Monster Age

by GR Griffin

  A random guard waltzed into the room and stopped in his tracks, startled by the leather-clad intruder poking around the crime scene. “Hey, you,” he barked, “you’re not supposed to be—”

  Without taking her eyes off the leaflets, Barb bent her right arm across her stomach, pointed her firearm at the soldier, and fired off a small electric projectile. The bullet collided with the chest plate, degrading his words into a jumble of hushed, sporadic screams as a muscle-numbing amount of voltage coursed through his body.

  Barb continued uninterrupted as the guard convulsed violently. The Metal Bar. The replica of Highkeep Dungeons. Wait, something was missing.

  She snapped her fingers as it all clicked into place, and as the guard dropped like a felled tree. There was a leaflet missing, she was certain of it: the train schedule. Parfocorse was the central hub for all the trains in the Plain-plain. There was bound to be one in every hotel, shoved in every brochure holder, no exceptions. For the train times to be missing meant either one of two things: the receptionist had forgotten, or they had been taken – most likely by whoever was in this room last.

  She was drawn to the window upon hearing the cry of a train engine. She made her way over, catching the tail end of the train as it departed from the station.

  Child’s play. Barb knew it already as she headed for the door, stepping over the guard. Fleck was on that train.

  Chapter 15: The Bounty Hunter

  “Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for travelling with us,” a kind, tinny voice spoke over the speakers built into the corners of the passenger car. “With clear weather and no delays, we can expect to arrive at Winter’s Edge at about ten past eleven this morning. Even if this is not your first time travelling with us, we strongly recommend that you read the safety procedures you’ll find in the pouch in front of you. During this trip, we will be passing over the Shattered Zone. We will inform you ten minutes beforehand, upon which you must return to your seat and put your seatbelt on. If you require any refreshments, a member of staff will be happy to help you. Thank you for listening and we hope that you enjoy the trip.”

  Fleck sank back in their seat and allowed the blanket to slide off their shoulders as the gentle rocking of wheels against track under the floorboards made them feel drowsy. They pulled the mop head back in order to get a good look out the window, relieving their nostrils of the smell of floor varnish. Beyond the glass, past their ghostly image, the green pastures moved at two speeds – the nearest fields fast and the far fields slow. The faint, uneven silhouette of palm trees that could be described as none other than the Oasis stood far in the distance. The ocean falls creating beards of white.

  Reaching into their pocket, they took another look at the ticket. The red and white card itself solid and durable, the hole punched into the corner was fresh and sharp. They found the arrival time stamped in black ink and rigid lettering: 11:10, just like she said. A two hour and ten minute ride. With nothing to do, and no stops between Parfocorse and Winter’s Edge, they could sit back for the next couple of hours and take the load off.

  Of course, it was not all smooth sailing from where Fleck was sitting. Two hours of waiting for Winter’s Edge to arrive. No on-rail movie. No music plugins or five cloud coin headphones. No good book to bury themself in, not like they were a big reader in the first place. They found a menu offering refreshments tucked away in the pouch before them. It came with the safety sheet; the edges of the laminate were peeling away and there were two irreparable creases across the centre. Looking at the prices, it made perfect sense why the ticket to this carriage was so cheap – they just jacked up the prices for the nibbles and miniature pop cans to get their money back. Good thing travel companies on Earth don’t do that. Fleck licked their lips and were thankful that they had their breakfast that morning. Looking at the menu took about a minute or two of their time – maybe a minute and a half.

  Fleck resorted to fidgeting with the seatbelts, those six-point shackles that were designed for head on collisions in muddy bowls. They played with the buckles, clanging the clasp and latch together to create high-pitched music. The mindless distraction slashed a three more minutes off their journey. Yawning onto the glass and drawing shapes while the condensation was fresh killed a few extra more.

  The chatty pair – the male a stove kettle and the woman an electric kettle – possibly siblings, continued to converse over the most trivial of things. Those two will still be talking by the time they reach Winter’s Edge. The attitude of the irksome figure in the opposite lane, a hairy ball in a white shirt, had simmered down on the surface, gaining some satisfaction by getting his seat, but bothered by the constant jabbering of those upfront. At the very front, a weathered dog monster with a bushy grey moustache, wearing a suit and a bowler hat, sat perfectly straight as if the motions all around did not apply to him.

  It had been so long ago since Fleck had rode on a train yet the feeling of riding one was not foreign to them; the rumble, the shake, the low skidding noise – all of these they knew by heart. Racing along the tracks, the locomotive’s journey dictated by them, unable to break away and follow its own path – similar to their own adventure across these monster populated plains.

  When did Fleck last ride on a train? Where were they going to? Who were they with? How old were they back then? These questions bounced around in their head. Fleck tried to remember, but they could only remember certain bits and pieces. They were not even sure if it were one trip or a collection stitched together to form one memory.

  There was so little that Fleck remembered of their early life – their past life, before the met the monsters – almost like it were a dream. The big things like their real parents, which school they attended, where they lived, and who they befriended were all black holes in their memory. It was the little things they remember, like ice cream cones and playful trips to a park. One day, they would remember vanilla ice cream, with a chocolate flake, under the cloudless sky of summer. The next day, they detect the frosty flavour of strawberry on the tip of their tongue, complemented with sprinkles and a gentle breeze from the late end of spring. The day after, chocolate dripping with caramel sauce on the first day of autumn. Every time they try to picture the scene, visualise the surroundings and hear the sounds and sample the tastes, fragments change. The ice cream has been every flavour at least once, more than they even knew existed. They have walked across the dusty park path in the golden shine, jumped in muddy puddles in the rain, and crunched their way through six-inch thick snow.

  They have always tried to imagine what their parents looked like. They searched and combed through every cell in their brain, and came back with nothing. It was as if they never existed – a revelation that did not drive Fleck as crazy as expected. From time to time, they thought about them, imagining a tall, kind, caring couple. They wondered whether they had inherited their father’s dark eyes and straight lips, or their mother’s chocolate locks and button nose. They would believe that they had a breakthrough when they remembered that their father kept the garden tended and told them bedtime stories while their mother baked delicious pies and gave them plenty of warm, fluffy hugs. That was until Fleck realised they were thinking of Asgore and Toriel.

  Simple times. Back when the monsters were locked away deep and the earth was trampled by human feet. Life felt so much different back then, and feels tenfold now. For reasons beyond them, Fleck could not imagine life without the monsters – or even remember life before the monsters either. It was weird, like waking up on that bed of flowers was their birth, and meeting that one smiling, talking plant was the first person they had ever met. It was like they belonged with the monsters more than they did their own.

  Fleck just accepted the bitter truth: they had no idea who their biological parents were. Since they had never met their real mom and pop, they harboured no love and yet no resentment for them. They were but strangers. The former king and queen of the Underground, they were their parents now – the mother
and father they would fight tooth and nail to be reunited with once more.

  They snapped out of their thoughts as the train made its long turn to the left, swinging around the parameter of the Plain-plain. The rolling green pastures were gone, replaced by a solid end two hundred feet away and the imposing flat face of Highkeep Enclave. Castle Highkeep was barely moving so far, far away on the cusp of the horizon, faint in the early morning light, fading into the blue. Somewhere within those walls, the Emperor was there – scheming, foiling, planning, everything a diabolical monster ruler who wished nothing but to secure the safety of his people would do. And as Fleck had gathered, keeping his people safe meant killing everyone who would make it not-safe; namely, all of humanity. Just like in the Underground, the future of the human race was riding on those little shoulders of theirs. If they perished, if their soul fell into the monsters’ hands, humanity would join the dinosaurs.

  The steward came rolling through with the metal snack trolley, clanking with metal tea trays, metal cups, metal plates, metal kettles and plastic cutlery. Fleck resumed their disguise – pulling the mop head down and wrapping the fire blanket around their body – as she neared. She asked if they wanted anything, to which Fleck shook their head.

  The faintest sound of a thud came from the back of the carriage, followed by the door opening. A draft coursed through, striking Fleck with a sudden bad feeling. It was not from what was behind them, but from what they heard in front of them. The two chatty passengers were having a discussion about certain rumours surrounding a possible second uprising. Fleck had heard them say that… in their dreams.

  They remembered the figure shrouded in black, the one that gave them the urge to run.

  The conductor, who had been sat at the end of the carriage, minding his own business, got up and barged straight down the aisle, past the trolley. “Excuse me, madam, do you have a ticket?” he asked as he passed Fleck.

  Slowly, Fleck rotated in their seat, kicking their legs up to gain leverage. Peeking over the headrest, they watched as the conductor approach a woman – a bat monster – dressed all over in black leather. Her green eyes were locked on him. Her smile natural.

  “Sure,” she replied as she raised her left hand, “I’ve got it right here.” The weapon strapped to her wrist went off with a small spit, similar to a suppressed pistol in a spy movie. Before the conductor could react, the dart lodged itself in his chest, below the collarbone. His vocals seized up, unable to let out even a peep as his entire body went numb in the blink of an eye. Surprisingly, he did not flop, but rather, he remained standing. He arched to the side, as if his upper body wanted to fall, but could not co-ordinate his legs to follow. Barb grabbed him by the shoulders and eased him down into an adjacent seat, taking a moment to buckle him in place. She whispered into his ear, “The numbness will pass eventually.”

  Barb faced down the carriage, finding all eyes drawn to her except for the aged gentlemen at the front. “Don’t mind me, folks. Stay in your seats,” she said in a casual, friendly manner loud enough for all to hear. “I’m just here for one person, and then I’ll go.”

  She proceeded down the aisle. The ammo clips clinked on her belt. Every step of her heels clunked sharp against the hollow floor. She liked the sound, like a rugged cowboy in an old human western stepping through the saloon door, hearing the piano stop and all rough-cut eyes glaring up from around tables decked with cards and shot glasses.

  The steward behind the snack tray, a hedgehog wearing a shirt that had accounted for the quills on her back, was frozen with confusion, fear, and a hint of awe. “Barb the bounty hunter…” she barely murmured above her own breath, never thinking that she would ever find herself before the legendary bounty hunter of the Outerworld.

  Barb came to a stop before the trolley. Someone of her stature should never act one bit unprofessional in front of watching eyes, especially those belonging to the target. “You might wanna step aside.” She placed the sole of her boot against the trolley edge.

  Reluctantly, the steward did as she was told, shambling awkwardly into a vacant seat just in time as the bounty hunter kicked it so hard that it flew across the car and crashed through the far door. The accessories on top – tea trays, cups and metal kettles – scattered across the floor, littering the aisle and rolling under seats. A stream of air rushed in, drowning the car in noise and bitter cold. The dog in the suit and hat did not react one bit.

  That stunt got her undivided attention from almost every monster present, mind games as she liked to call it. The time for subtlety passed from the moment she walked through the door. The human, Fleck, was inside that car, she could feel it. The human would be likely to put up a fight, therefore, Barb needed to present her case upfront; she needed her presence to be both known and intimidating, that she was not only here to do some serious business, but she was playing for keeps.

  She inspected the faces behind each seat she crossed. The guy on the left retained some inherent anger issues. The steward unable to take her eyes away. The pair had finally shut up and shot a glance to each other, as if they expected the other to know what was going on. There, from behind the fifth seat to the right, she spotted a head of shaggy, blonde hair glancing at her before popping back down. The way that one hide themself, it gave them away in an instant. She readied her tranquiliser gun as she approached, keeping her wits about her for any hidden surprises. The target was in their grasp, four seats away.

  Three seats.

  Two.

  One.

  Barb rounded the back, catching sight of a grey blanket draped along with the messy hair, budged against the corner. She stepped out and fired. Three darts shredded the thick fibres. The blanket folded in on itself, deflating across the seat, and the hair splayed onto the floor – more mess for the cleaners to pick up.

  Yeah, that’d be a little too easy… Barb thought.

  All of a sudden, the chatty couple further upwards looked down at their feet, both of them parting away from each other as something scrambled beneath them.

  Barb knelt down and took a look under the spacing between the seats and the floor, where the dust festered and where one would find plenty of solidified chewing gum. A child in a blue sweater was crawling under the space, their frame small enough to fit, if only barely. The sight of such a futile escape brought back memories of previous jobs to the bounty hunter. Criminals were a cowardly, predictable lot and yet during those extreme circumstances they were at their most creative. Many, many years of catching bad guys and she had seen every trick in the book: masking body odours; hiding in garbage; crossdressing; jumping from dangerous heights; if you can think it, chances are, it has been attempted by at least one poor sap.

  Feeling the tiniest shred of pity for the child, Barb aimed her dart gun and sent a round whizzing past their head. The ruffle through their hair coupled with the high-pitched whistle close to the ear froze Fleck in place, almost like the dart had hit them.

  “I see you can think fast on your feet – or in this case, your knees – but you’re not dealing with the Monster Military here. Come on out of there and we’ll settle this face to face,” Barb offered. “Monster to human.”

  The word ‘human’ pushed everyone onto the edges of their seats, all of them having never seen a human before, only being told what they were capable of. All eyes darted around the interior, as if the presence of such a creature would cause the very structure to collapse in on itself, or melt like ice in the baking sun, or spontaneously combust. Fleck breathed out before rising to their feet between the monsters. They edged their way out, the monster having to tuck in their knees to allow them through. The human stood out in the open for all to see. A tiny figure – not at all what they expected – with squidgy skin and no claws or no sharp teeth, and yet the power, the determination, flowed around them like a prevalent aura.

  Fleck stood riveted at one end of the carriage, Barb at the other. Staring each other down. Hands by their sides. The good old fashioned standoff
at high noon. Barb had been itching for years to do one of these, struggling to find the opportunity to present itself.

  Everything about this bat screamed control. Fleck was taken in by every detail of her. Her flowing midnight hair had nary a strand out of place in the raging gust. So poised in fur-tight leather, although they did wonder whether it chaffed from time to time. Her face, those eyes and that rare shade of green – she was a knockout in a monster’s case. For this peculiar human, anything was acceptable. They did flirt with their own foster mother after all.

  “So… a human, huh? Or, at least, half of one. You’ve got quite the price on your fuzzy head, you know. That would usually be reason enough to track you down, but in your special case, this one’s on the house.” On the surface, Barb sounded so confident, but in reality, she was just as clueless as the bystanders; the human’s capabilities a mystery waiting to be discovered… the hard way. “You took some time to find, Fleck. Been searching all night for you. If you were like any of my previous jobs, your keister would’ve been in a cell five hours ago. But everybody knows that nobody escapes Barb the Bounty Hunter, the best and only bounty hunter in all of the Outerworld. You’re in for a special treat, because today, you’re going to see what it’s all about.”

  The term ‘human’ made them jumpy, but it was the name of the human that made them want to jump out the nearest window. The wanted criminal was there and the monsters were trapped in the car with them.

  “I’ll be the humble one here and give you the first shot,” Barb said with an assured smile. She may have been dealing with a whole new enemy, but she was strongminded that she would remain on top – she always did. “Give it all you got!” Deep within her complex web of hardened tactics and trained senses, she awaited what the human would throw at her.

  Fleck stood still as they weighed up their actions. What would Sans do in this situation? Tell a bad joke regarding bats? A bat joke, even? What did the pitcher say to the bat? Batter-up.