Solve this case, or stay inside the Wall forever.

  The only way out was to tell the government they had a cure. They could keep the virus from spreading. They could figure it out, understand it, destroy it.

  But every scientist, doctor and shrink within the Wall knew that wasn’t an option.

  “So, Mr. Murphy,” Jeanine said, trying to regroup. “The Whistler obtained the blood sample for your second transformation. You chose a monitor lizard. Was this related to your original form as a reptile?”

  Reginald smacked his lips. “You know my name, Doc. It ain’t Murphy no more.”

  “Right. The Torch. You’re a serial arsonist. So you selected the monitor for its ability to withstand heat?”

  He leaned back in his chair, farther this time, so that the metal cuffs bit into his wrists. He let out a long, guttural sigh. The hum of the AC units above them filled the space.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “You’re gettin’ a little boring, Jeanine.”

  A hint of annoyance slipped into her voice. “I assure you, you’ll be a lot more bored alone in your cell, staring at four padded walls.”

  He said nothing. Jeanine waited for him to look at her again, but he kept his eyes rolled upward, fixed on the ceiling. His hands wriggled in the cuffs. Twisting. Changing shape under the scales.

  “Records say you worked closely with the Whistler over the past two years. Did he ever tell you his real name?”

  “Real name.” A soft laugh rumbled up from his throat. “You mean the label they stamped on his birth certificate?”

  “Yes, that’s—”

  “Y’know, that’s the thing about your kind. You people gotta slap a label on everything. Makes us human, less scary. ’S’why you keep calling me Mr. Murphy. But, y’see, a name’s not something you’re born with. No. That’s a label.” His wrists shifted again, that same odd movement. “A name is something you make for yourself. Maybe you get it from others, like ol’ Whistler and me got our titles from the tabloids. But what they call you is your own making. Like you, Doc. How many years did you grind away in grad school to get them to change your name? Doctor. Someone who fixes people. You like the ring of it, no?” He dropped his eyes to meet hers. “Torch. The spot in the dark that guides people out of blindness. Lights up what’s really there. Shows the world its true colors.”

  “Also a tool that sets buildings on fire.”

  “Yes ma’am. Can’t win a war without a little heat. You think I’m a tool? Maybe I am. I’m that first splat of gunfire on the edge of a revolution.”

  Jeanine sighed. “So, you don’t know his name, or you won’t tell me?”

  Slowly, Reginald leaned forward over the table, yellow gaze hooded as if about to tell her a secret. Then he grinned. A wide, yellow, feral grin.

  She had a milisecond to register the faint rasp of metal—and the fact that he had wriggled free of his cuffs—before he lunged.

  The table flipped.

  Stupid! She thought as her back hit the floor. Her head bounced off the concrete, and she saw fireworks. A scaly fist grabbed the front of her coat. Yellow teeth bared inches from her face.

  “His name,” Reginald snarled. “Is a whistle in the dead of night. That song you hear on the wind down a dark road. The sound of everything wrong in this world, squeezed into four. Little. Notes.” He clicked his reptilian tongue between each word, breath searing her cheeks.

  “Dr. Campbell!” Frank struggled to get to them, blocked by the table Reginald had thrown between them.

  Jeanine fought the hold on her throat, but she was half-pinned under the table. His voice was hot in her face. “He sends out that call ’cause he owns these streets. Hums a cheery little tune while he’s slitting your throat.”

  “Get off her, you freak!”

  Reginald cackled as Frank yanked him back. “Whistles when he likes you, and whistles when you’re dead! Why d’you think he freaks the media out so much? ’Cause he just don’t give a damn.”

  They dragged him by the arms over the upturned table. He howled with laughter.

  “You ever fight someone like that?” he gasped. “Comin’ at you with knives, whistling like he’s taking out the Sunday trash, he don’t even pause for breath. It does something to your insides.”

  Frank and Mitch wrestled him upright, producing a set of handcuffs.

  “He don’t leave behind a signature or calling card. Nah, just leaves someone close enough to hear him. Close enough to hear the whole terrifying thing. And let me tell you... you ever hear somebody whistle again, even a nursery rhyme—”<
br />
  Jeanine wriggled herself out from under the table.

  “—you’ll find yourself fetal on the floor, with your head between your knees!”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Campbell,” Mitch grunted. “We’ve got to sedate him. Session’s over.”

  She nodded. “Get him out of here.”

  Reginald held her gaze, even as the orderlies dragged him to the door, grinning from ear to ear. The yellow gleam in his eyes was rabid.

  “You’ll never catch him,” he laughed. “Interrogate every prisoner on this base. Nobody’s turning him in. He made us. This is war, Doc. You picked the wrong side.”

  The door slammed shut behind them. Jeanine sat there on the cold floor for a moment, clipboard and papers strewn about her. Her coffee leaked nutty brown puddles over the cement.

  The opposite door beeped and swung open. Evan appeared at her side.

  “Dr. Campbell, are you all right?”

  His soft, earnest voice pulled her back to reality. With a terse nod, she took his proffered hand and stood up. Her heels wobbled beneath her. She could feel her legs already bruising. Pushing back the blonde hair that had come loose from its bun, she straightened her glasses.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to take a moment?” Evan steadied her by the elbow. “The Torch has sent multiple people home before. The committee would understand if you—”

  “He’s not the Torch,” Jeanine snapped. “He’s Patient Z-201. Mr. Murphy. Don’t give them that power, Mr. Grimes.”

  Evan’s tranquil face flickered. The barest twitch of an eyebrow. “Yes... ma’am.”

  Jeanine scooped up her clipboard from the ground. “Find Frank and Mitch, and make sure the patient is secured. Then let the committee know that I’m moving ahead with the rest of my sessions today on schedule.”

  Readjusting her glasses, she marched out into the hall. The fluorescents hummed. Doors glided past. Her mind caught on the faint sounds leaking through each one. Shrieks. Hysteria. Laughter.

  The concrete quieted as the click of her heels led her out of the Z-Ward.

  5. THE SUPERHERO